People die unexpectedly, so don't spend too much on a new kitchen, just in case.
Suburban moms are the pits.
Even Mary Louise Parker has love handles, so let's all get over it.
Stay low at your dealer's house in case you get shot.
Stand on your roof a lot so you can see what your neighbors are doing.
Don't keep your drugs at home because maids sneak around.
I get really hungry for Indian food after midnight.
Tape yourself playing with your kids so they can watch it when you die.
Tape yourself having sex so your wife can watch it when you die.
Also, why can't they show lifelike dildos on premium television? TV sextoys are so unsexy.
If you stay up late enough, everyone on television looks like someone else. The loser brother is not Harry Connick Jr and the big black lady is not Nell Carter and that little weird kid is not Joey Lawrence. It's not 1981 anymore. They look different now.
Creepy unattractive children bother me, even on television serieses.
Don't take two Ambien if you like a) your hair or b) Asian chicks on the side.
Turn the teddybears away from your adulterous racketass lovemaking.
Drugs + tampons = rats. Keep them separate because you don't want your vagina getting the Black Death.
Throwing pennies at cars is a good way to eff with someone.
Having sex with drug dealers is hot and your biggest problem will be the underpants he buys you, not that you are worried that you have contracted crotchrot because YOU JUST BANGED A DRUG DEALER IN AN ALLEYWAY
I love this show so much that I'm thinking of signing up for a second Netflix account and having it delivered to XXXX S XXXX Street, Apartment 1 so I can get six disks at a time.
It's a variation of the Columbia House Records scam I pulled in the nineties, but Netflix is smart and they have my credit card number.
I hate when people get wise to my scheming.
When I go all the way bald, I want a hairpiece like Babs wears in Funny Girl.
I like big sunglasses so I can secretly stare while I silently judge
My neighborhood smells like piss and cotton candy. Like its been taken over by carnies
New dollar bills smell exactly like rental roller skates
When I was little, growing up on the beautiful sandy shores of Lake Erie, I was certain I was going to be a professional waterskiier. But I've never even tried.
"I myself am... Strange and unusual"
Whenever I see a fat hairy chick I assume she has a thyroid problem. That's so insensitive. Maybe she just eats so much she doesn't have time to shave.
I just put my foot in a shoe that makes me understand why people put lube INSIDE condoms. Delish
Big dudes drinkin Little Hugs cracks my shit UP
I know this is hard for anyone to believe but lots of people have dropped the feed for this site lately. Lots.
One of the reasons my town is so weird is because you have hundreds of years worth of crap kicking around.
Can you recycle dead birds? Because I've got one in a paperbag, and I don't want a ticket from the trash police telling me to recycle the paperbag.
I've always wanted to meet someone named Earl so I could call him Speedoo
Tonight's recurring vision: Colin Powell in a red sequined ladies jazz leotard, sashaying across a stage yelling, this is what we SHOULDN'T be doing in Egypt!
How many almost-33 year-olds sit alone in the dark listening to the Rocky Horror soundtrack and sing every word just for funsies? Anyone, anyone? Just me?
Trader Joes is funny because you can shop 4 food that most white people have never eaten, but in essence you are doing the whitest type of shopping in the world
My mind is officially tricked, practically blown. Well done, lobby of the Comcast Building. Well done. I almost puked.
Each morning I take a minute to look in the mirror and pull stray hairs out of my lip and chin and I always think "gosh, I love being a girl"
Why do people wear patchouli? Are any of you old enough to remember Skunkor from HeMan? They scented him with patchouli. Because it smells like skunks
Why do people gather in the kitchen? Seriously? That's where I put my TRASH!! And the chairs are hard. Couch soft...
I feel like bugs are all over me. I don't want to turn on the light because there either ARE bugs all over me or I'm effing batcrap crazy.The light will reveal one of two disturbingly unpleasant truths.
Why do people laugh at me when I tell them I'm addicted to caffeine? Its not funny. Its sad. I need help. Is there a church basement for me?
To do: 1. make bucket list. 2. panic about dying. 3. Do a couple things on there. 4. Ditch it and get on with normal life.
I just had a public trans experience so rotten that I wouldn't have been surprised if there was a crate of chickens in the back
Is it wrong that I get the same feeling walking around a hardware store as I do watching porn?
Sometimes I wonder what my cat tastes like. That's not a metaphor. Just a sick truth.
I love warm wet days. People let their hair go natural, they skip the makeup and dressy clothes and everyone looks so beautiful.
I'm obsessed with learning how to whistle w my fingers in my mouth. All I'm accomplishing is lightheadedness and spitting all over myself
I lie to the greenpeace canvassers and tell them I'm already a member and thank them for their hard work
Ive been lugging a new notebook for days but haven't used it. Once the first pen mark is down, promise & potential of perfection is gone.
i want to reach a level of success where i don't have to poop 18 inches away from my co-workers.
There are noises happening in my house that I would be afraid of if I didn't have a cat. I am assuming its her & not a ghost or a bad guy
When I can't decide to toss something or not I think "what if I died suddenly & my mom found this while going thru my stuff?"
Why is it that I'm 100% accepting of tranny whores but can't for the life of me understand why someone would be a Mariah Carey fan?
Does anyone else think that eating the easter ham is just a porktastically delicious and symbolic "eff you" to the Jews?
I guess once your out of philly, pizza shops are quiet places since there are no cheesesteaks being made every other minute
I like to think that roller derby girls smell like cake and whiskey.
Just saw a real live organ grinder. Until recently I thought they were called monkey grinders.
I like to use handicap stalls in public restrooms. I call them taj ma-stalls.And about any weird looks upon leaving a taj mastall, I just say I have a colostomy bag. No one has ever asked me to prove it.
I'm such a fraud when it comes to bring a real live grown up. Are you guys just pretending too? Or do you really have it together?
Whenever my cat goes nuts on my blanket for no reason in the morning, I get scared there is a bug in my bed.
Ever drive around listening to the radio and you hear a song that describes exactly where you're at in life and then you feel weird because its Super Tramp and then they play Hey Ya and you car dance for no reason? Talk about confusion and embarrassment. This must be the exact feeling as when you realize that maybe just maybe you might be gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that
Bartending 101: frozen cherries are adorable and delicious in your whiskey. Frozen strawberries are not.
Aer Lingus is like the dirtiest sounding thing in the world.
The contestants on jeopardy have the lamest stories. Maybe if they took their nose outta the book they wouldn't be such losers.
You know its bad when step 1 of housecleaning is walking thru every room w a trash bag.
Am I the only one secretly happy when their kid is sick? I'm not a munchauser by proxy mom or anything. I just like the cuddles
Yo gabba gabba makes me miss my old days of after hours gay discothequing
If I came to your house and it looked like my house does right now, I would totally judge you.
Minnie is either an excellent faghag or a terrible beard.
Sometimes when I pluck my mustache I put the hairs between my eyebrows and pretend I'm Frida Kahlo. Or Bert.
Why do truckdrivers attach stuffed animals to the grills of their big tricks?
I just punched a bee
I feel like I look like an off duty physEd teacher today. Polo shirt and clam diggers.
If I was nomadic and tribal in the rainforest, I wonder what my feet would look like. Gnarly and solid I'd imagine. Imagine how their crotches must smell.
I used to be plagued by visions of bunnies in a hot air balloon rising above Alaska, taunting the goats they were leaving behind.
When I close my eyes I get this picture of a 95 year old lady dressed like Little Orphan Annie jumping down a flight of stairs just to impress her friends
What do I think? I think Jesus reads my blog and lols. That's what I think. I'm pretty sure he can take it.
I never buy hampers because I hate extra crap in my room but I have no problem throwing my clothes everywhere
The weather feels perpetually May and it is making me let my summer slip by
Gah! I feel like a Katy Perry song.
Al roker is hanging out at my gym. Not as a celebrity
I just had a "what the hell happened to my gum" moment. It was in my mouth. Now its gone.
Truth: my last name isn't Peron, but googling me will lead you to Evita.
Truth: if someone put a little H2O in my rum I probably wouldn't notice. Teenagers are smart with their booze stealing ways.
I love loud puerto rican music on a hot summer day
Whenever I'm in a funeral procession, I think of ways to steal the orange car flag.
I'm pretty sure I'm a gay man trapped in the body of a lesbian.
I have my bathing suit on under my clothes. 3PM Thursday.
What's with all the seersucker suits? Has the whole world gone mad? Southern? Gay?
Just caught a coworker trying to nurse a hangover. Nothing worse than still having the munchies and dry heaving at the same time.
The chilly night air across my bare back makes me more than happy.
Everytime I hear of a body found in the river I wonder if tiny little pieces of that person are in my drinking water or raining down on me in the shower.
I like to look in other peples windows just to see if they have anything I do. Thanks to ikea, the answer is usually "yes"
What does it mean when you pass a hot dog truck and your nipples get hard? I'm asking for a friend, of course.
I'm having trouble shopping for clothes lately because I can't tell if anything is a shirt,a skirt,or a dress. Sleeveless and stretchy leaves room 4 creativity
I may be the only white person in the Indian restaurant, yes. I may also be the only one enjoying the endless Talking Heads set pumping quietly thru the place.
I have a hard time saying the words naan and chorizo without sounding and/or feeling like a douche.
I wonder If everyone is as considerate to their obgyns as I am. You should always bring clean socks and babywipes. Always.
Based on the number of autism awareness ribbons on the cars in S Philly, I'm assuming that 90% of my neighbors fall somewhere on the spectrum. Explains a lot.
Teaching a kid how to ride a bike shows me how unflat my flat city really is. Everything is tilted 15 degrees. Srsly
The Ting Tings steal from Blondie more than they give credit.
I like my $7 fancy silver frames from Kmart better than my $60 fancy silver frames from Macys. What's that say about me? What's that say about the world?
Its not noon, but I have been up for 4 hours. Can I grab a drink?
What's worse? Knowing your way around the state store or having no idea where they keep the rum?
One of my favorite things to do is but the boy one of my favorite childhood books and wait until we are together to crack the binding.
You know how when you don't cook fish because you don't want your house to stink? My neighborhood smells like a stinky fish house (hooker puss)
I like dogs that bring to mind the word "scamp". But only big dogs, little dogs are gross. Who wants a cat that can't use the litter box? Ick.
No sir, you cannot suck my toes just because you aint never found no white girl to let you suck her toes. And this has nothing to do w the color of your skin.
I find the backs of playing cards to be extraordinarily gorgeous.
My neighborhood smells like concord grape skins.
Ever see someone really tall and really fat? Can you imagine how much food it takes to keep that up?
Why can I sit around in my bathing suit with my friends but not my underpants? So stupid. Its not like they haven't seen my upper thighs and belly before.
I let my kid play w markers a little bit each day. That way I don't have to bathe him constantly and can just assume that purple streak just happened.
Something caustic is dripping from my basement pipes. Is this the water I drink coming in? My piss going out? Srsly, its etching holes in the concrete floor.
Where in life am I that I'm nodding my head in agreement with amy effing winehouse? This is like when I understood the MTV Britney spears special.
Whenever I see a garbage bag on the side of the road, I assume it is full of kittens. Or someones wife.
I like watching people's toes work when they wear open toed shoes. They get all grabby and crickety.
Holy mother of us all. The ice cream truck is playing the MASH theme song. It sounds adorable!
Dilemma:do I take my kid to see the giant house fire on broad street? Or do I respect the tenants of the house? They're fine. They even got the cat out.
I think its funny when people ask me if my tattoos are real. Wher can you buy fake ones like this?
I walk real close to lunch trucks just so I can smell them.
Country music stars have the best guitar straps ever.
Holy crap I'm dying of sweat. This is an awful way to go.
And now I'm traveling south but feel like I'm falling west. I think I know where I left my innercompass. Its getting it back that's a problem.
My internal compass is off today. That rarely happens. I feel like I'm going west but I'm really headed north. This has me worried.
The word "steaming" reminds me of the words poop and soup. Poop and soup rhyme.
I love the heat and smell that comes off an empty lot full of weeds in the summer
Sometimes I hear the slide whistle from "groove is in the heart" in my brain.
Kill me now and ask questions later. I just had a fleeting desire to get a unicorn tattoo
Thing I'm not trusting right now= childless lady at the playground with her face painted like a butterfly/tiger
The fun thing about looking at pictures in your friends photo albums is they keep the pics you threw out once you became a mother.
Walking past a construction crew on a chilly day with no jacket. They can't stop staring at my cute new sweater.
My house smells its age today. Its like I can feel the late 1800s in my nosehairs.
I love when people practice classical instruments with the windows open in the spring
Drinko de Mayo. Why are you so delicioso? Why do you even exist in my white bread culture Americano? Why doesn't autotext have an upsidedown question mark?
Jesus isn't plaguing is with swineflu. Stop being so assholish about things. Its called life, wash your hands often.
I welcome the toilet cake smell of the Lombard South station because it signals my homeboundedness
I find unrivaled comfort in eating one peanut butter and jelly per day.
If I'm ever feeling down on myself, all I have to do is put on a tiny shirt and stand around in my grocer's freezer section looking confused.
I am slightly obsessed with the smell of hose water. I associate it with the good parts of my childhood, not the repressed parts. That's saying a lot.
Squirrels that chose to walk rather than scamper are simultaneously the most unnatural and most adorable thing I have ever had the chance to behold in my life
Hot dry windy days make me, feel like me.
Sometimes I dumb down my English for the benefit of my immigrant neighbors.
Why can I configure my Gmail html better than I can configure Blogger html? They are the same monster, right?
I have those cargo pants that roll up and button w a hidden strap that tickles my ankles on a hotwindy day when my pants are long. It makes me infinitely happy
Vaginize: the act of talking down to me because I'm a girl. Stop being so vaginistic. Its making me realize what a total douchebag you really are
If you had any idea what I was doing right now, you'd be green with envy
I feel like if there is a heaven, it must be a lot like Tuscany.
gum is not an acceptable substitute for a solid oral hygiene routine.
Out of my mouth came the words "sure, I'll go the the Phillies game with you" but my head was saying "oh good, now I can give you your dildo".
My current problem isn't that it's freezing in here and my nipples are hard, it's that they are hard and pointing in different directions and I have to pee really bad but I don't want my coworkers to know I have gecko nipples.
I trade artificial sweetener from the kitchen at work for tiny pieces of my soul.
Every time I come home I prepare myself to find my cat dead. She's not dead now,but I have to go out again which means ill have to go through this at least once more before sundown
I'm loving everyones brightly colored & freshly pedicured toes this weekend. Its just like when the cherry trees blossom, but kinda not like that at all really
I think I might be the only girl my age in the world that thinks wearing short shorts is wildly inappropriate after age 30. Its rude to show me your vericoses
I don't understand why my body works in a way that can make poop very large when the hole it comes out of is very small.
This is the kind of day where I wish I was a smoker because it would be delicious to sit outside and enjoy the weather. Ill just have to settle for a drink
I've got electric boobs. A mohair suit.
Whenever I see a mom who is prettier or skinnier than I, I tell myself she is a nanny and will get really gross when she's pregnant
Sometimes when I have a moment of serenity and complete clarity, I'm afraid someone will shoot me in the back of the head like what happened to the dad in American Beauty. That's also why I don't make out with high school girls.
When I'm walking all by myself I take these really long strides and squeeze my ass cheeks because I feel like it helps make my butt look better
I want to work somewhere that I can wear scrubs. They are fucking glorified jammies
Oh terrific! Explosive pooping AND jury duty!
I find it wildly amusing that we find the smell of lighter fluid and charcoal appetizing
I always get teared up for the guy in Paradise by the Dashboard Light. That bitch trapped him.
If I had time and money to do it, I'd quit my job and become a cabinet maker. But not Amish.
Everytime Jake gets on the bus he announces that he won't pick his nose. I wish everyone made that commitment
The birds outside my window in that tree over there must be half slow. They sing all night long and I'm all like "dudes, its 1 o' effing clock in the morning. You are trying to wake up a street light".
I like to mix Benefiber into my coffee. I call it my "cup of go"
The wind is making me look like Ed Grimley
Drinking gin whilst wearing a tank top makes me feel like Ms Hannigan.
Whenever I see a man using an umbrella I wonder if he secretly likes to be spanked. Or maybe is wearing panties.
I enjoyed watching a bunch of sparrows do it w each other in the tree out front this morning while I had my coffee. I guess spring is hereI was a little jealous they were getting it so good, but there's not enough coffee in the world to give me that kinda energy in the AMMy guess is they were up all night drinking tequila and experimenting w E. Seriously. You shoulda seen some of the things they were doing
i want to reach a level of success where i don't have to poop 18 inches away from my co-workers.
To do: 1. make bucket list. 2. panic about dying. 3. Do a couple things on there. 4. Ditch it and get on with normal life.
What would u do if you went to a FUNeral? Writing my will & thinking abstractlyI'm thinking saran wrap dresses, open bar, awesome soundtrack, ice cream truck, make ur own taco bar, and something else funDunk tank. Disco ball. Hot tub. Those long tips for ur cigs. Monocles. Pony rides. 50/50 drawings. Coloring contests. Ultrasound machine.Fortune teller. Pedicures. Petting zoo. BB guns and cans on a fence. Free kittens. In a box. Once this is notorized, its for real.
Maybe the dildo ate yer baby
Watching blues clues about the water cycle. (vapor, rain, evaporation, snow, etc) makes me wonder where the water in my coffee has been.My coffee may have been dinosaur pee once upon a time. Your coffee was probably Courtney Love's pee. I'd get to a clinic If I were you.
The eggs you eat are NOT undeveloped chickens. They aren't fertilized. You are basically eating the hen's period. SO much different.
And isn't that why you come here? To make yourself feel better about yourself? To point and say, "well, at least I'm not like that"?
I read a couple posts yesterday about what is keeping people up at night. Of course there is every parent's worry, the kid falling to a horrible and excruciating death as a result of our gross negligence and having to deal with the aftermath.
Want to hear a horrible story? One time I had a client who accidentally rolled over on her almost 1 year old, suffocating him between her gut and her pleather couch.
But it happens more than you care to know.
Take home lesson- don't sleep with your baby on the couch. Or anywhere really, but couches eat babies. It's a proven fact.
Well, this lady was a Very Good Catholic, and had plenty of children. Her husband was a doctor and they lived very well in a fancypantsed neighborhood that I can't even afford to walk through. NOT my typical client, most of my clients with plenty of children were hardly doing it for Jesus and didn't have two nickles left over at the end of the week. This lady had a newborn, a toddler, a preschooler, and a first grader to take care of despite her grief. She never slept. She never ate. And one day she crashed. While she was sleeping, the baby started screaming. In a valiant attempt to let mommy rest, her toddler tried to quiet the baby. With a pillow over it's face.
So, two dead babies. It happened smack between Thanksgiving and Christmas of the same year.
How's your bad day going now?
Not so bad, right?
Cases like this keep me up at night.
Long time listeners know my fear of fire. Right now I have a dehumidifier in the basement and it's causing me more grief than it should. It's an unattended electrical appliance. That holds water. Bad. Also, what if it dries out the air so much that a tiny spark from say, a nail falling out of my ceiling beams hitting the concrete floor, explodes into an inferno? I've never heard of it happening, but lots of things happen to me that I've never heard of happening before.
Karma. I want to not believe in it, but I take great comfort in the fact that you will get yours. Not that I will get mine, that's not comforting at all. Or what about if you do something to me that didn't really phase me in the least bit but it is eating up your guts and you can't sleep at night about something that I don't give two shits about? I carry that guilt and it's heavy. And I don't even know if it's real. And how far might the universe go to give one his comeuppance? How can you punish me without causing my family to suffer? How can you punish someone I love without hurting me? Or are we being punished at the same time for two different things? And for those of you who don't believe in Karma but believe in Hell. Do you sit up at night and think about people you love who you fear might be burning up forever? Some people are just assholes in life. What if your mom was one of them? She could hardly stand the kitchen in August, imagine how she feels on a spit over brimstone.
When I was little, I was very much afraid that I'd be accused of doing something that I didn't do. Or maybe I did something but forgot that I did it. I don't know if I ever shared this here, but I have a terrible time separating things I actually did from things I've dreamed. I've had this problem my whole life. I've never been a good sleeper, and when you aren't getting enough that line between sleep and awake gets really fuzzy. Sometimes it's funny, and we all get a laugh about me saying "remember that time that we_____" and we didn't do it and I say "oh it must have been a dream" and everyone laughs because I'm so weird about so much stuff and this is just one more thing. Sometimes I just lie and when I say "remember that time we _____" and the other person says no and at the same time it comes to me that there was a purple tiger involved so of course it wasn't real so I just say "it must have been with someone else then, sorry" and go about it. But then sometimes people say to me "remember that time we _____" and I am all like "shit, dude. That really happened?" and my mind is officially blown. It's never anything major, but even the little stuff adds up.
Sometimes it's okay to when you think you did something you dreamed, but when you dreamed something you thought you actually did the results can be horrifying. And this is why I don't drink during the times I'm not sleeping well. Can you imagine?
I'm kind of grossed out by people. Being near someone sounds so nice in theory, but then when you are and you can hear their food go through their intestines and their knuckles cracking and the breathing. GOD THE BREATHING.
And then when you are touching someone else and every part of you that is slightly under another person falls asleep and their bones grind into your bones if you try to move and you can see them close up and it looks like something out of Ren and Stimpy? And I know I do too and I get all weirded out about myself. Sometimes I lie in bed and wonder how to avoid close personal contact with anyone ever again. That is unhealthy, no? And it's not really what I want, it's sometimes just what I want at that exact minute and because I'm a crazy person, one exact minute blows itself into an eternal truth and then I feel even worse about things.
I consider putting a lock on the door so Jake can't sneak out of his bed and into mine. He does it so quietly that I never know he's there until I smell him. Or sometimes I'm half asleep and get the jumpy-punches and I'm afraid I'll hurt him.
This is more an issue in the summer, when it is 900 degrees in my bedroom. I hate being in the airconditioning. I'm too delicate for all that cold and noise.
I like when my cat reaches over and touches me with her warm dry soft paw. One square inch of love. Never mind that her feet double as litterstompers. I also liked nursing Jake. What does that say about me that I'm most comfortable with the kind of touch that comes from a cat and being suckled? Gives me one more reason not to sleep.
Then I can't sleep because I have to dissect my view of humanity in general.
1) There are people who I love unconditionally and others who have no chance at all of keeping their place in my heart. It isn't fair to either group, but it really isn't fair to me. Do you know what kind of heartbreak you endure if you can't stop loving someone? It's torture. Do you know what kind of heartbreak you cause if you can't give in to loving someone who might deserve it?
2) I try to be fair to everyone and base my opinion of them by what I see and how I'm treated, but I've learned over and over that it is the wrong way to go about it. I am torn between believing I am a total sucker, blind to the obvious or stupid enough to overlook it or if I'm actually a good person that can bring out the best in people. The truth lies somewhere between the two, I'm sure, but I'm a black&whiter who can't stand much grey in her life.
3) I've met quite a few people who everyone seems to love but I can't stand from the start. I'm afraid of these people. I think they have the same qualities as Hitler.
I'm usually right about these folks, by the way. That scares me too.
4) And then there are the ones I really can't tolerate but then they redeem themselves and make me feel shitty about it all. Then they go and do something jerky and I get angry about the good times. And then it starts all over again. I've come to a point in my life where I realize this is kind of abusive. But then I wonder if the assholitude is a cry for help that I may be able to provide.
It really burns me up when people tell me that they always knew that somewhere in my heart I wanted to be a mom and I must just not have known what it was like because how could anyone ever not want to have children?
No, I knew exactly what being a mom entails and that's why I never wanted to be one.
Do you think there are any shockers to parenthood? Like I didn't know I would love this kid more than life or maybe I wasn't aware of the joy a child could bring?
It's not fucking rocketscience, it's procreation. We've been doing it for gazillions of years, just like all the rest of the animals.
There are very few moments or emotions or experiences in all this that take my breath away, and when they do they are no different than the moments or emotions or experiences that take everyone else's breath away.
I feel bad for the people who think parenting is easy, because it means they are either shitty parents or they are so tormented by the guilt and exhaustion that comes along with being a good parent that they are embarrassed to the point of lying about their process of parenting.
I tell people who are considering having/keeping/buying a child that it is hard, but so many people don't believe me. "My mom says it's beautiful" "My friends say it's fun" "My _____ tell me that it is so (insert flowers and rainbows here)".
Parts of it are, yes. Most of it is not.
You don't know how badly I want to tell so many people "I told you so, sucker, maybe next time you'll listen to me when you are all done crying about this" but I don't because I know what they are going through and I know I don't have to say anything at all. And it's not just parenting that I'm so smug about. It's all sorts of things.
So my brain sends out taunting waves of na na na's across the ages in hopes that a little bit of it lands on the recipient. That type of bitchy communication only works late at night when the air is clearer.
So this was just last night. Every time something new popped into my brain I wrote it down on this little piece of paper so I could write about it here. Something about getting stuff out makes it all seem less real, and less likely to bug me again for awhile maybe longer. And maybe a few of you have these same problems and you can be all like, "oh Lora, these are EVERYONES' problems. Stop thinking you and your 'issues' are so damned special and get on with it".
Or maybe you don't have these same problems but you will now and you'll be up all night tonight and I'll rest easier, knowing someone else is carrying the weight of the world for me.
I don't mean the proverbial, "there is really something wrong with this blog", but the actual, "there is something technically wrong with this blog". I think I worked it out. It was wonky. Sorry if you are prone to seizures and you were subjected to the flashing. Sorry for the double posts in your Readers. Thank you for the emails about the problems.
Also, thank you for the emails questioning my whereabouts the past few days. Emails like those are tantamount to poking a dead squirrel with a stick to see what happens.
My favorite was from someone who I don't know, with a wacktiggy email address that just said something about how I haven't been around and he/she was wondering about what I may have done with that rope I was talking about in my poem last week.
I'm here, I'm here. Just tired.
Not for lack of caffeine. What was I thinking? I quit trying to quit. Is it really all that bad for you, anyway? In the grand scheme of things? I'm down to about 4 cups a day. Under 40oz. Ever since college I measure liquids as such:
|x| = < v > 40
If the answer to x is <, I'm golden. Like with this. I clearly don't have a problem.
Do you know how hard it is to type in math signs without Blogger thinking I'm attempting html?
This post keeps flipping around all day.
Entourage. Is there anyone else who hates this show more than I? It's the worst. Pittsiest of all, I hate watching all those sluts touch my boyfriend. I've been there for him ever since the days of the Britney Spears video and this is how he does me? I swear half those girls aren't even pretty, just made up right. And Johnny Drama is every effing dude in my neighborhood that I wish would move to Crap Jersey. And that dweeby Eric, why is he even there, his stupid tiny little Ritchie Cunningham self? And Turtle. Seriously? This is every effing dude in my neighborhood that did move to Jersey with their cute little $200 joggingsuit clad wives but can't stand it over there with the brats and the not-so-cute-nor-little-anymore wife so they are always bumming around South Philly while using Mommy's house as a homebase.
I don't think that show is for girls. Asking me to watch that is like asking a boy to sit through a post-Something About Mary Cameron Diaz film. Even I can't do that.
And I use the word "film" loosely.
So let's talk about something I do like. Pilot Precise V5 Extra Fine Pens. Seems the internet is ablaze with pen talk today, and those get my vote. They make me feel like I can draw or write anything I want to and do it well. PPV5EFPs and a new college-ruled notebook give me hope that tomorrow will be spectacular.
Sometimes I feel like a real live grown up. Like when Dave and I talk about what to do with the house. Do other grown ups have this conversation on a regular basis? Plan for the future of structures? I want to keep it until Jake goes to high school and then move. Unless of course something with parking becomes available. I could use parking. But then I think that if I had a parking space, I would go shopping more because the only thing that keeps me from $100 Target Sprees is the fact that it sucks to carry all those bags from the car to the house. That and the fact that anything that gets bought will have to be moved some day. That stops me from buying things too.
I'm not going to die in this house.
I don't think.
We'll see what the day brings.
Sometimes I don't feel like a real live grown up. So I buy pink wigs. I'd dye my hair if I could but it gets stringy and I'm not allowed to have "unnaturally colored hair" at the office.
How does it look? Okay. But pink hair is more about feeling than looking and I like the way it feels. Next time I'm going to see how blue feels.
Speaking of blue, work is bringing me down. There are just so many problems in the world and due to budget cuts and financial crises in the state, none of them are going to get addressed any time soon. More than just jobs and paychecks, my career deals with people's lives. Life stuff like, that baby might not eat because mom is too strung out to nurse and all the formula got sold for a fix and the agency who provides respite for families like that had to shut its doors last week. Put your baby's face on that baby and now see how you feel about drugs not hurting anyone but the person doing them. Or how about the kids who eat plenty (of junk) but mom is out on the streets 20 hours a day but the kids all weigh in at a normal poundage at the doc's so Services aren't able to be called in because we are down to only being able to get help and placement malnourished kids. Feed your kid chips and Little Hugs and hoagies for a week and see how they do. Now times that by an eternity.
It's just so sad.
You know how when you look at a Dress Barn puke comes up in your throat because of the mental image of you wearing something like the batshiz secretary over in fiscal wears? Not so! You can find adorable dresses there. Much better than Macys. And half the price. Macys always has stuff made from that plasticky armpitty material that makes you stink and you can't wash the stench out of it no matter how much you try. Dress Barn carries all sorts of brands too, like Calvin Klein. Me and Calvin are besties because he knows how to fit me into a size 4 and that makes me feel really like I didn't just eat an entire horse for lunch. And he doesn't just know how to fit me into that size, he knows how to do it so I don't look like a rusted out wooden paneled station wagon.
Because that's not cute at any price.
I don't mean my name would be Household, but that every one in every house would know me. Nevermind.
I always say that but no one ever gets it.
Basically I was born too late.
I saw a poster at Banana Republic about a casting call for Mad Men. I so would do this. I'm at least 50 years behind my time. And yours. Which means I'm practically in character at all times. I have the clothes tucked away in my closet. I look adorable in A-line, and can rock an ascot like you don't even know. Have you seen me in eyeliner and lipgloss? You would die. I have vintage jewelry streaming out my ears. My hair holds a set. I can walk in heels. I can carry a tray full of beverages, hot or iced or shaken or stirred. I don't smoke, but I know how to without coughing and gagging like some sort of Sandra Dee princess. I cut the crusts off of sandwiches better than your mom can. I cook with butter. Lots of butter. I love casserole. And formica.
I've never seen the show, but I can assimilate.
My biggest problem is I have the worst stage fright of anyone you know. It all started when I was 4 and I was in the preschool parade and I was supposed to be an elephant but they last minute switched me to a camel and when the camels came out I went with them but I was swinging my arm like a trunk and bellowing like an elephant and everyone laughed and from then on I got all the shitty parts in the school plays because the teacher knew better. The low point in my life was when I was Frog 7 in the second grade. Seven! Ack. I wish I were dead.
So, I'm just thinking that I'll pick up a few new dresses this season at Banana because they are sure to have some sort of gimmicky retro line and start wearing my pearls more often.
Also, regarding the title. I love the word swank but I don't like Hilary Swank. She looks just like Matt Damon but not in the way I typically love girls who look like boys. And I LOVE girls who look like boys unless they look like Harry Potter. You've seen the type, right?
And I think that Carrot Top and Fergie are seeing the same facial rejuvenatory specialist. It's hard to tell the two of them apart sometimes lately. And Joan Rivers and Steven Tyler look like twin lizards. Twizards.
This is sorta tied into how Wilder Valderama does the voice for Handy Manny, and every time Jake watches that show, I think of Handy Manny railing Lindsay Lohan and Mandy Moore after a hard day at the shop.
And Greg Proops is the voice of Bob the Builder, so you know Bob gets a regular assbanging when he isn't on the set. I bet he keeps his hardhat on.
There was a little more to the conversation with Jake about prayer than I posted here. I told him that he can do what he wants, that's the beauty of living in a free country (yes, I allow my 3 year old to chose that kind of stuff but not which shirt he's going to wear today) but I would prefer it if rather than him feeling forced to take time out of his day or only thinking about this stuff when he wanted something, he would try to live in a constant state of gratitude, awareness, grace, and good-intention. I wasn't sure if he would get all that (I explained the big words), but he just got quiet for a minute then said "if i do that i prolly won't hafta go in the corner so much" and then jammed his finger in his nose.
I'm trying to give up coffee and it's making me sick. My head is splitting and I can't poop. I have the shakes and I can't think about anything that isn't brown. This is my sixth or seventh go around with all this, and I know once I start feeling better my brain will tell me that now that I'm all better and my symptoms are gone I can handle just a little bit and I'll start with half a cup of coffee and half full of ice and that will be fine for about a week and by Halloween I'll be back up to bringing a KFC bucket to the coffee shop and asking them to fill it up, no reason to leave room for cream.
Squeee! Halloween! It doesn't really feel like summer but I know time is passing because I've got visions of jack o'lanterns and miniature Clark Bars dancing through my head.
Between work and my caffeine recovery attempts and my weak attempt at having summertimefun I have about 200 unanswered emails in my Gmail inbox. If one of them is yours, please understand the delay. And if I decide to just hit Delete All, which is a giant possibility, please don't give up on me entirely. I considered doing the same to my Reader. Four hundred some posts Marked All As Read sounds delicious. But then I'd probably miss your post where you talk about your mom dying or your kid cracking his head open or your man falling off a ladder or your sister losing the triplets she was pregnant with or your bff moving to Nova Scotia (all posts I've read in the past year) and I would have no idea that happened to you and next time we talked I'd be all like, "Hey slim! You look great! Did you drop 20 pounds?" and you'd be all like "Bitch, my mom fell in front of the subway, I caught a tapeworm from the dog, and my baby is in the ICU, don't you read my blog?" and I'd be all like "Look at that firetruck!"
I baked Christmas cookies yesterday for a Christmas in July party I'm going to this weekend. I thought I would be in Harrisburg on Saturday, but the universe didn't line up well enough for me to make it and I feel bad for doing something local but I only have a couple hours free and I would be silly to just sit at home and stew. I'm so full of guilt all the time. I love the idea of Christmas in July, provided there are cookies and big parties involved. I do not love the idea of Eggnog in July. That sounds pukey. Thick and hot only go together well in so many situations. Dairy + Summer is not one of them.
I also baked cupcakes yesterday. And chocolate chip cookies. And there is no dirty laundry. And the floors are clean. And there is new oil in the car, only 3000 miles beyond the 2000 mile mark of my last oil change. The car is washed inside and out, and has a new stink tree hanging up in there. I have groceries. I may not have had my three days of Just Jake thanks to crappo work deadlines, but I sure did get a lot done anyway. I am a superhero. But so you don't think that I am Hausfrau des Jahres, I'll have you know that my cat puked on my bed in the middle of the night last night and it is still there. Unless she ate it. I hate touching warm cat puke. I really hate touching cold cat puke. I'll just wait till it dries and have Jake pick it up with a paper towel like it's some sort of veterinary game.
I heard yesterday that the squishy warm feeling you have when you are falling asleep and are just waking up is registered in your brain the same as after you have an orgasm. Which explains a lot, except for the goofy visions I sometimes get while falling asleep. Some of you may have heard me talk about these before. I'm not quite asleep, so it isn't really a dream, and they are usually very short but on an unending loop that won't stop until I shake myself awake. The latest was of Colin Powell, dressed in a silver sequined fringey red jazz suit (think Liza) sashaying across the big dance studio stage at the place where I used to take tapballetjazz lessons and screaming at the top of his lungs "This is exactly what we should'nt be doing in Egypt!".
Slacker-Chick has awarded me with the Best Blog Award! I'm not sure if there are any rules for it, so I figured I'd just put a bunch of crap on the internet today and tell her how thankful I am.
Thanks Lady! You really know how to brighten a Friday that is darkened by a ginormous pile of paperwork.
Nose to nose to breath to breath
Matching pace soothes me
I ran my finger along the warmth of her dry lips
Slid my hands along her belly
Kissed the silky slope between her eyes
She moaned once and turned away
My cue to go
I reached back to grab her leash
Twenty five feet long
I would need a reliable length of rope
Take a piece of a poem,
all of it,
an idea of it,
make it your own
post on Thursday, July 23 at 11:11 am.
You've seen what I did with it, be sure to check out the original written by Silly Swedish Skier.
It is 11.11am her time, 1.11pm mine.
And please stop laughing at me. Do you know how brave it is to post a poem?
I feel like I'm going to puke.
Jake, please get your head off my boobs. It's my private part. Please don't touch my private parts.
but i really like your boobs because they are soft and big and make my head feel like it's on a cloud.
Jake, you can get a pillow if you need to put your head down.
but mom, you know what i like best about your boobs?
that's where you keep your heart. your heart beats tell me you love me.
Jake, that sounds like a load of crap that you are only telling me so I let you touch my boobs.
yeah.... it is."
but when i want something i should pray for it.
No, Jake. When you want something you should work for it.
but i pray for people, like those ladies?
I feel it is more important to DO for people than it is to PRAY for people.
like when i'm sick?
I hold you and make you soup. I don't sit around on my rear end and watch you be sick while I pray for you to get better. That would make me a terrible mom.
oh. because god gave you two hands? you make soup with your hands?
Ha! Yes. Something like that. I feel like we have been given everything we need to do things for ourselves and for each other.
like hands? and soup?
And strength and caring and love and being smart. We have those things so we can do whatever it is that we need to do.
that makes more sense.
I think so too.
when we get home i'm going to give you a kiss and a hug. a strong hug. to make your heart happy. i can do that for you.
You sure can.
mom? so god just keeps the world safe and clean?
If that was the case there wouldn't be newspapers and soda bottles all over the place, would there?
And I wouldn't have to worry about taking care of you because you would always be safe, right?
right. so, mom? what does god do?
I don't know, that's for you to figure out.
should i ask him?
but wouldn't that be praying?
Hey! Look at that fire truck!"
First of all, my neighborhood is not terrible, he lives here too, and Dave isn't that kind of attorney.
Go ahead and give me a social worker anyway, I'll probably know her and she can come over and watch Oprah and drink beers and call it a home visit.
This time we just stayed home and played.
proof to you that I really do have mustaches all over my face. blonde ones, but still
"see mommy, you have a giraffe neck, see that picture? put that on the computer"
just like all mommies everywhere, I am totally guilty of trying to get mommybaby self portaits so there will actually be pictures of the two of us that exist in the history of the world
"do yer bunny ears so i can take a pitcher, mommy"
tap dancing. i took it for years. you'd never guess
ralph dog in the jake chair
funny faces with my best TV gay, DJ Lance Rock.
sometimes it's fun to just be best buddies and toss the rules out the window.
Based on what I was wearing and what I did that day and what my damned problem was in the first place.
I was probably about eleven or twelve, and it was the middle of the night.
My brother and I upstairs in our shared room at mom's house.
The white postage stamp of a Cape Cod on Hudson.
We had the peaked second floor.
It was almost big, but you couldn't run around much because you would hit your head on the textured ceiling if you got too close to the north and south walls.
East to west you'd be fine.
I had the top bunk, Brian the bottom. There were surely fights about that.
I don't remember.
There was no heat up there, just the kerosene unit.
Stealing my rest.
I assumed it would be responsible for my death.
We piled ourselves with old blankets that smelled of my grandfather's linen closet.
My favorite smell.
I still know how to taste that smell in the back of my throat if I close my eyes and press my tongue to my teeth.
I can fill my lungs and mouth with the cotton and years that sat on those shelves.
My mother snuck up to check on us, to talk to us while we were sleeping.
Pretended to be sleeping.
It was a rough day between us.
I was tempted to tell her I was awake, but let her speak instead.
I let her explain herself.
I've always been one to feign sleep.
You can avoid a lot of life if you keep perfectly still.
You can learn a lot of life if you lie quietly and listen to the things people are talking about when they think that you can't hear.
My favorite childhood game.
I was suffering a question, tempted to ask but didn't know how.
How do you know if a boy likes you? And if you should like him back? And if it's worth your time and your tears and your heart because you might end up hating each other in six days, six months, six years, sixty.
Because you might not and you might end up happy. And then what?
I already knew what it was like to lose happiness.
Twenty years later and I got my answer.
In the middle of the night, at my child's bedside while he slept.
While I explained myself.
So, seven things.
a. MJ tidbitted that she "often visualize(s her) own demise". Me too, and now that I'm a mom, I do it for Jake too. It's awful. Just awful. If I told you how many times I've pictured his brains coming out of his head you would send for a straightjacket and a needleful of something strong. I can't tell you the last place I was that I didn't assess my surroundings and make note of every single way I could die there. One time there was a 30 Rock episode about that, so I know I'm not the only one. Pretty much anytime Tina Fey does something I do I take a deep breath and know that all is right in the world because me and Tina are soulsisters. I just know it.
b. MJ also shared in another post that "(She has)had a horrible time adjusting to (her) new voluptuous figure. (She has) almost no clothes that fit, because when (she tries) to go shopping (she winds) up frustrated and angry or crying in the dressing room. Pathetic, huh?". I told her that I have the same problem. What really twists my brain up is every time that someone has something I have I think it's sexy. Big boobs, long legs, small waist, big hips, sweet sweet butt. Poor me, right? We are psychos. All of us. I'm sure of it.
c. In my opinion, there are few culinary disasters more devastating than the combination of lemon and animal products, completely ruining a dinner I was waiting for almost a year to shove in my face and I went to bed hungry last night. Lemon + crab = revolting. Lemon + butter = rotten. Lemon + crab + butter = crying silently while I drank my supper. As an aside, I would gladly eat a bowl of lemons, a stick of butter, and a seafull of crab, just not all at once.
d. "I suggest that you wash everything after you buy it before you wear it", advises the girl who accidently peed a little bit in a pair of pants that she didn't buy because they didn't fit very well.
f. I think I'm never buying pants again and only wearing dresses. It's like staying in your jams all day. No waistband feels delicious.
Miss Smidge awarded me with the One Fabulous Blog Award. Even though Ms Smidge feels like her life is in the tanker, I think she is wonderful and I'm jealous of her. You know that saying about how if we all threw our problems in a pile to divvy them up we would always take back our own? I probably wouldn't take hers, but I might come awfully close.
Just so I could write a book about it.
And Little Ms Blogger tagged me with the viral meme floating around. So here goes.
First the rules:
1. Respond and rework. Answer the questions on your blog. Replace one question that you dislike with a question of your invention, and add one more question of your own.
2. Tag other people.
Now the questions:
What are you wearing today? Same thing I was wearing yesterday when I started this post. A cheapy aqua tshirt from Old Navy, a turquiose skirt from the Gap, and sandals from Aldo. Now ask me how I'm smelling today. If I lift my elbows, I want to gag. I may have to burn the shirt. It's really armpitty weather lately.
What's for dinner? I'm terrible at answering this question. I need to make all food decisions spur of the moment. If I think about what I'm going to eat, I get bored of the whole idea of it by the time mealtime gets here. Then I lose my appetite, skip dinner, and make some Very Bad Foodchoices right before bed.
What relaxes you most? clearly you don't know me. I'm never relaxed. If my eyes and ears were any bigger, I'd be a chihuahua
If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would it be? the beach, alone.
What language do you want to learn? My own. I'm obsessed with the English language.
What do you love most about where you currently live? Everything. I love that I can do anything I want at anytime. I can't imagine living anywhere else.
What style is your current home decorated in? I try to keep a comfortable looking house. I have lots of really nice, really old stuff, but not tacky old stuff or stuff I won't let you put your feet on. I also have lots of Ikea. Ikea is right down the street and really good when you live with someone who wipes his nose on the couch.
If you were a time traveler what era would you live in? The Wild West. I'm really good in the outdoors, I have an inner compass that works when I pay attention. I don't mind peeing outside. I like whiskey. I don't know how to play poker, but I am a good cook. I make a mean batch of gravy and biscuits. You name the gravy and I'll make it. I think they ate a lot of that stuff back then, and I could eat it every day. I don't mind going bathless. I would look adorable in those corset things the girls wore. I know how to ride horses well enough. I just typoed whores.
What is your favorite color? Orange. Oh, and green and brown. And blue. Is gold a color?
What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe? My brown v-neck sweater. Weather permitting, I have it on four or five days a week.
What were you doing ten years ago? July 1999. Moving onto Passyunk with all the boys, gearing up for grad school, looking for a jay oh bee, settling on one at the mall.
What are you going to do after this? drink a pot of coffee and take a shower.
What are your favorite films? I really like Lost in Translation. I know a lot of people hated it but it's the only movie I've watched more than two or three times. Airplane. Hangover was a riot. Persepolis, I'm always thinking about. The obligatory Michel Gondrys and Wes Andersons. Have you ever seen Onegin? I feel douchey just asking. I'm not a big movie person. This is a terrible question for me.
What are your favorite books? Crime and Punishment and Catcher in the Rye. I feel uncultured because I haven't read anything that blows my mind more than something I read before moving out of my mother's house. I've read those books over and over.
Do you collect anything? people.
Live ones, and I let them go at the end of the day. I felt a need to clarify.
What makes you follow a blog? I read just about everyone's blog that reads mine, plus some people's who I know in real life who don't know I have a blog because I'm not comfortable with them reading what I put up here. I have everything on Google Reader. Some blogs I read each post as it goes up and some I wait until there are a dozen or so up. Sometimes I click over to a blog when someone leaves me a comment and then go back and mark items read in my Reader.
What was the most enjoyable thing you did today? Ate two brownies immediately upon opening my eyes. See now Johnny, there is a special time in every girl's month...
Ann's Question: What makes you comment on a blog? The heavens have to open up and gold coins must fall from the sky. I'm a terrible commenter. I usually read from my phone, and it is so pain in the assy to comment. I will take the time to comment if there is something huge in the post. I have about 200 posts "starred" in my reader to go back and comment on them, but it just never seems to happen. I always feel jerky about it, because I squeak like a little girl whenever I get comments.
I'm more of a taker than a giver and I don't like that about myself. That's why I do the job I do. So I can even out the universe a little bit.
Amy's Question: What is your favorite thing to do when you have free time? Bum around town to see who's around and what's in all the windows.
Tonya's Question: What is a talent you wished you had? I'll take anything at this point.
Noelle's Question: If you could go to heaven, who would you see and why? I like that scene in What Dreams May Come where Robin Williams' character's dog comes running toward him.
Vickie's Question: Who is your favorite actor? Ed Norton and Kevin Spacey and Johnny Depp hold equal shares of my heart. The Wilson brothers hold equal shares of my pants.
Kitten's Question: Other than Blogger, Facebook, Twitter, etc. what are your most frequently visited websites? I really only go to Gmail, Blogger, Google Reader, and MSN.com
I'm not an internet person but those sites take up adequate computer time.
SeptemberMom's Question: What was your favorite subject in school? Math and English.
Christy's question: As a child/teen how did you envision your adult life? Once I got past the obligatory stages of wanting to be a veteranarian or an astronaut, I thought I would live out west, just me and a dog and a job at a major University. I'm failing miserably at making my inner child happy.
Dan from Art of Panic's Question: How much time do you spend on your average blog post? Embarrassingly little time. I'm a big fan of the slapping up of words, running spell check, and hitting Publish in as little time as possible. Overthinking something as silly as a blog post seems pointless to me. However, this post has been in draft for four days.
Little Ms Blogger's Question: If you could would you want to control the weather? Are you kidding me? Of course I would. I want to control everything.
My Question: I don't have one. This has sat in draft since Friday because I can't come up with a question. It's not that I don't care to ask myself something, it's just that I don't care enough. What is your question? I'll answer it.
Time to tag...
Susan, to whom I am also giving the Super Comments Award. Few things in life make more sense to me than that girl's brain when she replies to things I write.