...and you know what that means! It means it is time for your malevolent hostess to go with tradition and tackle yet another probably ill-advised home decorating project! Paint has been bought. Did that send shivers down your spine? It should have.
I would update you with the craptacular, nauseating bullshit that has been going on at work this week, but, seriously, I don't want to dwell on it. It's giving me an ulcer as it is. (Okay, okay, I'm a health care professional; I do know stress doesn't actually give you ulcers. It's just a saying. God.) So, instead, I'll just tell you the happier updates.
"CJ" and Nick came and mowed my lawn again Monday. They didn't show up until 7:30pm. but they showed up. Nick told me they'd been working straight out since 7am. They're no Justins, all I'm sayin'.
My Bodymedia came in the mail Tuesday(!) and I now know all kinds of fascinating things, such as the fact that yesterday, on a day that I was off work, went to the gym, and did errands and a few things around the house and yard, I burned 2553 calories. This would explain why I've only managed to put on 3 pounds since March despite eating 2100+ calories a day. Two days like yesterday a week (and it was a pretty typical non-work day for me) would pretty much wipe out my surplus. It's fascinating, too, that it knows the difference between when I'm sitting up doing something quiet and when I'm lying down, doing something quiet. However, it is not infallible. It seems to think I took 3 steps at one point during my night's sleep last night and then another 6 later on, which is just weird.
My new solar lights don't work that well, sadly. However, I bought some *other* solar lights at Tarzhay which seem better. I also put more flowers out. It's looking pretty back there, even without Ganesha.
My tomato plants got drowned when we had that night of really heavy rain. Two of the plants that were in pots that apparently drain better are still growing like crazy, while the other four look sickly. All of them, however, sickly or not, have lil green tomatoes on them. Woot!
I still hate Lackey even though he drove a run in for himself yesterday.
I think Sid is getting even fatter on our watch. Oops.
That is all!
xoxo
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
inner geek wins out over inner hippie
Instead of buying Ganesha, I broke down and bought one of these on sale for $119.99, free shipping and no tax. I have wanted one for months and months and months, basically ever since I heard of their existence, and my longing has only increased as I was introduced to the internet cult of users. I was actually trying to explain to Mr Indemnity last week what these are, with only marginal success, but basically you wear it 23 hours a day and it will tell you exactly how many calories you expended, minute by minute, when you sync it on the website. It also tells you how many hours you slept (as opposed to how many hours you *think* you slept), how many steps you took, etc.
The internet cultists have reported fascinating results, mainly that they're burning more calories than they think they're burning, that you burn a shit ton more calories walking around shopping and doing errands and stuff in the house than you do actually formally exercising, that the more you eat, the more you burn (your metabolism is smarter than you are!) and that, as recent scientific studies have posited, fidgeting really does make a big difference in your expenditure.
The drawback to my buying this now, instead of 8 months ago, (too cheap to pay full price, yo) is that I will commence wearing it in, y'know, weather that sometimes calls for sleeveless clothing. However, I have it planned out. If anyone should ask me what it is, I intend to look at them very gravely, complete poker face, and say, "Court ordered. Don't want to talk about it." Ha!
There is one sad thing, though. In my pathetic celibate state, I do not foresee finding out the answer to how many calories I burn during sex any time soon! ("Are you sexually active?" "No, doctor, mainly I just lie there.") That's a pity.
xoxo
The internet cultists have reported fascinating results, mainly that they're burning more calories than they think they're burning, that you burn a shit ton more calories walking around shopping and doing errands and stuff in the house than you do actually formally exercising, that the more you eat, the more you burn (your metabolism is smarter than you are!) and that, as recent scientific studies have posited, fidgeting really does make a big difference in your expenditure.
The drawback to my buying this now, instead of 8 months ago, (too cheap to pay full price, yo) is that I will commence wearing it in, y'know, weather that sometimes calls for sleeveless clothing. However, I have it planned out. If anyone should ask me what it is, I intend to look at them very gravely, complete poker face, and say, "Court ordered. Don't want to talk about it." Ha!
There is one sad thing, though. In my pathetic celibate state, I do not foresee finding out the answer to how many calories I burn during sex any time soon! ("Are you sexually active?" "No, doctor, mainly I just lie there.") That's a pity.
xoxo
Friday, June 24, 2011
more garden stuff that no one will give me advice on
Because, face it, you all suck. (But I still love you.)
Here's a statue I've been staring at on overstock.com all week. Considering I'm well on my way to raping, pillaging, and misappropriating symbols of ALL the major world religions in my quest to make my home look like a Pier 1 and a Pottery Barn mated and had a deformed, illegitimate child, I think having this Ganesha statue in the garden to keep Buddha company would be just swell. And I have no Hindu neighbors to offend. It does, however, cost 82 bucks. There's a limit to how much I am willing to spend in order to make that patio look nice. I'm kinda torn. Especially since summer comes with other expenses, like my lawn-mowing guys (who hopefully will come again) and pedicures and people's birthdays in July (you know who you are, both of you). (I should be generating more income by writing pr0n or giving massages to people who will actually pay for it. Or both. God.)
The fact that it has again been raining nonstop for the better part of three days means I have not been able to do anything on/in/with the patio anyway. It just gives me more time to think about it.
xoxo
Here's a statue I've been staring at on overstock.com all week. Considering I'm well on my way to raping, pillaging, and misappropriating symbols of ALL the major world religions in my quest to make my home look like a Pier 1 and a Pottery Barn mated and had a deformed, illegitimate child, I think having this Ganesha statue in the garden to keep Buddha company would be just swell. And I have no Hindu neighbors to offend. It does, however, cost 82 bucks. There's a limit to how much I am willing to spend in order to make that patio look nice. I'm kinda torn. Especially since summer comes with other expenses, like my lawn-mowing guys (who hopefully will come again) and pedicures and people's birthdays in July (you know who you are, both of you). (I should be generating more income by writing pr0n or giving massages to people who will actually pay for it. Or both. God.)
The fact that it has again been raining nonstop for the better part of three days means I have not been able to do anything on/in/with the patio anyway. It just gives me more time to think about it.
xoxo
Thursday, June 23, 2011
criminal and noncriminal celebs in the newz
We'll start with Cameron Diaz. She's the noncriminal. As far as I know. Unless someone's made fucking A-Rod a crime, WHICH IT SHOULD BE. Ahem.
This is a picture of Ms Diaz which appeared on gofugyourself yesterday. She was being taken to task for wearing that romper, which, um, yes. The return of the romper over the past couple years is a trend that can just go away now. However, disappointingly, Cammie was also mocked for her arms and neck. Not only is it disappointing because the Fug Girls do not generally bodysnark--it's the clothes they make fun of, not the bodies in them--except to occasionally suggest that some skinny actress who has suddenly become even more thin to the point of scariness should eat a sandwich or look into some carbs, it's disappointing because, oh man, her arms look AWESOME. A number of people took this position in the comments, which was reassuring to me. Also, Cammie's traps only look weird in that picture because of a.) the angle and b.) the neckline of that hideous romper.
Okay, now for the criminal. Whitey Bulger's capture was kinda anticlimactic, wasn't it? I think that's all I have to say about that. They captured an old man in an apartment building in Cali. How the hell can they spice that up when they make the movie?
Also criminal. Fuckin' Lackey. Do you know he has *four* more years on his contract? Do you know what they are paying him? Do you know he has the highest ERA in the league? Do you know my loathing for him has now surpassed that for Nancy and that he needs a disparaging nickname? Besides the appropriate "Fuckin' Lackey," 'cause that one can't be used in polite company. Which, believe it or not, I am occasionally in.
xoxo
This is a picture of Ms Diaz which appeared on gofugyourself yesterday. She was being taken to task for wearing that romper, which, um, yes. The return of the romper over the past couple years is a trend that can just go away now. However, disappointingly, Cammie was also mocked for her arms and neck. Not only is it disappointing because the Fug Girls do not generally bodysnark--it's the clothes they make fun of, not the bodies in them--except to occasionally suggest that some skinny actress who has suddenly become even more thin to the point of scariness should eat a sandwich or look into some carbs, it's disappointing because, oh man, her arms look AWESOME. A number of people took this position in the comments, which was reassuring to me. Also, Cammie's traps only look weird in that picture because of a.) the angle and b.) the neckline of that hideous romper.
Okay, now for the criminal. Whitey Bulger's capture was kinda anticlimactic, wasn't it? I think that's all I have to say about that. They captured an old man in an apartment building in Cali. How the hell can they spice that up when they make the movie?
Also criminal. Fuckin' Lackey. Do you know he has *four* more years on his contract? Do you know what they are paying him? Do you know he has the highest ERA in the league? Do you know my loathing for him has now surpassed that for Nancy and that he needs a disparaging nickname? Besides the appropriate "Fuckin' Lackey," 'cause that one can't be used in polite company. Which, believe it or not, I am occasionally in.
xoxo
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
from the house of andrea to you
My patio, et voila.
Buddha, the marigolds, and the solar lights which hopefully have been charging all day. Do you like this arrangement?
The bistro table. It's like having a sidewalk cafe in my own yard. Except I have to, y'know, cook the food, mix the drinks, serve myself, and bus the dishes. Whatev.
Something's going in here. Not yet complete.
Here too.
Comments and suggestions welcome.
xoxo
Buddha, the marigolds, and the solar lights which hopefully have been charging all day. Do you like this arrangement?
The bistro table. It's like having a sidewalk cafe in my own yard. Except I have to, y'know, cook the food, mix the drinks, serve myself, and bus the dishes. Whatev.
Something's going in here. Not yet complete.
Here too.
Comments and suggestions welcome.
xoxo
someday i'll have something new to say
But right now, we're still on updates, goddammit.
"CJ" and/or Nick*** did indeed come and do my lawn yesterday. It looks stunningly good, considering. I think they must have a really good mower because they got it very short, much shorter than my crappy lawnmower would, which disguises the amount of weeds in it nicely. And D answered the door and paid them and even answered a question about whether I wanted such-n-such done (he didn't know, so he said no), all without it seeming to bother him a bit. This was a big help to me. And a big surprise. The fact that my lawn was actually done as scheduled and done right was also a big surprise. Perhaps I will not have to whine to you all about lawn care for the rest of the summer!
In other news, the tomato plants are still going wild. I gave them some MiracleGro the other day and I haven't checked on them since then, so they're probably busting out even more flowers. My solar lights came yesterday as well. They're out in the back of the house, hopefully charging. Not sure if I like how they are arranged. Gotta play with it some more.
There will be patio pics soon, when I have everything as I want it.
xoxo
***He doesn't merit ironic quotation marks anymore unfortunately; I mean after all, I wrote him a check.
"CJ" and/or Nick*** did indeed come and do my lawn yesterday. It looks stunningly good, considering. I think they must have a really good mower because they got it very short, much shorter than my crappy lawnmower would, which disguises the amount of weeds in it nicely. And D answered the door and paid them and even answered a question about whether I wanted such-n-such done (he didn't know, so he said no), all without it seeming to bother him a bit. This was a big help to me. And a big surprise. The fact that my lawn was actually done as scheduled and done right was also a big surprise. Perhaps I will not have to whine to you all about lawn care for the rest of the summer!
In other news, the tomato plants are still going wild. I gave them some MiracleGro the other day and I haven't checked on them since then, so they're probably busting out even more flowers. My solar lights came yesterday as well. They're out in the back of the house, hopefully charging. Not sure if I like how they are arranged. Gotta play with it some more.
There will be patio pics soon, when I have everything as I want it.
xoxo
***He doesn't merit ironic quotation marks anymore unfortunately; I mean after all, I wrote him a check.
Monday, June 20, 2011
more updates
Because, seriously, you do care about my life, you just aren't consciously aware of that. Here, lemme fill up that vague empty yearning in your soul for ya.
1.) "CJ" and/or "Nick" are supposed to be at my house cutting my grass today at 2:30 pm, so even as I type. I got an email Saturday apprising me of this plan, with a request for a $25 check to be made out to "Nicholas So-n-so." Color me surprised. They don't want cash that can be conveniently not reported to their federal government? (Even Marcy likes when I give her cash, though I am quite sure she pays all her taxes.) Maybe this is some kind of attempt to steal my identity or something, but I think there are ways of doing that which would be easier than a pretend landscaping business. Anyway, since I am in work and unable to leave that early today, I told D he would have to answer the door and pay CJ/Nick. I thought he might/would probably protest that, but he seemed fine. We shall see how this all works out.
2.) My pitchers continue in their inability to remember how to pitch--I mean, dear god, Ubaldo is making the baby Jesus cry, and Felix Hernandez, AL Cy Young award winner, has worse stats than friggin' James Shields--and yet my band of losers are 3rd in my league in ERA. How this is possible, I dunno. Apparently everyone's pitchers have forgotten how to pitch. And if you look at the word "pitcher" long enough, it doesn't look like a word anymore!
3.) I have now found the proper combination of conditioner and lots of hairpins to keep my hair from looking like a woodland creature has taken up residence in it. Even at the beach yesterday it didn't frizz up too badly. (Yes, bitches, I went to the beach yesterday. That means our lil weather problem has resolved itself too, mmm? But it was too cold to go in the water.) Also, I wore my new shorts to the beach yesterday and they were satisfactory.
Don't you feel better now? More complete? You're welcome. I love you too.
xoxo
1.) "CJ" and/or "Nick" are supposed to be at my house cutting my grass today at 2:30 pm, so even as I type. I got an email Saturday apprising me of this plan, with a request for a $25 check to be made out to "Nicholas So-n-so." Color me surprised. They don't want cash that can be conveniently not reported to their federal government? (Even Marcy likes when I give her cash, though I am quite sure she pays all her taxes.) Maybe this is some kind of attempt to steal my identity or something, but I think there are ways of doing that which would be easier than a pretend landscaping business. Anyway, since I am in work and unable to leave that early today, I told D he would have to answer the door and pay CJ/Nick. I thought he might/would probably protest that, but he seemed fine. We shall see how this all works out.
2.) My pitchers continue in their inability to remember how to pitch--I mean, dear god, Ubaldo is making the baby Jesus cry, and Felix Hernandez, AL Cy Young award winner, has worse stats than friggin' James Shields--and yet my band of losers are 3rd in my league in ERA. How this is possible, I dunno. Apparently everyone's pitchers have forgotten how to pitch. And if you look at the word "pitcher" long enough, it doesn't look like a word anymore!
3.) I have now found the proper combination of conditioner and lots of hairpins to keep my hair from looking like a woodland creature has taken up residence in it. Even at the beach yesterday it didn't frizz up too badly. (Yes, bitches, I went to the beach yesterday. That means our lil weather problem has resolved itself too, mmm? But it was too cold to go in the water.) Also, I wore my new shorts to the beach yesterday and they were satisfactory.
Don't you feel better now? More complete? You're welcome. I love you too.
xoxo
Saturday, June 18, 2011
go the @!!&!#@%! to sleep
All of us who have been parents of infants and small children--hell, all of us who have even watched other people's infants and small children--know the incredible frustration engendered when, OMFG, you are so tired and they are wide awake. It is a nearly universal experience in child-raising, I think, unknown only to people with freakishly well-sleeping kids and women in those hunter-gatherer tribes where the baby is wrapped to the mother 24/7. (And even some of those hunter-gatherer chicks must occasionally think, "Can I not take this goddamned sling off and have a moment's peace to myself?")
In the spirit of this, a gentleman named Adam Mansbach has written a fairly brilliant takeoff on the "Goodnight, Moon" genre of children's books. You know, those books in which the storybook child says goodnight to various things and people until they are asleep at the end of the story and, theoretically, if you read it to your little cherub, they should be too. Well, Mr Mansbach is apparently aware of the gap between theory and real life.
I was apprised of his literary work some time ago, and I thought it was an amusing concept, but it was not until today when I heard, via someone else's blog, the book being read aloud by Samuel L Jackson, that I grasped its true brilliance. By which I mean to say, I laughed my fucking ass off. Listen for yourself.
This is particularly piquant to me because of what I do for a living. I may have mentioned, I need my little patients to sleep while I am testing. This has led to many many occasions where I am sitting at my computer, looking at a toddler three hours past their regular naptime or a preschooler who's been up since 4 am doing everything in their power to not give in and to indeed stay awake. And often in this situation, what is running through my mind like a mantra is, "Jesus Christ, will you please please PLEASE just go.the.fuck.to.sleep." I do not expect that to change anytime soon.
Now, however, the voice in my head will be Samuel L Jackson's.
Goodnight, moon! Goodnight, bitches!
xoxo
In the spirit of this, a gentleman named Adam Mansbach has written a fairly brilliant takeoff on the "Goodnight, Moon" genre of children's books. You know, those books in which the storybook child says goodnight to various things and people until they are asleep at the end of the story and, theoretically, if you read it to your little cherub, they should be too. Well, Mr Mansbach is apparently aware of the gap between theory and real life.
I was apprised of his literary work some time ago, and I thought it was an amusing concept, but it was not until today when I heard, via someone else's blog, the book being read aloud by Samuel L Jackson, that I grasped its true brilliance. By which I mean to say, I laughed my fucking ass off. Listen for yourself.
This is particularly piquant to me because of what I do for a living. I may have mentioned, I need my little patients to sleep while I am testing. This has led to many many occasions where I am sitting at my computer, looking at a toddler three hours past their regular naptime or a preschooler who's been up since 4 am doing everything in their power to not give in and to indeed stay awake. And often in this situation, what is running through my mind like a mantra is, "Jesus Christ, will you please please PLEASE just go.the.fuck.to.sleep." I do not expect that to change anytime soon.
Now, however, the voice in my head will be Samuel L Jackson's.
Goodnight, moon! Goodnight, bitches!
xoxo
Thursday, June 16, 2011
updates
Because whether you know it or not, you really do want them.
1.) Hiring a lawn guy off craigslist, part 2 and 3. So Tuesday, after bitching to you guys, I emailed a(n other) kid, who said he was a student at North Shore and was mowing lawns to pay for his summer classes. Not having learned much, apparently, from my Justin experience and still having it in my heart to subsidise the youth of America in their quest to get edujumacated, I emailed him with my location and the size of my lawn and asked if he would be interested in the job. Sure thing! he emails back. He does "his lawns" on Saturday mornings. How's this Saturday between 10 and 11 work for me? I write back and say that unfortunately I myself work on Saturdays, and does he have any other availability? I never receive a reply. Apparently, the lawn mowing business is brisk enough that the customer works to your schedule or they can fuck off! Good to know! Undaunted--okay, semi-daunted--I email another guy today. He has an actual business name. He does not claim he needs my money to finance his degree in anything. He answers my email immediately. (We'll call him "Chris" or "CJ" because he apparently answers to one or both of those.) He says he usually charges $30 for a lawn, but he can look at it, and if it's small, he'll charge $25. He promises to come by tomorrow afternoon between 3:30 and 4pm. We'll just see "Chris aka CJ", we'll just see.
2.) Today, for the first time in 9 days, my hair is behaving itself. It's in a ponytail and thus does not look what you might term "stunning" but it doesn't look like it was attacked by badgers either. Say a prayer to some deity or other that this trend will continue.
3.) We can all agree that it isn't raining out and that is a good thing. I am wearing a skirt and sandals today. And no hoodie. I hope your legs, feet, and head are enjoying similar freedom.
xoxo
1.) Hiring a lawn guy off craigslist, part 2 and 3. So Tuesday, after bitching to you guys, I emailed a(n other) kid, who said he was a student at North Shore and was mowing lawns to pay for his summer classes. Not having learned much, apparently, from my Justin experience and still having it in my heart to subsidise the youth of America in their quest to get edujumacated, I emailed him with my location and the size of my lawn and asked if he would be interested in the job. Sure thing! he emails back. He does "his lawns" on Saturday mornings. How's this Saturday between 10 and 11 work for me? I write back and say that unfortunately I myself work on Saturdays, and does he have any other availability? I never receive a reply. Apparently, the lawn mowing business is brisk enough that the customer works to your schedule or they can fuck off! Good to know! Undaunted--okay, semi-daunted--I email another guy today. He has an actual business name. He does not claim he needs my money to finance his degree in anything. He answers my email immediately. (We'll call him "Chris" or "CJ" because he apparently answers to one or both of those.) He says he usually charges $30 for a lawn, but he can look at it, and if it's small, he'll charge $25. He promises to come by tomorrow afternoon between 3:30 and 4pm. We'll just see "Chris aka CJ", we'll just see.
2.) Today, for the first time in 9 days, my hair is behaving itself. It's in a ponytail and thus does not look what you might term "stunning" but it doesn't look like it was attacked by badgers either. Say a prayer to some deity or other that this trend will continue.
3.) We can all agree that it isn't raining out and that is a good thing. I am wearing a skirt and sandals today. And no hoodie. I hope your legs, feet, and head are enjoying similar freedom.
xoxo
sports!
My putative Bruins jersey which I may or may not have looked sexeh in yesterday apparently did its job whether it exists or not. Congrats, Bruins and Bruins fans! It's a very happy occasion. I would, however, like to speak to the rioting in Vancouver. I thought Canadians were too polite for such things. My world view has shifted just a tiny bit. Huh.
Meanwhile, in other sports news, did you see Beckett almost throw a perfect game last night? No suspense, of course, because the one cheap infield hit came in the third inning, but that was it. No more hits and not a walk. It could have been a perfect game. That would have been extraordinary on the night the Bruins won the cup. We'd have all been in our dotage saying to our (putative, haha) great grandchildren, "I remember June 15, 2011. The night the Bs won the championship after a long 39 years of drought and Beckett pitched a perfect game. It was a wonderful day. Who are you, again, kid?"
And, finally, a basketball note. It has come to my attention that some guy for the Mavs had the NBA championship trophy tattooed upon his person prior to the beginning of the season. I salute his chutzpah and positive thinking, and I think it is very cool it worked out for him, but man, was that ever potentially embarrassing. Also, very risky in a team sport where no matter how much you train and practice and work and concentrate and give it 110% every time you set foot on the court, you have no control over what those other losers on your team do. But I wasn't following this at all really. The only thing I knew, thanks to my son, was that I was supposed to root for anyone--like if Satan was fielding a team, he'd be preferable--over Miami because of LeBron.
Now, I am of mixed feelings about hating sports stars for "abandoning" a team and its fans. I wonder how many of us would stay with our employer out of loyalty, no matter how much we love our boss or our co-workers or what we do, if we were offered a lot more money or opportunity elsewhere. I don't see how it is any different for pro athletes, just because they wear a uniform. It's their job, not a religion. I never understood the Johnny Damon hate when he went to the Yankees. The Sox would never have won in 2004 without him, and we, his fans then, should have respect and gratitude and fond feelings towards him for it. If he took a job with the competition because they were offering him a better deal, well, he's got a family to feed (and big screen TVs and sports cars and watercraft and such to buy--did you see his segment of MTV Cribs [oh, shut up]? if I remember correctly, he's got an actual lake in his backyard). On the other hand, nothing I have ever heard or seen about LeBron suggests anything other than that he's a giant (see what I did there?) douchebag, so the hate towards him is probably justified. So, yeah, anyway, I was rooting for the Mavs without even knowing about the tattoo guy, and I am glad it worked out.
And in fantasy sports? Anibal Sanchez, who is my sleeper pick this year, (and I just like saying his name), is apparently the new Felix Hernandez. In that he can leave the game with a healthy lead and then cry in the dugout as his "closer" blows the save. Okay, that was just yesterday and no pattern has been built up, but I'ma keep a close eye in case a suicide watch needs to be set up. My Jhoulys has been fucked by his bullpen as well, but they manage to stop just short of complete disaster. He doesn't need a suicide watch, just Tums.
That is all. For now.
xoxo
Meanwhile, in other sports news, did you see Beckett almost throw a perfect game last night? No suspense, of course, because the one cheap infield hit came in the third inning, but that was it. No more hits and not a walk. It could have been a perfect game. That would have been extraordinary on the night the Bruins won the cup. We'd have all been in our dotage saying to our (putative, haha) great grandchildren, "I remember June 15, 2011. The night the Bs won the championship after a long 39 years of drought and Beckett pitched a perfect game. It was a wonderful day. Who are you, again, kid?"
And, finally, a basketball note. It has come to my attention that some guy for the Mavs had the NBA championship trophy tattooed upon his person prior to the beginning of the season. I salute his chutzpah and positive thinking, and I think it is very cool it worked out for him, but man, was that ever potentially embarrassing. Also, very risky in a team sport where no matter how much you train and practice and work and concentrate and give it 110% every time you set foot on the court, you have no control over what those other losers on your team do. But I wasn't following this at all really. The only thing I knew, thanks to my son, was that I was supposed to root for anyone--like if Satan was fielding a team, he'd be preferable--over Miami because of LeBron.
Now, I am of mixed feelings about hating sports stars for "abandoning" a team and its fans. I wonder how many of us would stay with our employer out of loyalty, no matter how much we love our boss or our co-workers or what we do, if we were offered a lot more money or opportunity elsewhere. I don't see how it is any different for pro athletes, just because they wear a uniform. It's their job, not a religion. I never understood the Johnny Damon hate when he went to the Yankees. The Sox would never have won in 2004 without him, and we, his fans then, should have respect and gratitude and fond feelings towards him for it. If he took a job with the competition because they were offering him a better deal, well, he's got a family to feed (and big screen TVs and sports cars and watercraft and such to buy--did you see his segment of MTV Cribs [oh, shut up]? if I remember correctly, he's got an actual lake in his backyard). On the other hand, nothing I have ever heard or seen about LeBron suggests anything other than that he's a giant (see what I did there?) douchebag, so the hate towards him is probably justified. So, yeah, anyway, I was rooting for the Mavs without even knowing about the tattoo guy, and I am glad it worked out.
And in fantasy sports? Anibal Sanchez, who is my sleeper pick this year, (and I just like saying his name), is apparently the new Felix Hernandez. In that he can leave the game with a healthy lead and then cry in the dugout as his "closer" blows the save. Okay, that was just yesterday and no pattern has been built up, but I'ma keep a close eye in case a suicide watch needs to be set up. My Jhoulys has been fucked by his bullpen as well, but they manage to stop just short of complete disaster. He doesn't need a suicide watch, just Tums.
That is all. For now.
xoxo
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
regruntle me, please
I am in such a bad mood for so many reasons and, as is my usual, I would like to tell you people all about it. It's just like therapy, only without all the inconvenient, expensive copays.
So, what's the problem(s)?
1.) The weather. It sucks. I would detail for you all the ways it sucks, but you have windows. And if you don't live within 50 miles of me, you have The Weather Channel. So, suffice it to say, it sucks. As a by-product of this suckage, I give you:
2.) Do you know what happens when it rains, boys and girls? That's right! Grass grows! Weeds grow! Despite the fact that my man Justin cut my front yard 10 days ago, it is looking semi-jungle-like again. Since Justin and I have gone our separate ways, like any two sensible people in a dysfunctional relationship, that means one of two things must occur. I can attempt to see if my crappy lawn mower will start, and if it does, whether it will actually cut anything. Of course, the fact that the grass is continually wet makes this all the more problematic. Plus, as I have told you, the whole idea makes me want to throw up, I am so sick of the endlessness and futility of it. Or I can attempt to find someone who I can hire to take care of it weekly. I would love to do this, ut after my experience with Justin, this also makes me want to throw up.
3.) My hair. I do NOT know what this girl did when she cut it last week--it looked fine and even what I wanted when I walked out of that salon, but it has looked like absolute shit every day since, no matter what I attempt to do to it. Product before drying, product after drying, hairspray, flatiron, curling iron, conditioner A, conditioner B, old shampoo, new shampoo. None of it makes a difference. Even if i manage to make it look okay for five minutes before I leave the house, by the time I get to work (or wherever), it looks like shit again. It makes me feel unkempt, and ugly.
4.) Speaking of which. I took my midpoint progress pictures for my contest yesterday, and I am not pleased. Liz told me she was sure I was going to see improvement in them and be pleased. I do not and I am not. Or if I do see any, it is so very incremental it might as well be nothing. I have worked so diligently. I have eaten protein and more protein when "all I want is a piece of toast."
I have managed to put on three pounds since April 11 (four since March), some of which *has* to be muscle. Why does it not show up in my pics? And why do I care? Oh, I'll tell you why. Because I entered that damn competition, and while I am no super-competitive person who needs to win, I do need to not feel as if I am humiliating myself with my colossal failure. Which brings us to:
5.) Fucking fantasy baseball. That was going pretty good for a while, then it was going terrible, and then it was going better, and now we're right back to terrible. If one more of these fucking losers goes on the DL with an "oblique strain" or, y'know, a fucking hemorrhoid, I will not be responsible for my actions.
I think there was more, but I just ran out of complaining steam.
Let's end with some rainbows and kitten orgasms, 'k?
The Bruins are gonna win a Stanley Cup, the Red Sox would e so far in first place if they didn't fuck up all of April, and the pothole fairy came (really!) and mysteriously filled up the crater in my driveway with gravel. Also, I was right about where my MT last week went to school, because the massage place sent out a "meet our new therapists!" email today, which confirmed my suspicions. I like being right.
xoxo
Oh, yeah, 6.) the "b" key is sticking on this laptop still, causing me to have to correct like 5% of everything I type.
So, what's the problem(s)?
1.) The weather. It sucks. I would detail for you all the ways it sucks, but you have windows. And if you don't live within 50 miles of me, you have The Weather Channel. So, suffice it to say, it sucks. As a by-product of this suckage, I give you:
2.) Do you know what happens when it rains, boys and girls? That's right! Grass grows! Weeds grow! Despite the fact that my man Justin cut my front yard 10 days ago, it is looking semi-jungle-like again. Since Justin and I have gone our separate ways, like any two sensible people in a dysfunctional relationship, that means one of two things must occur. I can attempt to see if my crappy lawn mower will start, and if it does, whether it will actually cut anything. Of course, the fact that the grass is continually wet makes this all the more problematic. Plus, as I have told you, the whole idea makes me want to throw up, I am so sick of the endlessness and futility of it. Or I can attempt to find someone who I can hire to take care of it weekly. I would love to do this, ut after my experience with Justin, this also makes me want to throw up.
3.) My hair. I do NOT know what this girl did when she cut it last week--it looked fine and even what I wanted when I walked out of that salon, but it has looked like absolute shit every day since, no matter what I attempt to do to it. Product before drying, product after drying, hairspray, flatiron, curling iron, conditioner A, conditioner B, old shampoo, new shampoo. None of it makes a difference. Even if i manage to make it look okay for five minutes before I leave the house, by the time I get to work (or wherever), it looks like shit again. It makes me feel unkempt, and ugly.
4.) Speaking of which. I took my midpoint progress pictures for my contest yesterday, and I am not pleased. Liz told me she was sure I was going to see improvement in them and be pleased. I do not and I am not. Or if I do see any, it is so very incremental it might as well be nothing. I have worked so diligently. I have eaten protein and more protein when "all I want is a piece of toast."
I have managed to put on three pounds since April 11 (four since March), some of which *has* to be muscle. Why does it not show up in my pics? And why do I care? Oh, I'll tell you why. Because I entered that damn competition, and while I am no super-competitive person who needs to win, I do need to not feel as if I am humiliating myself with my colossal failure. Which brings us to:
5.) Fucking fantasy baseball. That was going pretty good for a while, then it was going terrible, and then it was going better, and now we're right back to terrible. If one more of these fucking losers goes on the DL with an "oblique strain" or, y'know, a fucking hemorrhoid, I will not be responsible for my actions.
I think there was more, but I just ran out of complaining steam.
Let's end with some rainbows and kitten orgasms, 'k?
The Bruins are gonna win a Stanley Cup, the Red Sox would e so far in first place if they didn't fuck up all of April, and the pothole fairy came (really!) and mysteriously filled up the crater in my driveway with gravel. Also, I was right about where my MT last week went to school, because the massage place sent out a "meet our new therapists!" email today, which confirmed my suspicions. I like being right.
xoxo
Oh, yeah, 6.) the "b" key is sticking on this laptop still, causing me to have to correct like 5% of everything I type.
Monday, June 13, 2011
also sid!
In this photo, he has me pinned to the sofa. I literally could not move. Also, please disregard my 12 year old Old Navy pj pants. They may be THE most embarrassing thing I've put on the internet, and that is saying a lot.
xoxo
body image post
I don't know if any of you have seen this, but it is a photo montage of female Olympic athletes. What is very cool about it is that it shows the wide range of body types even in women who are world-class athletes and are in peak physical condition. There is no one right way to look. There is no such thing as THE perfect body.
I need reminders 'cause I gotta take midpoint pictures for my contest this week, you understand. Heh.
xoxo
I need reminders 'cause I gotta take midpoint pictures for my contest this week, you understand. Heh.
xoxo
Friday, June 10, 2011
sorry
I didn't get around to pictures last night because a.) I was so freaked out about the possible killer thunderstorms knocking a tree down onto my house, thanks to the slavering TV weather guys whipping everyone up into a frenzy and the fact that a tree did actually fall into my driveway and almost onto my garage this winter, making it less a theoretical threat than it used to be and b.)my house felt like a steamroom, especially after I had to close the bathroom and my bedroom windows when the rain was coming in from that direction, a problem that could have been alleviated by putting on the A/C, but I'm trying really hard to avoid doing that.
Besides, our new temporary kitty likes to sit on the open windows and chillax. He does NOT claw at screens or attempt to pop them out so that he might escape, unlike certain other evil little felines (RIP). He is, in fact, a very mellow, lazy, fat cat. He does not chase things. D and I were trying to get him to run after one of Evil Kitty's old balls and he looked at it, and at us, like "are you fucking kidding me?" and stayed seated. I swear, though, pictures will be forthcoming.
In other news, bending my neck now just hurts in my pit and shoulder, not radiating down the whole arm, so (I think) that's good.
And, finally, for something completely different: does anyone have any experience with this type of solar powered garden type lights or similar? Now that "Justin" has made my patio area suitable for use by humans, and I dragged the bistro table and chairs out there, and Buddha is nestled amongst the rocks, it came to my attention the other night that there's a slight tiny problem. Even with the porch light on and candles on the bistro table, it's dark as hell out there at night. I don't want any of my friends breaking a leg trying to get to the bistro table or back into the house. Especially after I've plied them with alcohol. (Blender drinks at Andrea's this summer! You're invited!) So, those lights look cool, they're cheap, and the reviews are mostly good, but I'd like to hear from someone who's actually used them that the whole solar charging thing works and they are bright enough.
xoxo
Besides, our new temporary kitty likes to sit on the open windows and chillax. He does NOT claw at screens or attempt to pop them out so that he might escape, unlike certain other evil little felines (RIP). He is, in fact, a very mellow, lazy, fat cat. He does not chase things. D and I were trying to get him to run after one of Evil Kitty's old balls and he looked at it, and at us, like "are you fucking kidding me?" and stayed seated. I swear, though, pictures will be forthcoming.
In other news, bending my neck now just hurts in my pit and shoulder, not radiating down the whole arm, so (I think) that's good.
And, finally, for something completely different: does anyone have any experience with this type of solar powered garden type lights or similar? Now that "Justin" has made my patio area suitable for use by humans, and I dragged the bistro table and chairs out there, and Buddha is nestled amongst the rocks, it came to my attention the other night that there's a slight tiny problem. Even with the porch light on and candles on the bistro table, it's dark as hell out there at night. I don't want any of my friends breaking a leg trying to get to the bistro table or back into the house. Especially after I've plied them with alcohol. (Blender drinks at Andrea's this summer! You're invited!) So, those lights look cool, they're cheap, and the reviews are mostly good, but I'd like to hear from someone who's actually used them that the whole solar charging thing works and they are bright enough.
xoxo
Thursday, June 9, 2011
massage can't cure everything
...or can it? Dum dum DUM.
I don't remember how much I've told you people about my right arm. But if you already know all this, too bad. A little refresher never hurt anyone. Just think of it as "...previously on The Adventures..."
Two weeks ago my Superior Immune System failed me and I had, briefly (see, it's still superior), a very bad cold. Wednesday and Thursday of that week, I spent more or less all my time at home reading on my kindle and all my time at work quarantined in my office, using the mouse on this computer. I managed, with repetitive thumb motion, to give myself a nasty case of right elbow tendinitis by Memorial Day weekend. It really hurt, and I am not a pain wuss. I could feel the tendon inflamed, but it was also sending throbbing pain through my whole forearm, and less so, in the other direction up to my shoulder. I took lots of ibuprofen, kept icing it, slathered it with arnica, had Marcy put a magnet on it, and babied it in the gym, while giving massages, and in everyday life--kept off the damn kindle. By Thursday after Memorial Day, so a week or so after it started, it felt much better.
So last Thursday, with it feeling much better, I went to the gym to do cardio after work, and the half-assed abs that I do, and stretching. While on the mats, I had the brilliant (<--that's effing sarcasm, kids) idea to see if I could with, my newly-restored-to-health elbow, bust out some pushups. I know, I know. I got to number twelve, got an owwy in my shoulder and said to myself, shit, shouldn'ta oughtn'ta done that. But didn't think much of it.
Friday with my elbow feeling fine and my shoulder/upper arm just a tiny bit grumpy***, I went to the gym after work to lift. And seeing as how I am all peppy because I am bulking (heh) I shredded my legs, going up on almost all my lifts and doing a few things I really hate but really should be doing. When I went on to upper body, however, I was weak. My right arm, especially, was weak. I had to go down on some things, which never makes me happy. That's weird, I thought. I didn't even have to go down in weights when my elbow was acting up and now that it's better, I do? Huh. I attributed it to preexhausting myself with the killer leg workout.
Over the weekend my upper arm and shoulder were hurting, though nowhere NEAR the kind of pain the tendinitis had caused, and I'd occasionally get some tingling in my arm. What was more upsetting was that Sunday in the gym my right arm was even weaker. Oh fuck, I said to myself, you have done something very bad to your brachial plexis, you moron, you. Then I said, lalala, no I haven't, and I can't hear you.
On Monday I realized that when I flexed my neck, i.e. brought my chin to my chest, and reached a certain point in the movement, I would get a shooting pain and tingling in my armpit and down my right arm. Aha, a clue! I hauled out all my anatomy books to try to figure out exactly where my brachial plexis was getting impinged. I came to the conclusion that it was my scalenes. Your scalenes--there are three--are muscles on the side of your neck through which the brachial nerve passes, and one of their primary functions is neck flexion. This seemed curious because a.) I don't know what that had to do with the ill-fated set of pushups that appeared to start the whole thing and b.) my neck didn't feel any tighter to me than it usually does. I mean, M2 could tell you, my neck is never what one would call "not tight" but nothing seemed to be in spasm. My anatomy books also pointed to pec minor as a major culprit in brachial plexus compression and that seemed more likely: I went digging around under pec major and, yes, it felt pretty ouchy on palpation, and it seemed more likely to be injurable when doing pushup.
I decided to book a massage for Wednesday. I'm getting a massage from M2 in a couple weeks, but this seemed like I shouldn't wait. So I booked a massage I would actually have to pay money for. (I know, ::gasp::) I scheduled it with a guy at the place I had gone to on New Year's Eve, not knowing anything about him, just that his open time coordinated with the time I wanted to get my massage. Crapshoot. So off I went yesterday afternoon to tell him the tale of woe I just told you all. Less colorfully.
I have to say, for taking a crapshoot, I really liked this guy. I also was fairly sure, though I didn't ask, that he went to the same massage school I did. Just certain things he did and the order in which he did them were straight from our curriculum. But anyway, he thought my traps and levator were super tight and he spent a lot of time finding the trigger points in there and doing static compression. Also neck ROM and stretching, some of which was not comfortable. So what I liked about him was that he had a really nice quality to his touch and a really nice manner, such that even though he was doing all this NMT work which is semi-painful, I found myself dozing off at points in that way where you don't think you are sleeping but you find yourself with your thoughts a million miles away, then suddenly arouse and realize, oh yeah, I'm getting a massage.
Anyway, I tipped him very well and told him it was great, but I left feeling like while it was good, and that work on my trap and levator really needed to be done, it wasn't going to do much for the impingement. He didn't do any real specific scalene work nor did he go anywhere near my pec. (Which, honestly, male therapist, female client they don't know? They stay way away. Whereas M2 and I poke around in each other's armpits with abandon when necessary, completely without fear of accidental boob gropage.) My arm felt the same when I left as when I came in. Worth a try, I thought, but massage can't fix everything.
However! When I woke up this morning, I realized that flexing my neck, while still sending twinges into my armpit and down the arm, was NOT causing the same intensity of nerve pain and tingling. And my neck ROM was better too. Calming down those trigger points in my trap and levator apparently calmed down the scalenes as well.
The moral of this story? Go get a massage. Tip well. And when you injure yourself, do not do stupid-ass shit just because you "think" you're better. Rest is not a sin. Learn from my mistakes and successes, grasshoppers.
Also? I bought shorts yesterday! And we have a new (temporary) cat! There may be pictures of one or both of these things later.
xoxo
***That was my MT's phrase yesterday. When he'd find a trigger point and I'd wince or grunt, he'd say, "Is that grumpy?" I thought it was cute.
I don't remember how much I've told you people about my right arm. But if you already know all this, too bad. A little refresher never hurt anyone. Just think of it as "...previously on The Adventures..."
Two weeks ago my Superior Immune System failed me and I had, briefly (see, it's still superior), a very bad cold. Wednesday and Thursday of that week, I spent more or less all my time at home reading on my kindle and all my time at work quarantined in my office, using the mouse on this computer. I managed, with repetitive thumb motion, to give myself a nasty case of right elbow tendinitis by Memorial Day weekend. It really hurt, and I am not a pain wuss. I could feel the tendon inflamed, but it was also sending throbbing pain through my whole forearm, and less so, in the other direction up to my shoulder. I took lots of ibuprofen, kept icing it, slathered it with arnica, had Marcy put a magnet on it, and babied it in the gym, while giving massages, and in everyday life--kept off the damn kindle. By Thursday after Memorial Day, so a week or so after it started, it felt much better.
So last Thursday, with it feeling much better, I went to the gym to do cardio after work, and the half-assed abs that I do, and stretching. While on the mats, I had the brilliant (<--that's effing sarcasm, kids) idea to see if I could with, my newly-restored-to-health elbow, bust out some pushups. I know, I know. I got to number twelve, got an owwy in my shoulder and said to myself, shit, shouldn'ta oughtn'ta done that. But didn't think much of it.
Friday with my elbow feeling fine and my shoulder/upper arm just a tiny bit grumpy***, I went to the gym after work to lift. And seeing as how I am all peppy because I am bulking (heh) I shredded my legs, going up on almost all my lifts and doing a few things I really hate but really should be doing. When I went on to upper body, however, I was weak. My right arm, especially, was weak. I had to go down on some things, which never makes me happy. That's weird, I thought. I didn't even have to go down in weights when my elbow was acting up and now that it's better, I do? Huh. I attributed it to preexhausting myself with the killer leg workout.
Over the weekend my upper arm and shoulder were hurting, though nowhere NEAR the kind of pain the tendinitis had caused, and I'd occasionally get some tingling in my arm. What was more upsetting was that Sunday in the gym my right arm was even weaker. Oh fuck, I said to myself, you have done something very bad to your brachial plexis, you moron, you. Then I said, lalala, no I haven't, and I can't hear you.
On Monday I realized that when I flexed my neck, i.e. brought my chin to my chest, and reached a certain point in the movement, I would get a shooting pain and tingling in my armpit and down my right arm. Aha, a clue! I hauled out all my anatomy books to try to figure out exactly where my brachial plexis was getting impinged. I came to the conclusion that it was my scalenes. Your scalenes--there are three--are muscles on the side of your neck through which the brachial nerve passes, and one of their primary functions is neck flexion. This seemed curious because a.) I don't know what that had to do with the ill-fated set of pushups that appeared to start the whole thing and b.) my neck didn't feel any tighter to me than it usually does. I mean, M2 could tell you, my neck is never what one would call "not tight" but nothing seemed to be in spasm. My anatomy books also pointed to pec minor as a major culprit in brachial plexus compression and that seemed more likely: I went digging around under pec major and, yes, it felt pretty ouchy on palpation, and it seemed more likely to be injurable when doing pushup.
I decided to book a massage for Wednesday. I'm getting a massage from M2 in a couple weeks, but this seemed like I shouldn't wait. So I booked a massage I would actually have to pay money for. (I know, ::gasp::) I scheduled it with a guy at the place I had gone to on New Year's Eve, not knowing anything about him, just that his open time coordinated with the time I wanted to get my massage. Crapshoot. So off I went yesterday afternoon to tell him the tale of woe I just told you all. Less colorfully.
I have to say, for taking a crapshoot, I really liked this guy. I also was fairly sure, though I didn't ask, that he went to the same massage school I did. Just certain things he did and the order in which he did them were straight from our curriculum. But anyway, he thought my traps and levator were super tight and he spent a lot of time finding the trigger points in there and doing static compression. Also neck ROM and stretching, some of which was not comfortable. So what I liked about him was that he had a really nice quality to his touch and a really nice manner, such that even though he was doing all this NMT work which is semi-painful, I found myself dozing off at points in that way where you don't think you are sleeping but you find yourself with your thoughts a million miles away, then suddenly arouse and realize, oh yeah, I'm getting a massage.
Anyway, I tipped him very well and told him it was great, but I left feeling like while it was good, and that work on my trap and levator really needed to be done, it wasn't going to do much for the impingement. He didn't do any real specific scalene work nor did he go anywhere near my pec. (Which, honestly, male therapist, female client they don't know? They stay way away. Whereas M2 and I poke around in each other's armpits with abandon when necessary, completely without fear of accidental boob gropage.) My arm felt the same when I left as when I came in. Worth a try, I thought, but massage can't fix everything.
However! When I woke up this morning, I realized that flexing my neck, while still sending twinges into my armpit and down the arm, was NOT causing the same intensity of nerve pain and tingling. And my neck ROM was better too. Calming down those trigger points in my trap and levator apparently calmed down the scalenes as well.
The moral of this story? Go get a massage. Tip well. And when you injure yourself, do not do stupid-ass shit just because you "think" you're better. Rest is not a sin. Learn from my mistakes and successes, grasshoppers.
Also? I bought shorts yesterday! And we have a new (temporary) cat! There may be pictures of one or both of these things later.
xoxo
***That was my MT's phrase yesterday. When he'd find a trigger point and I'd wince or grunt, he'd say, "Is that grumpy?" I thought it was cute.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
riffing off the neighbors
Okay, kids, go read our friend and fellow Adventurer Uncle's post, if you haven't already, then come back. I'll wait.
Drumming my fingers.
Whistling.
How slow are you people?
Alrighty, here we go. I love when coincidence strikes, because I was remembering just yesterday--spurred by the sight of all the gentlemen out and about enjoying the nice weather--the little internet kerfluffle I caused several years ago, on what was mainly a dating site, more or less, by stating that men should not have pictures of themselves in shorts as their *main* profile picture. Even if they have quads to die for and calves of steel (both things which we chicks tend to dig on an aesthetic level.) My point being that no man looks dignified in shorts. Nor do they look sexy. Nothing wrong with wearing shorts, they serve their purpose, but for putting your best foot forward in attracting women, especially a certain type of woman? No. And, let it be said, naked pictures are even worse in that department. If no one looks dignified in shorts, do you think anyone looks dignified naked? And, as Uncle pointed out, most women do not see the naked male body as sexy either. We may appreciate it on an aesthetic level, but it isn't what's going to make us want to get you in bed in most cases.
So if you still think that posting or sending pictures of yourself in states of undress or semi-undress is the way to our hearts, or y'know, other parts, reconsider that strategy.
xoxo
Drumming my fingers.
Whistling.
How slow are you people?
Alrighty, here we go. I love when coincidence strikes, because I was remembering just yesterday--spurred by the sight of all the gentlemen out and about enjoying the nice weather--the little internet kerfluffle I caused several years ago, on what was mainly a dating site, more or less, by stating that men should not have pictures of themselves in shorts as their *main* profile picture. Even if they have quads to die for and calves of steel (both things which we chicks tend to dig on an aesthetic level.) My point being that no man looks dignified in shorts. Nor do they look sexy. Nothing wrong with wearing shorts, they serve their purpose, but for putting your best foot forward in attracting women, especially a certain type of woman? No. And, let it be said, naked pictures are even worse in that department. If no one looks dignified in shorts, do you think anyone looks dignified naked? And, as Uncle pointed out, most women do not see the naked male body as sexy either. We may appreciate it on an aesthetic level, but it isn't what's going to make us want to get you in bed in most cases.
So if you still think that posting or sending pictures of yourself in states of undress or semi-undress is the way to our hearts, or y'know, other parts, reconsider that strategy.
xoxo
Monday, June 6, 2011
things i have seen in my travels
...over the past 36 hours or so.
1.) Little girl on the bus with her young and douchebag-looking father. (I am sorry, but were we not making fun of K-Fed 5 years ago for the manpris that reached the crew socks and the sideways baseball cap? This dude apparently did not get the memo. I don't care how hiphop you think you are, dressing like that makes you look like an idiot. And that goes double if you are white. You want to emulate a rapper's style? Try Jay-Z. There is no occasion for which either a.) a simple black hoodie or b.) an extremely well-tailored suit is inappropriate.) ANYWAY, to my point, this little girl, maybe four or so, was absolutely adorable, but with a very grave and serious little face and manner. Kind of like I imagine, without any evidence thereof, that I was at that age. Her father was apparently offering/promising to take her to IHOP the next morning and asked if she would like pancakes. She would. What kind? "With a face. Wif the eyes..." Points to own eyes. "...the nose..." Ditto. "...and the mouf." And ditto. "I will share them wif you." I almost died of the cuteness. And in my evil, bitter heart, I could only think that this douchebag she wanted to lovingly share her pancakes with was gonna disappoint the hell out of her sooner or later. This is why clothing matters, kids. Don't present yourself in such a manner that strangers are forced to question your parenting skills and/or good intentions.
2.) My son almost walk in front of a bus. Not only did he scare the crap out of me and the bus driver, he traumatized the poor young woman next to us who was also trying to cross the street and who literally screamed when I had to grab him back onto the curb. Why did this happen? Because we were running a few minutes late to his appointment and he was so anxious about possibly being late--like five minutes late--that the second the traffic appeared to clear, he was going to cross against the light. Sigh.
3.) A small furniture store with signs in the window advertising living rooms, bedrooms, and dinning rooms. Now, considering the part of town where this store is located, it is entirely possible, maybe even probable, that English is not the first language of the owners of the business. But the sign company too? Is there no quality control these days? Has no one pointed this error out to them? And if they have, why have the owners not demanded the sign company fix it? Are they trying to make me upset? (Yes, it is all about me.)
Hope you are all enjoying your Monday. Don't be a douchebag, stay out of traffic, and use spellcheck!
xoxo
1.) Little girl on the bus with her young and douchebag-looking father. (I am sorry, but were we not making fun of K-Fed 5 years ago for the manpris that reached the crew socks and the sideways baseball cap? This dude apparently did not get the memo. I don't care how hiphop you think you are, dressing like that makes you look like an idiot. And that goes double if you are white. You want to emulate a rapper's style? Try Jay-Z. There is no occasion for which either a.) a simple black hoodie or b.) an extremely well-tailored suit is inappropriate.) ANYWAY, to my point, this little girl, maybe four or so, was absolutely adorable, but with a very grave and serious little face and manner. Kind of like I imagine, without any evidence thereof, that I was at that age. Her father was apparently offering/promising to take her to IHOP the next morning and asked if she would like pancakes. She would. What kind? "With a face. Wif the eyes..." Points to own eyes. "...the nose..." Ditto. "...and the mouf." And ditto. "I will share them wif you." I almost died of the cuteness. And in my evil, bitter heart, I could only think that this douchebag she wanted to lovingly share her pancakes with was gonna disappoint the hell out of her sooner or later. This is why clothing matters, kids. Don't present yourself in such a manner that strangers are forced to question your parenting skills and/or good intentions.
2.) My son almost walk in front of a bus. Not only did he scare the crap out of me and the bus driver, he traumatized the poor young woman next to us who was also trying to cross the street and who literally screamed when I had to grab him back onto the curb. Why did this happen? Because we were running a few minutes late to his appointment and he was so anxious about possibly being late--like five minutes late--that the second the traffic appeared to clear, he was going to cross against the light. Sigh.
3.) A small furniture store with signs in the window advertising living rooms, bedrooms, and dinning rooms. Now, considering the part of town where this store is located, it is entirely possible, maybe even probable, that English is not the first language of the owners of the business. But the sign company too? Is there no quality control these days? Has no one pointed this error out to them? And if they have, why have the owners not demanded the sign company fix it? Are they trying to make me upset? (Yes, it is all about me.)
Hope you are all enjoying your Monday. Don't be a douchebag, stay out of traffic, and use spellcheck!
xoxo
Sunday, June 5, 2011
ok! complaint time
Now that Justin is actually out back of my house with many power tools and bags of rock, and this whole sad, doomed project will indeed be completed today, I can move on to other areas of disgruntlement. Specifically, my inability to buy a pair of shorts.
If you've been paying attention, you will know that I bought a pair of shorts. Black, knee length cargo shorts to replace my favorite olive green knee length cargo shorts that I had to donate since they did not fit any longer. I am happy with my purchase. They are cute (in a lesbian massage therapist sorta way). They are comfortable. They fit perfectly. I've washed them a couple times and they do not appear to e prone to fading or shrinking. And since the old olive green pair always made my friend Mr Indemnity inappropriately comment on my ass--he just is unable to behave himself sometimes, even when it leads me to sticking forks in his arm in diners--I am assuming they have similar ass-flattering properties. So what is my problem?
My problem is that they just don't go with everything. Some of my foofy, boho, loose shirts need to be paired with a different sort of shorts for the proportions to look right. Denim shorts, more fitted to the leg, to be specific. And, because I am an old woman and old women do not under any circumstance belong in booty shorts no matter how freakin much they go to the gym, they should fall somewhere between mid-thigh and the knee. Do you think it is possible to find such a garment, even though I can picture it clearly in my head? The answer, surprisingly, would be "no."
I went to TJ Maxx and Target last night, to see what I could find. Here's my problem with that nice new TJ Maxx: they carry very few women's articles of clothing below a size 4. They had exactly 0 pairs of shorts in my size. I wandered over to the "juniors" department--i.e. the teenage girl clothes. There I found...booty shorts. What else? I managed to find two pairs of jeans shorts that were longer. Of course, I had *no* idea what size I wear in juniors. I held 'em up and decided on "5." Well, in the dressing room, one pair of size 5s, I couldn't even get up over my thighs. The other pair fit, even a touch loosely because they were stretchy, but had some truly ridiculous weird distressing on the backs of them. A little too close to the acid wash of 1988, thank you. So I bought a navy and gray striped maxi skirt instead, which is a departure because I never wear stripes and I never wear navy. It was only $15. And that's kinda like shorts, right? Shut up.
So I went to Tarzhay, where ALL the denim shorts were booty shorts. And so bought a new $30 toilet brush holder for my bathroom. That's like shorts, right? I said, shut up.
Maybe at some point this week, I'll get to the mall, but I'm pretty discouraged.
xoxo
If you've been paying attention, you will know that I bought a pair of shorts. Black, knee length cargo shorts to replace my favorite olive green knee length cargo shorts that I had to donate since they did not fit any longer. I am happy with my purchase. They are cute (in a lesbian massage therapist sorta way). They are comfortable. They fit perfectly. I've washed them a couple times and they do not appear to e prone to fading or shrinking. And since the old olive green pair always made my friend Mr Indemnity inappropriately comment on my ass--he just is unable to behave himself sometimes, even when it leads me to sticking forks in his arm in diners--I am assuming they have similar ass-flattering properties. So what is my problem?
My problem is that they just don't go with everything. Some of my foofy, boho, loose shirts need to be paired with a different sort of shorts for the proportions to look right. Denim shorts, more fitted to the leg, to be specific. And, because I am an old woman and old women do not under any circumstance belong in booty shorts no matter how freakin much they go to the gym, they should fall somewhere between mid-thigh and the knee. Do you think it is possible to find such a garment, even though I can picture it clearly in my head? The answer, surprisingly, would be "no."
I went to TJ Maxx and Target last night, to see what I could find. Here's my problem with that nice new TJ Maxx: they carry very few women's articles of clothing below a size 4. They had exactly 0 pairs of shorts in my size. I wandered over to the "juniors" department--i.e. the teenage girl clothes. There I found...booty shorts. What else? I managed to find two pairs of jeans shorts that were longer. Of course, I had *no* idea what size I wear in juniors. I held 'em up and decided on "5." Well, in the dressing room, one pair of size 5s, I couldn't even get up over my thighs. The other pair fit, even a touch loosely because they were stretchy, but had some truly ridiculous weird distressing on the backs of them. A little too close to the acid wash of 1988, thank you. So I bought a navy and gray striped maxi skirt instead, which is a departure because I never wear stripes and I never wear navy. It was only $15. And that's kinda like shorts, right? Shut up.
So I went to Tarzhay, where ALL the denim shorts were booty shorts. And so bought a new $30 toilet brush holder for my bathroom. That's like shorts, right? I said, shut up.
Maybe at some point this week, I'll get to the mall, but I'm pretty discouraged.
xoxo
language fail
As M2 and I were discussing recently, there's no term in the English language for "bad nostalgia." If nostalgia is the triggering of pleasant memories of the past which leads to a kind of wistful longing, then what do we call the triggering of sad or stressful memories of the past which leads to melancholy? There's no word for that. The closest thing I can think of is a flashback, but that's a more violent, immediate, and traumatic experience than what I mean.
What brought that up? Oh, M2 was asking how D is doing, and I said, apart from the new physical problem that's going to probably add yet another drug to the pillbox, quite well. M2--who in her life before massage school was, for quite a long time, a psych nurse and thus really knowledgeable about and tuned in to such things--said she knew he must be doing very well, because with what he's been through in the last year and a half (having to see his reputedly dying father comatose in the ICU, having said father promise to come back into his life and then reneging, finding his grandfather dead on the floor and having to call 911 and perform CPR, not to mention the death of his cat) it's remarkable that he hasn't decompensated and relapsed. Especially since he's lost so much of his support services--Cougar L, the visiting nurses.
And I said that it was now five years since that summer of the long, horrific, life-altering and life-saving hospital stay, and that the anniversary of his admission (i.e. the Monday after Mother's Day) had come and gone before I even actually realized it. That's how *I* know he's doing really well. This is the first year that I didn't have "bad nostalgia" before and on that anniversary. No horrible sadness and painful memories bubbling at the edges of my consciousness for days or weeks. Of course, I still am capable of that bad nostalgia when I think about it, but the immediacy of it, the all-encompassing power of those memories is blunted. And it's because, in large part, that I no longer fear the worst. I don't foresee a life of in-and-out-of-the-hospital, crisis after crisis, terrible mental pain, and ultimate suicide. No, my child's life will never be what it should have been, but I see, little by little, in tiny increments--and, sometimes, like in the man who called 911 and performed CPR on his grandfather, huge leaps--him coming back to himself.
Okay. In other news, I am going to kill "Justin" and you will probably see me on the news. On the one hand, I hear they have nice gyms in prison; on the other, they probably don't feed the inmates enough protein. So, y'know, when I do snap, I hope some of you will visit me and bring Muscle Milk (banana flavored, please).
xoxo
What brought that up? Oh, M2 was asking how D is doing, and I said, apart from the new physical problem that's going to probably add yet another drug to the pillbox, quite well. M2--who in her life before massage school was, for quite a long time, a psych nurse and thus really knowledgeable about and tuned in to such things--said she knew he must be doing very well, because with what he's been through in the last year and a half (having to see his reputedly dying father comatose in the ICU, having said father promise to come back into his life and then reneging, finding his grandfather dead on the floor and having to call 911 and perform CPR, not to mention the death of his cat) it's remarkable that he hasn't decompensated and relapsed. Especially since he's lost so much of his support services--Cougar L, the visiting nurses.
And I said that it was now five years since that summer of the long, horrific, life-altering and life-saving hospital stay, and that the anniversary of his admission (i.e. the Monday after Mother's Day) had come and gone before I even actually realized it. That's how *I* know he's doing really well. This is the first year that I didn't have "bad nostalgia" before and on that anniversary. No horrible sadness and painful memories bubbling at the edges of my consciousness for days or weeks. Of course, I still am capable of that bad nostalgia when I think about it, but the immediacy of it, the all-encompassing power of those memories is blunted. And it's because, in large part, that I no longer fear the worst. I don't foresee a life of in-and-out-of-the-hospital, crisis after crisis, terrible mental pain, and ultimate suicide. No, my child's life will never be what it should have been, but I see, little by little, in tiny increments--and, sometimes, like in the man who called 911 and performed CPR on his grandfather, huge leaps--him coming back to himself.
Okay. In other news, I am going to kill "Justin" and you will probably see me on the news. On the one hand, I hear they have nice gyms in prison; on the other, they probably don't feed the inmates enough protein. So, y'know, when I do snap, I hope some of you will visit me and bring Muscle Milk (banana flavored, please).
xoxo
Saturday, June 4, 2011
nancy's revenge
I'd like to say it's a reaction to the blatant disrespect of having the hitter ahead of him intentionally walked or shame over striking out four times in a row, but honestly? You know he's lazy. The damn game was going on too long and you know he just wanted to go have a cheeseburger and a couple beers.
Nevertheless, we'll take it. (Besides, I'm lazy too. Plenty o' days I can't wait to get the hell outta work myself.)
Also, kids? Papelbon's back on thin ice with me.
xoxo
Nevertheless, we'll take it. (Besides, I'm lazy too. Plenty o' days I can't wait to get the hell outta work myself.)
Also, kids? Papelbon's back on thin ice with me.
xoxo
Friday, June 3, 2011
want some (non)prison bus conversation?
Last night.
Dude #1: "I get woken up at 5:30 in the morning by that crazy bitch Unique*** yelling at me and punching me in the face with her bony little hands."
Dude #2 (obviously less worried about his friend being assaulted and/or sleep deprived than other more important matters): "Wait. You fucked Unique?"
Dude #1: "No, no, no. She just came in my room where I was sleeping, man, and started punching me."
Whew. Glad we got that cleared up. Sordid story of police coming, Unique absconding with Dude #1's property (which may have been drugs--see, these poor people *are* up to no good), rock being thrown at a car in which Unique was a passenger and landing in lap of person in no way involved, requiring heartfelt apologies, and plans for revenge best served cold.
This is why I don't need to watch TV. Real life is entertaining enough, yo.
xoxo
***There's a famous episode of MTV's True Life about young people who are responsible for supporting their entire families, one subject of which is a 19 year old girl named Unique from, like, Montana or Wyoming or somewhere, who after her mother's death, is supporting her younger siblings by working as an exotic dancer. In a cruel twist of fate, Unique, bestowed at birth with the perfect stripper name, takes a stripper name that is totally innocuous and non-stripper-like. Something along the lines of "Lauren" or "Kara", though I forget exactly. I do NOT think this is the same Unique, though it's always possible MTV girl moved east. She probably does have bony little fists. She was a small girl, if I remember correctly.
Dude #1: "I get woken up at 5:30 in the morning by that crazy bitch Unique*** yelling at me and punching me in the face with her bony little hands."
Dude #2 (obviously less worried about his friend being assaulted and/or sleep deprived than other more important matters): "Wait. You fucked Unique?"
Dude #1: "No, no, no. She just came in my room where I was sleeping, man, and started punching me."
Whew. Glad we got that cleared up. Sordid story of police coming, Unique absconding with Dude #1's property (which may have been drugs--see, these poor people *are* up to no good), rock being thrown at a car in which Unique was a passenger and landing in lap of person in no way involved, requiring heartfelt apologies, and plans for revenge best served cold.
This is why I don't need to watch TV. Real life is entertaining enough, yo.
xoxo
***There's a famous episode of MTV's True Life about young people who are responsible for supporting their entire families, one subject of which is a 19 year old girl named Unique from, like, Montana or Wyoming or somewhere, who after her mother's death, is supporting her younger siblings by working as an exotic dancer. In a cruel twist of fate, Unique, bestowed at birth with the perfect stripper name, takes a stripper name that is totally innocuous and non-stripper-like. Something along the lines of "Lauren" or "Kara", though I forget exactly. I do NOT think this is the same Unique, though it's always possible MTV girl moved east. She probably does have bony little fists. She was a small girl, if I remember correctly.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
actual substantive post NOW
They passed a new law in Florida, I hear. In order to receive welfare benefits, applicants will have to pass a drug test. Huh. I am, in general, a big opponent of any kind of random drug testing. If you are an air traffic controller or an Amtrak driver, I suppose it is in the public welfare that we all know you are sober on the job. But I don't really care what the kid who waits on me in Target does on his own time. I myself would never take a job that required a preemployment drug test, even though I would pass said test with flying colors. (I have a prescription for those benzos, muthafuckas.) But that's all tied in with my privacy obsession. Says the woman who seems compelled to post blog updates about her masturbation aids. Shut up.
ANYWAY, in the blurb I heard on the news this morning, the governor of Florida was quoted as saying the state shouldn't have to finance drug addicton. I thought that was an interesting way of putting it, and by interesting, I mean absolutely wrong. If you are going to medicalize the use of drugs and say that anyone who fails a drug test has an addiction problem, then yes, the government should be subsidizing those people. They have a disease that renders them possibly incapable of holding gainful employment. Isn't that what governmental aid is supposed to be *for*? Now, if we do NOT frame not passing a drug test as "addiction", well, maybe there's some point. If someone wishes to get welfare because they *could* take a job at Target, but won't, because they refuse to lay off the chronic long enough to pass the premployment drug test, maybe the state should refuse to send them a check. I dunno.
(But that reminds me of Trainspotting again. You know the scene where the guy has to go on the job interviews that the welfare office sets him up with or else he'll be kicked off the dole, but can't actually do well enough at the interviews to get the job, or he'll be kicked off the dole? And his ingenious, hilarious solution? Really, if you haven't seen that movie, go rent it right fucking now. It's brilliant.)
Where was I? Oh, so yeah, I can kinda see that. But I also can see many situations where someone's drug usage has absolutely no bearing on the fact that they don't or can't have a job and they need some help. Why should the state be penalizing them? If we're gonna say, oh! but they're involved in illegal activity, that's why the state shouldn't be cutting them a check! then why are we singling out use of illegal drugs? Refuse to give welfare to people with unpaid parking tickets. Make sure they don't jaywalk or drive over the speed limit! It's ridiculous.
Of course the real reason laws like this are passed is that it's morally suspect to be poor in America. If you're poor, you must be up to no good. And if you're poor and you're NOT up to no good? Well, prove it!
xoxo
ANYWAY, in the blurb I heard on the news this morning, the governor of Florida was quoted as saying the state shouldn't have to finance drug addicton. I thought that was an interesting way of putting it, and by interesting, I mean absolutely wrong. If you are going to medicalize the use of drugs and say that anyone who fails a drug test has an addiction problem, then yes, the government should be subsidizing those people. They have a disease that renders them possibly incapable of holding gainful employment. Isn't that what governmental aid is supposed to be *for*? Now, if we do NOT frame not passing a drug test as "addiction", well, maybe there's some point. If someone wishes to get welfare because they *could* take a job at Target, but won't, because they refuse to lay off the chronic long enough to pass the premployment drug test, maybe the state should refuse to send them a check. I dunno.
(But that reminds me of Trainspotting again. You know the scene where the guy has to go on the job interviews that the welfare office sets him up with or else he'll be kicked off the dole, but can't actually do well enough at the interviews to get the job, or he'll be kicked off the dole? And his ingenious, hilarious solution? Really, if you haven't seen that movie, go rent it right fucking now. It's brilliant.)
Where was I? Oh, so yeah, I can kinda see that. But I also can see many situations where someone's drug usage has absolutely no bearing on the fact that they don't or can't have a job and they need some help. Why should the state be penalizing them? If we're gonna say, oh! but they're involved in illegal activity, that's why the state shouldn't be cutting them a check! then why are we singling out use of illegal drugs? Refuse to give welfare to people with unpaid parking tickets. Make sure they don't jaywalk or drive over the speed limit! It's ridiculous.
Of course the real reason laws like this are passed is that it's morally suspect to be poor in America. If you're poor, you must be up to no good. And if you're poor and you're NOT up to no good? Well, prove it!
xoxo
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
ch-ch-checking in
Oh, hi, kids.
I've been busy. There's a lot I could tell you about. How I enjoyed the lovely long weekend: three actual days off in a row, great weather, lots of fun. How I managed to give myself elbow tendinitis *with the kindle*. (No, NOT reading pr0n. Just when I had my mucusfest last week and was too wiped out to do much of anything, I read a lot, and the repetitive right thumb motion just killed me.) How the massive amounts of ibuprofen I am taking to deal with the tendinitis (along with other measures: icing it, slathering it in arnica, trying to avoid straining my thumb and forearm further, magnetic therapy from Marcy) is causing me to retain so much fluid, I weigh *8* pounds more than I did two weeks ago (and yet my pants still fit!) The latest in the Justin saga--lucky for you, I already bitched to M2 about that today, while she unloaded about having gotten the worst massage in the history of massages, so you don't have to hear it. How, as further proof that I am losing it completely, I put an almost full carton of cream in the cabinet instead of the fridge and discovered it seven hours later when I was cooking dinner. My new shower curtain. My new convertible $15 Indian skirt/dress (I am still more Boho than thou.)
But you'll just have to use your imagination on all that. Stay away from tornados and other inclement weather. Go Bruins!
xoxo
I've been busy. There's a lot I could tell you about. How I enjoyed the lovely long weekend: three actual days off in a row, great weather, lots of fun. How I managed to give myself elbow tendinitis *with the kindle*. (No, NOT reading pr0n. Just when I had my mucusfest last week and was too wiped out to do much of anything, I read a lot, and the repetitive right thumb motion just killed me.) How the massive amounts of ibuprofen I am taking to deal with the tendinitis (along with other measures: icing it, slathering it in arnica, trying to avoid straining my thumb and forearm further, magnetic therapy from Marcy) is causing me to retain so much fluid, I weigh *8* pounds more than I did two weeks ago (and yet my pants still fit!) The latest in the Justin saga--lucky for you, I already bitched to M2 about that today, while she unloaded about having gotten the worst massage in the history of massages, so you don't have to hear it. How, as further proof that I am losing it completely, I put an almost full carton of cream in the cabinet instead of the fridge and discovered it seven hours later when I was cooking dinner. My new shower curtain. My new convertible $15 Indian skirt/dress (I am still more Boho than thou.)
But you'll just have to use your imagination on all that. Stay away from tornados and other inclement weather. Go Bruins!
xoxo
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