Friday, June 30, 2006
Why, for the love of GOD, were your wearing that thing in your hair?
I assume that you were trying to make your hair look fuller and longer. But whatever that thing was resembled neither the texture or weight of hair. Let alone come close to matching the color or shape of your hair. It look like a yarn and nylon craft project from a dunce student at Charlie Manson's School For the Psychotic and Demented.
That maternity dress was the cutest I have seen all spring though, and working at the chickiest place of all time I see a lot of maternity dresses.
Hope you have a lovely evening of eating the big old cartload of CARBS you were wheeling.
The Woman Who's Boobs Your Husband Was Staring At
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
When we were first together J and I went to sleep at the same time (God, that makes me sound both trampy and sedate, like we had sex right away but there was also SLEEPING). I got used to it. And being all schmoopy I just "couldn't" sleep if he wasn't around. Actually that is a total lie, I can always sleep once I get to sleep. You could rip the roof off of my house and I would probably keep sleeping. But I relaxed better when he was there and got to sleep faster.
Fast forward a few years and different schedules, add the two dogs and the damn cat and I am now very used to going to sleep alone. He gets up hours after I do so of course he comes to bed hours later too.
THIS SYSTEM WORKS FOR ME.
I get to spread out, have the pillows I like, read a little if I want to. Everything is MY WAY.
But lately he is so tired he has been coming to be earlier and earlier. And I just can't relax. He isn't doing anything, God knows he never talks or does anything, he is just there (and he brings his black dog of the damn RUNNING everywhere with him) and it is making me not sleep.
Separate bedrooms is starting to look fabulous.
Maybe we could have a third one to have sex in!
No one would have to sleep in the wet spot!
Houston, we have solved why everyone thinks they need five bedroom houses!
Of course if you have had a long day at work and are tired as hell and stressed about work and need to just relax and have a nice evening just do NOT watch this fucking movie. Unless you want to end up a sobbing mess who has no faith in the world and just keeps rocking back and forth in tears.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Darla was starting to look a little like a mop. Also, possessed by an evil demon (but, undoubtedly a demon with MILK BONES). She was starting to bring in all manner of twigs and mud and GOD HELP US shit in the dregs of her coat. Just clumps of weird unmentionable things (that I just mentioned) would get caught up in there.
She smelled. Like a bog. A bog filled with strange toads that like to wallow in rotten pig pus.
Oh were you eating?
Anyway, that is the smell that clung to her at night when she would climb into my bed with it's PRISTINE just bleached high-thread count sheets and that is just unacceptable.
So yesterday, I said the words that every man longs to hear, "Baby, I think it is high time we shaved the dachshund."
Once he recovered from his disappointment that I did not want to do some erotic shaving and other sexual acts but rather wanted to groom the dog we got right to work. Or rather I did and he sat on the couch and played video games. Whatever works. He did hold her down through the belly shaving which is when I think she lost her dignity.
I swear to GOD about ninety-eleven pounds of hair came off of that damn dog. Things were caught in it that an entire team of top biologists, archeologists and zoologists could not identify. A team of experts would have looked at that fur and said, "Nope, NO IDEA what that shit is."
Anyway, then she got a bath and the water only turned beige which is a relief because last time it was gray and I can only begin to imagine what has to be caught in her coat for the water to turn gray.
Then I took this picture. Notice how the demon has been exorcised from her eyes? She hates me now. And you too!
But she smells DELICIOUS.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Notice to the worker in cube 666*,
Welcome to your new seat! We are pleased to have you settle with us. You might have noticed that you are not sitting at all with your team, this is because they have requested you be on another floor. Preferably as far as possible from them as you make them batshit crazy. Rest assured we are certain that you will make your new neighbors crazy too, but there was really nowhere we could seat you.
The way that you can make sure you fit in immediately is to make as much noise as possible. Bang on your keyboard and desk while programs load on your computer, screech into the phone as many hours of the day as possible, complain loudly about your new job which you took voluntarily and are being paid quite of money to do.
DO NOT turn off the sound on your computer! People REALLY like that little email notification blip sounding every three seconds for eight hours a day. It is like MUSIC.
The most important thing is to speak in baby talk. We know you want to make a professional impression and the best way to do that is to speak to EVERYONE very slowly and ask them several times where the "potty" is. If you can't think of a way to work the word potty into the conversation than just imitate two year olds. It is ENDEARING.
Welcome aboard! We have a pool going on when you the first person bludgeons you with a three hole punch. Try not to bleed on the carpet!
The Welcome Wagon
PS. We chose July 3rd so if you don't mind.
*Actually, she is quite lovely and I am already growing used to her. Though she doesn't EXIST at all and is in fact totally made up. Mostly. Of course. DON'T DOOCE ME.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The truth is that neither of us is so terrible. Especially not her because she is MUCH better about calling our grandparents. They are old. They don't always understand you when you talk to them. My grandpa kept deleting my emails because he doesn't recognize my married name (and really cannot fathom why I stopped using the very twee nickname I went by when I was five). I love my grandparents, but it is just HARD. This is a reminder though, that it is worth the effort. That we need to do it now while we still can.
There are so many things I want to say to both my grandparents but I cannot think of a way to do it. Not without sounding like I am delivering the eulogy at their funerals while they are still alive.
I want to say thank you. For loving me and loving my sister so much. Thank you for playing ten thousand games of Candy Land. For cutting my bangs straight again after I butchered them again so my dad wouldn't find out. Thank you for the ice cream eating contests and the eighteen bedroom sets in your basement that you always let the kids play on. Thank you for having a GEORGE WASHINGTON themed bedroom. Thank you for Golden Glow*.
Every child deserves some one to think that they are perfect and to love them beyond reason. Your parents can't think you are perfect because they need you to push you to become more, to grow. Your parents have to see your flaws. But my grandparents just loved us and treasured us and would do anything for us. Every child deserves that but we are fortunate to have it even today.
We have much more to lose than other people. And we know we are going to lose it soon. But not today and that is the important thing.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Our dogs were in the dugout and being delightfully (and alarmingly) well-behaved. Our team was playing well, even hitting. The team we were playing had been undefeated all season but we were still in the game. And then it happened.
One of our best hitters hit a line drive way back, past the outfielders and onto the running trail behind the park. An asshole who was running by actually PICKED UP THE BALL and threw it in. UH HEY ASSHOLE WE ARE PLAYING A GAME. He had actually scored by then but the ump made him go back to third because of interference. Again THANKS ASS I KNOW THEIR CENTERFIELDER IS REAL PRETTY BUT GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.
He scored anyway so it didn't change the game. Except it did. Because when he got into the dug out and said, "I can't believe that guy Jewed me out of a homerun."
And that changed the game for me.
We kept playing, and couldn't really say much. But it really wasn't a fun day at the park anymore. I just wanted to go home.
I think we made a mistake. We chose not to say anything, we didn't want to ruin everyone's afternoon (obviously I do not give a shit about this guy's afternoon but the rest of the team didn't do anything). We should have jumped up and shouted. We should have done something.
It is hard to understand why we didn't.
Or maybe it isn't.
Because J put it pretty plainly in the car. Neither of us think the guy is anti-Semitic. It is pretty plausible that he didn't really think about the phrase (which honestly is worse because FUCK y'all, would you just drop any other racial slur?) but what if he is? What if one of us said something and he said that it is a free country and he can say what he wants (I know that is totally a fifth grade response but that is about his grade level).
Well if he did that we would have to leave. I couldn't have played. The team would have had to forfeit.
Instead we just said something to the manager at the end of the game. About how he should talk to the guy before the summer season starts or he is going to run into some problems with us. The manager half-heartedly apologized. I think he thought we were being too sensitive. Apparently Jews are just supposed to take that shit, just the way women are supposed to deal with sexist jokes and crude remarks.
But I feel differently about the day now.
I feel differently about the team and about the manager and about everything. And I feel differently about myself. I imagine myself as the kind of person that stands up for herself. And now I know differently.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
I am a domestic GODDESS.
Except not really.
I mean it worked out just fine, both dinners were good and I felt highly efficient. But I moved out of my parents house almost ten years ago and I still do not feel like I have this whole running my own house thing licked.
I actually like cooking. It is part pigging out part science experiment and who can argue with that. Especially since I can drink wine while doing it. It is the meal planning and the cleaning and the fucking dishes afterwards that I hate.
And I really hate that somehow it is my job.
This is not because J secretly expects me to do it. That he publicly talks about equality in marriage and then privately beats me with a stick until I make him a pie or something. It is just that he is a master of some husband games. Especially the one where he just doesn't do it because he knows, at least subconsciously, I will take care of it for him.
And I do. And the sick thing is that there is a deep dark part of me, a place that is too ugly and small and HIDDEN to even talk about, enjoys being able to do that.
Oh god, my college self just put a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. That was just too much for her to take.
It is too much for me to take. But you know, there is something deeply satisfying about having steam cleaned floors. There is something about being able to cook two meals at once.
But don't tell anyone.
Monday, June 12, 2006
They require talking to strange people and eating politely and not drinking too much and SMILING and MY GOD I do none of those things well.
I am an introvert.
I am supposed to be ashamed of that. I am a little, I guess, except that I mean introverts are people too y'all.
I wasn't always this way. Actually I was, I just did, and still do sometimes, have times when I don't feel introverted. This happens daily, I feel comfortable and happy and just chat away with any old person. So really I am not an introvert I am just difficult because I only hate talking to people when I have to.
This is not making me look as good and normal and sympathetic as I might have hoped.
J and I went to a party on Saturday. Full of big scary grown ups and millions of small children. We were the youngest couple there and the only ones without kids and it seemed most of the women stayed home with their kids so we had nothing to talk about and oh my GOD I HATE TALKING TO GROUPS OF WOMEN ANYWAY. So yeah.
They were all so nice. Not one bratty comment about when were we going to have a kid or anything.
But yeah, terrifying. And also not fun. Remember when parties were fun? When you drank too many margaritas and made out with that one guy who NOW you realized looked like a rat and was like balding at 27 but damn he was a dreamy photographer then and his hairline made him seem sensitive.
At any rate adult parties are just not that rocking a time which explains why we do not have them anymore.
And then I got cornered.
This has happened before but I honestly thought this woman was going to attack me, rip the flesh off of me and then pick her teeth with my bones.
I work for a fairly well-known fashion oriented company. I do not design, sell, market or have anything to do with whatsoever apparel for teenaged girls. So PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF WHATEVER DEITY YOU WORSHIP do not corner me so you can berate me about how stores only sell "slutware" especially when the twelve year old girl in question is attending a BBQ type party on a seventy-five degree day in a turtle neck on some high-waisted pleated pants that gave her mom ass. I do not know how you made that child look older and dowdier than my fifty-nine year old mother but you managed it. So your goal of making her as modest and chaste looking as possible is successful! Please don't screech in my ear about how the platform shoes they sell for girls is going to be the downfall of civilization as we know it due to the deterioration of the skeletal system. Please notice that I am wearing high heeled shoes. And low rise jeans. You have just made it clear that you think I dress like a whore and am trying to corrupt your daughter's posture and her morals!
I think you now understand why I no longer leave my house.
Lesson learned. Or rather affirmed.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
I didn't take this picture today.
It is from last weekend at the beach near my parents' house.
But today was a crazy busy day with lots of cleaning and a party (and DAYAM another one tomorrow do people not KNOW we do not go anywhere?).
Anyway, I am spent so this photo is it.
Friday, June 09, 2006
J and I have been invited to a wedding. One where we know neither the bride nor the groom.
We might as well call Sherlock Holmes because honestly I don't think we even know a soul who has ever lived in the town that these two are from. Their names are distinctive and we don't anyone with them. The save the date magnet came addressed to Mr. and Mrs. J Lastname, which really isn't a very uncommon name so it is probably a case of mistaken identity.
That doesn't stop me for coming up with stories for both of them. How the groom is J's long lost pre-school classmate that he rescued from the top of the jungle gym and now J is to give a rousing toast! How I know the bride from sixth grade camp! We both kissed the same boy and then got into a cat fight and ripped each other's hair out! They are a couple we met in the line at Home Depot! Who have mysteriously moved to Texas!
Worst thing is, no return address since it is just a save the date card so we can't even alert them to their mistake.
Not that it is a mistake, I am sure he is my fifth cousin on my father's side. In which case I suppose we will attend.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
If you read anything of her history and her struggle to get to today and you still do not cry? Then you must have had your tear ducts removed.
Bitch, just because you have a backpack on GOD KNOWS what else does not mean you get another seat on the damn bus during commuter hours. And rolling your eyes and flipping me attitude just makes DAMN SURE that I am sitting in that seat. Step off the entitlement train before I smack the living shit out of you.
Dear It Department of My Workplace That I Want To Continue To Work For So Don't Dooce Me,
Getting the fucking stick out of your ass and fix the problem. If you can't manage that then replace the goddamn machine. Do not belittle the very nice and easily intimidated man that is asking for your help. I am trying to be a professional here don't make me chuck his fucking machine out the window to get a resolution here.
Please start winning and stop torturing me and my grandpa. I know this is too much to ask but I am still begging.
Please fucking move it along, you are TOO LONG.
Dear Sinus Cavity,
Stop dumping shit down my throat. It hurts, it is making me crabby and still my voice is not sexy like Kathleen Turner's. I just want to breathe DAMN IT.
Dear Pile Of Laundry,
Could you just fucking do yourself please? Just sitting there all accusing is helping no one. Learn some self direction.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Sadly, she sorely misunderstood the intent behind a gag gift and was wearing the bow. Wearing it in public.
And then I saw it. A huge bug crawling around and around the fucking turquoise bow. It just kept circling around and around the ribbon trim. It was too large (I think) to be a louse but my head started to itch just looking at it.
And what could I do. Flick it off? That is what I would want some one to do for me, but you know people are funny about personal space and that would also involve me TOUCHING THE GROSS BUG AND EW. I mean I know it is for the Greater Good and all but I mean.
I could tell her. And I really did think about that, but maybe she would think that I was saying HI DIRTY LADY WHY DON'T YOU DE-LOUSE YOURSELF BEFORE GETTING ON THE FUCKING BUS YOU FILTHY NASTY THING? Because I wouldn't actually mean that. While her outfit looks like a reject from the Big Love costume trailer that is no reason to believe she is a big bug factory.
Then I noticed a giant, puss-filled GROWTH on the back of her ear and I blacked out.
I don't mean that I actually passed out at the sight of such a thing, I just mean that my mind had just been through TOO MUCH for the bus ride and decided to save me from the memories.
I wonder if they sell lye shower gel.