Dear Loyal Readers,
I’ve nothing to post today. I’m crabby. I’m tired. My fetching bum knee is messing with me. My husband works 60ish hours a week and, while I’m happy he is employed, our home is neglected. This is wearing on me. Shit is literally falling apart. Our yard is a mess! The grass is way too long and there’s dog poop everywhere. We just need one of those pink flamingos in the front yard to complete “the look” we are going for.
Disorder messes with me. I need things in their place. I need a place to put things. I need to vacuum, mop and spray my Lavender Vanilla Febreeze (best scent ever- I want to bathe in it) in order to feel happy. I need a nice, orderly yard. My mind is jumbled.
This would all be a thousand times easier if my toddler and I were having some fun. Alas, we are not. Instead, we are having battle after battle after battle. She does not want to eat. She does not want to use the potty. She does not want to brush her teeth. She just wants to throw fits. Yesterday, I strapped her in her booster seat to make her stay in the corner for time out. I then went outside, where I was 100 percent certain my neighbors could hear her screaming. I wanted them to see me so they would know I was not beating the living daylights out of her. All this was because she did not want to brush her teeth! I felt like I should run up and down the block screaming, “I’m not beating her! She is possessed! Send a priest! We need an exorcism!” Holy shit, there’s a reason that don’t come out as toddlers…
In summary, it’s been a rough couple weeks. I suppose I should look on the bright side-my friends are coming over tomorrow and there will be alcohol! I’m going to drink a lot of it! I may order a keg just for me. BYOB, bitches! Happy Friday!
Love,
Jessie
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Bring On the Polyester Slacks
I feel old. I’m stuttering and stammering in social situations because I have nothing to talk about besides my tot. Most people, surprisingly, do not really want to hear about this all day. I always swore I would never be that person who could only talk about her kids. I read magazines and try to keep myself otherwise engaged to purposely avoid becoming like this. I fear I am one lame-ass person these days.
I need to liven up a bit. I’ve been a bit down because I feel like a stuffed pig. I feel ugly and unattractive and for some reason, for me, this equates to feeling old. I am only thirty-one years old! I’m hardly on my death bed!
Let’s talk about the reasons I am feeling elderly (I’ll do this in a list because we all know how much I love lists):
1. My bum knee. I haven’t even wanted to speak of this because it angers me so. I am trying to exercise like a mad-woman. For two weeks my knee has been bothering me! If I do nothing for a day or so, ice it and take ibuprofen, it starts to feel better. As soon as I resume my workout, the pain starts again. I’m frustrated and impatient! I need to get physical.
2. My gray hair. I hope I don’t need to elaborate on this one.
3. I’m suffering from the inability to keep my eyes open while reading. WTF? I love to read. I can’t actually read anything because my effing eyes are always closing! I am in a very strict book club. If I don’t actually start reading the books, I could be kicked out! This is one of my few monthly social obligations! I need this. Help!
4. One of my only social obligations is my book club.
5. I prefer staying home and making dinner to going out. It costs too much, the food is never great and I could probably make it better at home.
6. Someone called me ma’am the other day. Little fucker.
7. I have to wear my reading glasses to see the computer well.
8. I drink coffee at night to stay awake and it does not work! Shit, I am old. This is serious.
9. Crow’s feet. Also, little fuckers.
10. Recipes. I’ve begun sharing them with the World Wide Web. I’ve also started asking my friends to share their recipes with me.
11. I have no desire to go “clubbing.” I actually never really did. But, my extreme lack of interest in that is alarming me. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of identity crisis and have a strong desire to wear skin tight black pants, tall shoes and a skimpy tank top? I don’t. Also, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for blinding anyone.
12. I need a lot of sleep. I function best when I get seven or eight hours per night. I also go to bed at almost the same time each night and rise at about the same time every morning. Lame.
I think that completes my list of elderlyisms. Thus far, in my life, I’ve been totally okay with aging. I did not freak out when I turned 30. I think, actually 31 was way worse. But, I’ve always said I would age gracefully and someday get a boob job…
I fully understand the alternative to aging. I do not want that! I just feel a little blah these days. I say this as I’m icing my bum knee and drinking coffee! I can’t imagine why I would feel old. Excuse me, I hear some whippersnappers making noise and my child is napping! I have to go yell at them! Bastards!
I need to liven up a bit. I’ve been a bit down because I feel like a stuffed pig. I feel ugly and unattractive and for some reason, for me, this equates to feeling old. I am only thirty-one years old! I’m hardly on my death bed!
Let’s talk about the reasons I am feeling elderly (I’ll do this in a list because we all know how much I love lists):
1. My bum knee. I haven’t even wanted to speak of this because it angers me so. I am trying to exercise like a mad-woman. For two weeks my knee has been bothering me! If I do nothing for a day or so, ice it and take ibuprofen, it starts to feel better. As soon as I resume my workout, the pain starts again. I’m frustrated and impatient! I need to get physical.
2. My gray hair. I hope I don’t need to elaborate on this one.
3. I’m suffering from the inability to keep my eyes open while reading. WTF? I love to read. I can’t actually read anything because my effing eyes are always closing! I am in a very strict book club. If I don’t actually start reading the books, I could be kicked out! This is one of my few monthly social obligations! I need this. Help!
4. One of my only social obligations is my book club.
5. I prefer staying home and making dinner to going out. It costs too much, the food is never great and I could probably make it better at home.
6. Someone called me ma’am the other day. Little fucker.
7. I have to wear my reading glasses to see the computer well.
8. I drink coffee at night to stay awake and it does not work! Shit, I am old. This is serious.
9. Crow’s feet. Also, little fuckers.
10. Recipes. I’ve begun sharing them with the World Wide Web. I’ve also started asking my friends to share their recipes with me.
11. I have no desire to go “clubbing.” I actually never really did. But, my extreme lack of interest in that is alarming me. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of identity crisis and have a strong desire to wear skin tight black pants, tall shoes and a skimpy tank top? I don’t. Also, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for blinding anyone.
12. I need a lot of sleep. I function best when I get seven or eight hours per night. I also go to bed at almost the same time each night and rise at about the same time every morning. Lame.
I think that completes my list of elderlyisms. Thus far, in my life, I’ve been totally okay with aging. I did not freak out when I turned 30. I think, actually 31 was way worse. But, I’ve always said I would age gracefully and someday get a boob job…
I fully understand the alternative to aging. I do not want that! I just feel a little blah these days. I say this as I’m icing my bum knee and drinking coffee! I can’t imagine why I would feel old. Excuse me, I hear some whippersnappers making noise and my child is napping! I have to go yell at them! Bastards!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
What's For Dinner, Bitches: Installment Three
Tonight, we will be enjoying this recipe from Real Simple. Bread is a huge fan of paprika and pork. I am a huge fan of things that require little prep and effort. Yes! I’ll let you know how this is.
I recently discovered how fantastic Real Simple's recipes are. They include calorie count and really are "real simple." As I learned last week, when I attempted to make my own spaghetti sauce (as in not from a recipe), I should not make up my own recipes. This was a huge disaster because I over-salted it. I almost never add salt to anything and for some reason, on this particular day, I thought salt was necessary. It was terrible. I finally threw it all out yesterday. What a huge waste. So, until I get over this, I will be sticking to recipes.
Happy Hump Day, y’all!
I recently discovered how fantastic Real Simple's recipes are. They include calorie count and really are "real simple." As I learned last week, when I attempted to make my own spaghetti sauce (as in not from a recipe), I should not make up my own recipes. This was a huge disaster because I over-salted it. I almost never add salt to anything and for some reason, on this particular day, I thought salt was necessary. It was terrible. I finally threw it all out yesterday. What a huge waste. So, until I get over this, I will be sticking to recipes.
Happy Hump Day, y’all!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Another Reason I Don't Belong In Society
I love Target. I’m just going to come right out and say it. If I get an evening to myself, I’m probably going there. I have to look at just about everything in the store. I need ample time to peruse. I especially love the stores that have a Starbucks in them. Then, I can enjoy a Chai Latte while I bask in all that the Red Dot Boutique has to offer.
I have a system. I have to look at the bags and accessories, followed by the clothes and workout gear, clothes for Bird, shoes, household cleaners (just to make it an official work-related excursion), toiletries, cosmetics, books and lastly food (almost everything is less expensive at Target). Of course, I often get led astray by the other bargains within the store but I never leave without looking at all of the above mentioned sections. It is crucial to cover all ground; I don’t want to miss a deal.
When I’m at Target, alone, I’m in the zone. I don’t want to text or answer my phone. I’m not thinking about anything other than what a great deal something is and how I can justify buying another pair of shoes. Last week, as I was browsing the shoes, I heard a little voice say, “Do you like these shoes?” Thinking nothing of it, I carried on until I heard it again. I realized the voice was talking to me! Someone wants my fashion advice? Really? Sure enough, there was a cute, little mom asking for my help. Alright. I will oblige. Us moms have to stick together, you know.
She says, “My son hates these shoes but I like them what do you think?” Her son is about six. I’m thinking you’re probably better to take his advice since he actually sees people on a daily basis. They were cute shoes (I read magazines, I know these things). I told her I liked them. She proceeds to tell me that she’s just a busy mom. She doesn’t have time to make outfits but she doesn’t want to just run around in Yoga pants all the time. I happen to be wearing Yoga pants. While, I’m not “running around” in them currently, I did run earlier and shower afterwards which is WHY MY HAIR IS ALSO WET. I point this out to her. She says, “Yeah, I just came from my kickboxing class.” Totally goes over her head that she’s possibly offending the person she’s asking fashion advice from. Whatever. Obviously, she thinks I’m okay-looking or else why would she ask for my opinion.
Then, she whips out another pair of shoes and asks about them. I should so charge for this shit. Nope. I don’t like them. They look like Birkenstocks but the strap has sequins. This is not a good look for most people. She proceeds to tell me again that she’s just a busy mom. I’m like, well, I heard you the first time but maybe you want to talk. I don’t see a lot of people every day; I have no coworkers so I am eager to make a new friend. So I start to tell her about how I understand and, again, she starts to tell me that she’s a busy mom! I’m not good with people. I get nervous. I’m much better here behind my computer. The things going through my head are frightening me. My palms are sweating. I don’t want to talk anymore. What do I say? She thinks I’m crazy. I’m just looking at her nodding, smiling and gesturing to my Yoga pants and wet hair. I’m chanting to myself, “Just be agreeable.” Nodding and smiling and sweating…I hate when strangers talk to me! Again! She’s reminding me again that she is busy! I’m all is this the part where I say Amen? Alleliujiah? Praise the Lord? Busy moms! Amen! Should I sing? Chant? Throw rice at her? Oh, God, it’s too much! I can’t help you anymore! Ask the six-year old! I’m out. It’s hard being a social reject. I’m backing away.
The best part about this is that I obviously did not learn my lesson. We worked on cleaning out our basement yesterday so I didn’t shower until late in the day (who am I kidding I never shower until later these days). I needed to get out of the house so I went to Target. You’ll never guess what I was wearing? Did I have wet hair? Check! I can't help it! I have wavy hair! It looks better if it air dries...
I have a system. I have to look at the bags and accessories, followed by the clothes and workout gear, clothes for Bird, shoes, household cleaners (just to make it an official work-related excursion), toiletries, cosmetics, books and lastly food (almost everything is less expensive at Target). Of course, I often get led astray by the other bargains within the store but I never leave without looking at all of the above mentioned sections. It is crucial to cover all ground; I don’t want to miss a deal.
When I’m at Target, alone, I’m in the zone. I don’t want to text or answer my phone. I’m not thinking about anything other than what a great deal something is and how I can justify buying another pair of shoes. Last week, as I was browsing the shoes, I heard a little voice say, “Do you like these shoes?” Thinking nothing of it, I carried on until I heard it again. I realized the voice was talking to me! Someone wants my fashion advice? Really? Sure enough, there was a cute, little mom asking for my help. Alright. I will oblige. Us moms have to stick together, you know.
She says, “My son hates these shoes but I like them what do you think?” Her son is about six. I’m thinking you’re probably better to take his advice since he actually sees people on a daily basis. They were cute shoes (I read magazines, I know these things). I told her I liked them. She proceeds to tell me that she’s just a busy mom. She doesn’t have time to make outfits but she doesn’t want to just run around in Yoga pants all the time. I happen to be wearing Yoga pants. While, I’m not “running around” in them currently, I did run earlier and shower afterwards which is WHY MY HAIR IS ALSO WET. I point this out to her. She says, “Yeah, I just came from my kickboxing class.” Totally goes over her head that she’s possibly offending the person she’s asking fashion advice from. Whatever. Obviously, she thinks I’m okay-looking or else why would she ask for my opinion.
Then, she whips out another pair of shoes and asks about them. I should so charge for this shit. Nope. I don’t like them. They look like Birkenstocks but the strap has sequins. This is not a good look for most people. She proceeds to tell me again that she’s just a busy mom. I’m like, well, I heard you the first time but maybe you want to talk. I don’t see a lot of people every day; I have no coworkers so I am eager to make a new friend. So I start to tell her about how I understand and, again, she starts to tell me that she’s a busy mom! I’m not good with people. I get nervous. I’m much better here behind my computer. The things going through my head are frightening me. My palms are sweating. I don’t want to talk anymore. What do I say? She thinks I’m crazy. I’m just looking at her nodding, smiling and gesturing to my Yoga pants and wet hair. I’m chanting to myself, “Just be agreeable.” Nodding and smiling and sweating…I hate when strangers talk to me! Again! She’s reminding me again that she is busy! I’m all is this the part where I say Amen? Alleliujiah? Praise the Lord? Busy moms! Amen! Should I sing? Chant? Throw rice at her? Oh, God, it’s too much! I can’t help you anymore! Ask the six-year old! I’m out. It’s hard being a social reject. I’m backing away.
The best part about this is that I obviously did not learn my lesson. We worked on cleaning out our basement yesterday so I didn’t shower until late in the day (who am I kidding I never shower until later these days). I needed to get out of the house so I went to Target. You’ll never guess what I was wearing? Did I have wet hair? Check! I can't help it! I have wavy hair! It looks better if it air dries...
Friday, April 23, 2010
Is This How Romeo Impressed Juliet?
Yesterday, despite it only being about 50 degrees, we decided we had to have ice cream. Actually, it was frozen custard to be exact. We were in the area where we used to live and just had to hit this place that has the best EVER.
We huddled in our car with the heat on. I was also using my heated seat; life is good when your ass is warm and you’re enjoying a tasty, frozen treat. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, Bread, the lovely man that I wrote about yesterday, um, how shall we say, broke wind. I immediately began to gag and rolled down the window. He apologized and about 10 seconds later put the window back up.
Bread: “Why are you frowning?”
Me: “Because you did that and the heat is on and then you put the window up.”
Bread: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put the window up. I thought it was gone.”
Me: “It wasn’t gone. The heat was on. I feel like I’m going to vomit. Actually that wouldn’t be a bad idea because then it wouldn’t go straight to my thighs!”
Bread: “You’re welcome.”
Me: “For what?”
Bread: “Helping you with your eating disorder.”
Me: “I hate you and I’m so going to write about this.”
Approximately three minutes elapse.
Bread: “I’m holding it in for you and I’m getting a stomach ache.”
Me: “Oh, geez.”
This happens on a day when, over dinner, Bread told me he was flattered by all the nice things I said about him. He asked why I didn’t write about all the bad stuff. I told him it was because the good overshadows the bad. I am beginning to rethink that statement after he tried to suffocate me. I take it back! I take it back!
We huddled in our car with the heat on. I was also using my heated seat; life is good when your ass is warm and you’re enjoying a tasty, frozen treat. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, Bread, the lovely man that I wrote about yesterday, um, how shall we say, broke wind. I immediately began to gag and rolled down the window. He apologized and about 10 seconds later put the window back up.
Bread: “Why are you frowning?”
Me: “Because you did that and the heat is on and then you put the window up.”
Bread: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put the window up. I thought it was gone.”
Me: “It wasn’t gone. The heat was on. I feel like I’m going to vomit. Actually that wouldn’t be a bad idea because then it wouldn’t go straight to my thighs!”
Bread: “You’re welcome.”
Me: “For what?”
Bread: “Helping you with your eating disorder.”
Me: “I hate you and I’m so going to write about this.”
Approximately three minutes elapse.
Bread: “I’m holding it in for you and I’m getting a stomach ache.”
Me: “Oh, geez.”
This happens on a day when, over dinner, Bread told me he was flattered by all the nice things I said about him. He asked why I didn’t write about all the bad stuff. I told him it was because the good overshadows the bad. I am beginning to rethink that statement after he tried to suffocate me. I take it back! I take it back!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Let's Talk About the Dough
I have wanted to talk about my beloved husband since I started this here blog. It’s been a lot easier to talk about the insanity that is parenthood. The truth is: I’m not really sure where to begin. Are there words to describe a person who deals with all this crazy every day and, is not crazy himself?
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
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