Sunday, April 30, 2006

Men and Comments

As a public service announcement: If you click on the "(random number) pieces of clothing on the floor," you will get a pop window with all the comments about the entry above it.

Mr. Crabbypants just thought that was a gauge of my anxiety level . . . or my chaos level. He thought when it said "0" I was having a good day and that my room was very clean. It in fact means that no one has made any comments about that particular writing. And while having a gauge of my level of chaos might be interesting, I would be embarassed by how high it was all the time, so I won't publish such things. I'm kind of afraid of what Mr. Crabbypants is now going to comment about, now that he has discovered this new function of blogging.

As an another aside, the "pieces of clothing on the floor" is a reference to my general disarray . . . not to any randiness. Get your minds out of the gutter.

Wasting Daylight

It's now 1:45 p.m. and I still haven't showered . . . or changed out of my pajamas. My father did wake me up at some ungodly time to announce that he was going to work (on Sunday?), which brought me back to my childhood. "Get up! You're wasting the day." He would announce when I was a teenager . . . and really wanted to waste the day, as there was nothing else to do in that God-forsaken town I grew up in, except watch the corn grow or get into trouble.

With my hair all askew, I have made Ramen noodles for my mother and I as lunch. Amazing how you sometimes crave the Ramen . . . especially if you don't have to eat Ramen, as I did for most of my twenties. My mother calls the Ramen fake chicken favor packets "goosh", as in two packets of noodles and one packet of "goosh". Now that we are full of Ramen, we might go get a fire ring (oooh, fire . . . ) and maybe a Nerd flurry or two. (Problem is: Nerd flurries are always too big, even if you get the small size. Nerd flurries need to come in their own special size because of their overt sweetness. Still way good though.) So wasting the day at Stately Wayne Manor . . .

Went and picked up my diamond, which mesmerizes me and I sit and play with it, so it sparkles. Miss talking to "imaginary boy" even though it's only been a day and half, so it's way too early to be going through withdrawal. My sister is going to make an offer on the dreamy house (way better than my house, and I am pouting) and we are going to look into "containment" options. Have to grade a pile of papers and get ready for the week but probably won't because sitting here "wasting the day" is too much fun. I'll let the lawn try and mow itself today (I know that won't work . . . but still.) And now it's 2 p.m.

Thank goodness it's light until 9 p.m.

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Concussion and Asbestos Angst

We managed to get to Kalamazoo on time and looked at four whole houses . . . with my sister AND Mr. Crabbypants in tow. It seemed like we found "the one", the house that you walk into and just know that you have to buy it. Perfect 1940's bungalow, with everything original . . . which is a plus for the decor, minus in terms of the furnace and electrical. But this house was so cool that the tribe was willing to overlook the furnace (and that never happens) (we might negotiate on a bad roof and give on the windows, but it has to be special for the furnace to be original). The cabinet hardware was the best I have ever seen and it had the original stove, which I so want to steal for my house. Cute as a button.

But then I just had to go into the attic. "Oh, M. this is bad . . . really bad." The insulation looked like kitty litter . . . and for some reason I know that kitty litter insulation somehow equals asbestos. It's like a gift. It was so sad, my sister and I in the little attic, looking down at the toxic kitty litter, which was going to be the deal breaker of the house. As I called for my mother and the realtor (CP was taking a nap in the jeep at this point), I was so distracted by the sad facts that I clocked my head on the top of the gnome door to the attic. HARD. So hard that I couldn't move. So hard that I just had to close my eyes to keep the stars from coming. So hard that I was slightly nauseous. So hard that I yelled "Monkey f@#ker" in front of my sister's realtor.

After recovering from the shock of my made-up swearing combination, the realtor assured us that it was "just vermiculite". She then made a big show of calling up her house inspector "John" who assured her on the phone that they still use vermiculite to insulate houses and that it was "perfectly safe" and "vermiculite is not asbestos". And I hoped she was right, because quite frankly, I didn't want to be right about the toxic kitty litter in this great perfect house. A house that June Cleaver would be proud of . . .

And this was all well and good, until we arrive back home and used the evil internet. All vermiculite produced before 1990 was gathered out of one mine (the Libby mine) which also had a huge vein of asbestos mixed through it. They didn't bother to remove it from the vermiculite because they didn't know . . . so any vermiculite you find mined before 1990 is potentially full of asbestos and therefore toxic cancer-causing kitty litter. You should be okay if you don't touch it or take a stick and poke at it (disturb the kitty litter) but then how do you sell the house to the next person?

So outdated furnace we can swallow . . . cancer-causing kitty litter, not so much. So now my sister gets to research how much a haz-mat team is. And these things are good to know.

My head still hurts too.

Family of Writing Techies

For those of you haven't recently . . . you should really read my mom's blog. It is really funny.

Bits of lint and cat hair.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Misnomer . . . or Just Average Smart

My mother was speaking about her possible future grandchildren last night at dinner. "I'm just afraid that your brother J.'s kids might regress to the mean . . . I just hope they're not disappointed, what with M so smart and J so smart. They might, you know, get a kid like you . . ."

"So what are you saying Mom? I'm not smart?"
"Well, you're average smart (looks at my face) . . . I mean you're really smart in a right brain kind of way but . . ."
"So you ARE saying that I'm not smart. Geez, Mom . . . "

So as it turns out, I'm not smart in my mother's opinion. Kinda ruins the whole name of the blog . . . any suggestions? Other than "Mymotherdoesn'tthinkI'mreallysmart.blogspot.com", because that's a little long.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

My Fancy Tulips

Thanks Mom! Posted by Picasa

Chihuly

Now with less sarcasm?

"Well most of your blog was about how you didn't have a life . . . so now you have one." Having a life makes one very tired. And doesn't leave much time to write. And lately, I haven't had much that I want to write about . . . well, nothing that I want to tell the entire internet about anyhow. Perhaps I'm too happy to blog?

Okay, the new music obsession is The Dresden Dolls, which I bought on a whim (because it was less than nine dollars . . . and therefore "free"). I had checked their stuff out before, but I really like the new album. I'm teaching English 10 next year . . . thus climbing slightly out of the primordial ooze that is high school English. It's like I've grown little stumps and crawled up on the sand. Or grown lungs. I need to dye my hair. My neighbor tells me that I'm doing a "great job" . . . I'm not sure what he means, at being a single woman? at mowing my lawn? at being friendly to him? Anyhow, I'm doing a "great job" at something.

See? This is just boring . . . no enchanting sarcasm . . . I feel so blocked, or edited. (I'm doing all the editing myself, by the way) What was that Nirvana line again?

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Oooh! A Sparkley!

So I went to the mall on Friday . . . had a nice lunch, went to the Gap, same old, same old. Walked by the engagement ring display (of the 4 thousand of them located in the mall) and paused a minute . . . thinking "hey, I may never really get one of these". And there was a little ache. It was the store where my first "real" boyfriend worked (when he finally graduated from high school) and even fifteen years later, I'm leery about standing too long in one place near it. (rumor is that he "went gay" and moved to California -- Good for you Guenter!)

Went to Marshall Field's simply because I had a coupon from the paper and was somehow genetically drawn to their fine jewelry counter also (theme of the day). I do like to look in the clearance section . . . gotta love "scratch and dent" gemstones. Of course, the lady swoops down, wanting you to try things on so you will hopefully fall in love and she will make the sale. I rebuff her and move on to the diamonds and then the emeralds . . . when I see "the ring". I had picked it out three years ago when my brother was shopping for engagement rings. Very 1920's looking, with filigree. It's a little high . . . and had an emerald instead of a diamond but I love that ring.

I don't know if it was the turning 35 angst . . . or the "be careful what you wish for" angst . . . but the lady was still there, hovering. "Do you have this ring (pointing on the glass at the emerald) with a diamond?" She did . . . and let me put it on and priced it for me. And I bought it. I hesitated, don't get me wrong. I looked at the clearance section again, tried on a nice ruby for less but still went with the diamond. Bought it and sent it off to be sized. It's little . . . only a quarter carat and I can wear it on my right hand . . . and I can be over the ring angst.

But then I had to shop with the ring gone for a week to be sized. I almost went back to get it . . . but went to J. Crew instead and then my mom called. Not the best influence about the sparklies, my mother. "A ruby for $200? You can't get a ruby for $200 . . . " she says.

They had the ruby in two matching rings, which I thought would be nice . . . we could have matching rings. She did give birth to me and all. So I went back and bought them both. Gave one to my mother as a "giving birth to me 35 years ago/Mother's day present". May be able to sucker my siblings into paying for some of it. If not, oh well. She's worth it . . . and it's super cute and it matches my hair. Didn't get it sized so I could wear it (and it needs to be sized) so I will drop it off when I pick up my diamond.

So I have Sparklies . . .

I don't suppose they get used up or go bad. Thank goodness I get a raise next year . . . at this rate, with the jet-setting and the fine jewelry, I'll never have a garage. I'm a "material girl", who knew?

Friday, April 21, 2006

It's Here

Despite the fact that I always tell the internet my birthday is on the 27th . . . it's here. I'm 35.

Of course, I'm going to tell everyone I'm 28. So this is "thirtysomething". It helps that I had a good time on my date yesterday . . . I haven't freaked out yet. Well, except for that projectile vomiting, being hung over for two days thing. And I guess I'm okay with being a whole Melissa-Ellen combo but I would really like Hope's house . . . and Michael Steadman.

Now that anyone under 35 has no idea what I'm talking about . . . I have the very big plans of going to the Secretary of State and the allergist. Maybe to Somerset for some shopping.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

In a Handbasket

Are we noticing a hell theme to the post lately? Wonder what that is about?

I am now on day two of the worst hangover in my entire life. Day two has been considerably better in that 1. there is no throwing up 2. there is no being trapped on a plane for six hours (with the possibility of throwing up) 3. I managed to get down some solid food.

Yes, yes, Vegas was fun. The last night was a little too fun, so I will be abstaining from alcohol for say . . . a year or two. At least. As Mr. Crabbypants said, "You're too old for that . . . how did that happen?" and I know you are all wondering . . . how did that happen? Well, first there was a phone call from school and a newspaper article and then there was some major self medication, with mixing and things that were "on the rocks", which looking back was so not a good phrase.

Princess and E2 are the greatest girls ever and they wrangled me with grace . . . which considering the damage I have done to my liver (did I mention that we are on day two of the hangover?) was not easy . . . or pleasant, I imagine. So now I am on the good girl plan.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Once Upon a Time

We all grew up listening to fairy tales. Fairy tales about how Prince Charming isn't always apparent in the form you meet him in . . . a frog, a beast, a underemployed web designer with two kids. And in those fairy tales, the protaganist . . . or princess, if you will, doesn't KNOW that he is really Prince Charming. And yet, it still works out in the end.

Saran Wrap Hat

I sit here discussing cheesecake recipes and music with my brother J, in my self-fashioned saran wrap hat (keeps some heat in), waiting for the blood red dye to set so I can annoy the housekeeping staffs of Vegas with pink stained pillowcases.

Later I will have to find something open so I can eat (Is Starbucks open on Easter Sunday?) and I am celebrating this lovely Christian holiday by again pretending to be Jewish and ignoring it totally. (I asked my mother if she wanted me to come over . . . "why bother?" was the reply. So much for family togetherness) I do have to mow the lawn . . . so maybe that can be seen as a celebration of the resurrection (in that I'm causing the grass to grow more? hmmm). I'm sure I'll probably use the Lord's name in vain a couple of times to get the lawnmower started.

So I'm definitely going to hell . . . at least that is my status today. In my saran wrap hat.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

These are going to be fantastically short

As I have to sneak onto a computer, between jobs at Stately Wayne Manor. Soon I will have to move the dining room furniture . . . again. Luckily, my mother vacuums VERY thoroughly so I have some time.

My parents are very much like a republican version of the Osbournes (I know I have brought this up before) and there is much swearing and the yelling of "Norma" loudly, instead of "Sharon". My mother does the same routine of alternating between ignoring her husband and kind of gentle patronizing that Sharon does to Ozzy. (by the way, they both read this) And amazingly, people look at us pretty much the same way in public, even though my parents are in Nautica wear instead of black and tattoos.

My father informs me that I have not "captured" the amusing and interesting quality of the pickle conversation. Something about the "spirit" of the conversation . . . or the pickles . . . or Walmart carrying the pickles, or something. Sorry I missed the mark. I'm sure you all wanted to be here, in person, to experience the pickle conversation firsthand. Perhaps my father should start blogging, so he could share these thoughts with the world firsthand. Don't get him started on the Oldsmobile minivan . . . they just should have started over if they wanted those specs.

The vacuuming has stopped. Have to go move furniture.

What is it we are waiting for?

"Do you have to be here to watch it print?" says Mr. Crabbypants, in an attempt to rush me to Costco because it's Saturday and we must have a Costco fix.

My taxes are done, for all those who were concerned. I am getting a big check from the federal government. My money, I know . . . but I was never much of a saver. Better to get it all in one chunk.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Selection of Pickles

It has been mentioned by two people this week that someone should just follow me around with a camera . . . so someone just needs to write up the package and send it to California, I guess.

Today, at dinner:

"Walmart has Heinz pickles now . . . "
Me (being ever so polite): "Oh?"
"Yeah, it makes me want to check at the Howell Walmart . . . they might have an even larger selection of Heinz pickles. Meijer used to have a great selection of Heinz pickles, but they don't carry them anymore. Heinz used to be big on the West side of the state, what with the pickle factory and all."

I had a whole conversation about pickles . . . and not just any pickles, Heinz pickles. It was like I was in a commerial. Or a bad episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond".

I haven't done my taxes yet . . . how's that for procrastination?

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Priceless

Coffee from cute Starbucks boy -- $3.55
Flight (non stop for Princess) and Hotel in Vegas -- $497.00
2 cans of Kilz for the dining room -- $15.87

Being on Spring Break as of 11:10 this morning . . . priceless.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Good Intentions Line the Road to Hell

Isn't it funny how I can pick one sentence from a conversation . . . a sentence that I did not react to at the time . . . and now loop precariously toward the death spiral about it. And I suppose I should just have another conversation, to clear everything up, but I don't want to. I don't want to know what it meant. I don't want to talk to anyone about anything at this moment.

The sentence was meaningless and nothing was meant by it. It wasn't malicious or hurtful . . . maybe just truthful, but it is now looping in my brain. It won't leave. I wasn't promised anything and everyone (especially M2 . . . thanks) has been very upfront about their thoughts. I suppose I will just have to let it play itself out. I will have to play with the various possible meanings and intentions until something turns off my head. I will have to mull and make jabs, turning the subtle impossible nuances over and over until I am utterly sick. All this for one sentence, which again probably meant absolutely nothing.

So yeah, that just sucks.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Procrastination

Despite my fear of the Asian manicure lady, I'm still finding ample opportunity to pick at my cuticles.

Spring break is in three and a half days and my brain feels like mashed potatoes. Still haven't done my taxes (which isn't to my advantage . . . I'm getting money back) and have these cockamamy plans that I'm going to do all this work on my house over break. Remember when I thought I was going to take all the plumbing apart in my bathroom and put in new cartidges and seals? Yeah, those "I have no water" plans, because we all know that I won't be able to get things back together once I take them apart (plus, all the parts are from 1949).

Mr. Crabbypants has cabin fever and therefore, is even crabbier than usual. Insists that he will be able to drive this week, which I think is a bad idea, but no one is asking me. Had a lovely time yesterday with my mother at the outlet mall.

It occurs to me that I probably need a bathing suit to sit by the pool in Vegas (it didn't occur to me that we could gamble until, like, yesterday though) and for some reason, the entire garment industry has decided that everyone should wear bikinis this season. So not only am I having a hard time finding something to wear, my anxiety level is growing about what I will have to see on other people at the pool. I would, quite frankly, skip the whole pool experience but I want to see Princess' face when I pull out the 45 SPF sunscreen.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

The Carver

A whole day of fashion and "personal beauty" (Princess' words, not mine). First to Target for shoes (flip-flops . . . you have to bring them, who knew?) and reading material (Vogue and Marie Claire), then to Coney Island (mmmm . . . coney island), and then to the nail place.

No one speaks English at the nail place, so there is no idle chit-chat . . . at least no chit-chat that I can understand. You have to "pick your color" first, a concept I did not understand but there is a rack of nail polish and you go to pick one. I don't know what happens if someone else has your chosen color, however I'm a novice, so I didn't have one to begin with. I chose "I'm Not Really A Waitress" from O.P.I., which I had coveted at the Target a few days ago. Got a manicure too.("Thank God", says Princess) ("Her cuticles were in rough shape.") So my nails are even . . . and bloody, which I don't think is supposed to happen. Evidently, if I come in every two weeks this will not happen next time. ("Considering that she eats her fingers, it was a wonder that the girl could do anything with them at all." Again, Princess.)

So while "carving out some friend time", as penance I also had my cuticles carved. Serves me right for opening my mouth. Did get some wicked good shoes for book club tonight though. Might be slightly cold and I'll have to read many books to not feel the pain of the heels but well worth the effort.

Have booked Vegas. Someone should warn them to be ready for us.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Must Remember

Must remember to stop writing random things on random pieces of paper and putting them into random piles, which I then give to people. Must keep more randomness to myself. Except for on this, of course.

Carving out some time . . .

I don't understand how people find time to date . . . or find time to date people they like. I'm exhausted, and slightly cranky (though Princess might argue about the "slightly", considering my behavior at the track meet today . . . but it was freakin' cold), haven't graded things that I was supposed to grade, and need to do major hair and nail maintenance. I've penciled this all in for tonight, plus a walk. Of course, it's already 10 p.m.

As I was making plans for this weekend, without thinking, stated to Princess that I was "carving out some time for her" . . . which I will not live down for weeks. Perhaps months.

Oh, and I'm going to Vegas for my birthday. Surreal, but Yippee!

Saturday, April 01, 2006

I am my Mother's Daughter

Maybe it's because my mother is (was) a home ec teacher. Maybe it's the damage from her being so "left brained" (a.k.a. anal retentive) that I had to have "outfits" and could only wear certain shirts with certain pants -- otherwise they fade in the wash differently, don't you know. But I only have one way to clean.

I cannot straighten. I used to be good at shoving things creatively into spaces that I thought my mother wouldn't check . . . under the bed, in the closet, the usual. I don't bother with that anymore now that I have my own house. I just step over it. But when I clean I do this obsessive "must clean under the couch" move everything, dust the ceiling, thing. Which I am in the middle of right now. Living room is almost done. Just have to do one more wall and vacuum one final time.

Then it will be on to the kitchen and bathroom. Maybe I'll have Princess come over next week to deal with the dining room, though I can't imagine her stripping furniture. It's too hard on the nails.

I do love my Dyson.