you lousy mammals

2008-07-07T22:36:00.002-04:00

But the ocean ain't whiskey and I ain't a duck

As I was teetering on a ladder carefully painting the edge of a wall, it struck me how this will be one of those stories where we'll look back and laaaaaaaugh. "Oh," I'll chortle, "One time, long, long ago, before the mutant wars, I had to make a thing called a condominium look like a West Elm catalog in order to convince someone else to buy it!"

"What's a West Elm, grandma?" the kiddies will say. "I thought trees were illegal now?"

Then I will tell them about arranging vases of dried sticks, and they will laugh at me and ask me to tell them the story of how I lost my eye at IKEA. We will all relax in our hovel until the radiation winds kick up. One of the skins from the mutants I killed over a'ter holler will blow off, and we'll have to make due with some tattered Pottery Barn catalogs to cover the hole.

The kiddies will drift off to sleep, muttering "And you could get meatballs at this place called IKEA? Made from animals?"

In other news, the secret to trimming a ybab's nails seems to be singing "Rye Whiskey" over and over again. I was trying to get Mr. H to join in on "Alabama Song," and then "Mack the Knife," but he is not familiar with those works. He didn't even know "Rye Whiskey," but it's simple enough to jump in at any time.

2008-07-06T14:29:00.004-04:00

This is just to rub it in

1. I am always right
2. Don't even bother
3. My Saturn return starts in 3 weeks, so you better step!
4. I need attractive and inexpensive under-cabinet lighting
5. Like I need a hole in my head
6. I couldn't tell you if things are any better
7. Maybe they are not worse
8. Could we agree on a bench?
9. See number 1

2008-06-20T09:37:00.003-04:00

I am not who I think I am

Apparently, I managed to buy $220 worth of gas at a place in the Bronx that also hosts a check cashing place starting on the same day I bought groceries at Whole Foods in Massachusetts. I guess I *could* have nipped on down and returned in time for a ybab's birthday party, stomach virus and all, but eh. And sure, my H2 is expensive to fill, but I have never spent more than $60 on a tank thus far, and I only fill up once a month since we walk to stuff. The plot thickens. Could it be that someone is playing funsies with me? I cannot imagine. According to the helpful American Express representative, these were pay-at-the-pump transactions, so I must have physically been there, buying $75 worth of gas once a day for three days running. There is no chance, none whatsoever, that my card details were re-encoded on a new card, or that some shady fucker has a shady fucker of a friend who works at a gas station/payday loan place in the Bronx.

I have got to get off the Ambien. If I can't stay out of the Bronx, what's next? Sleep fucking in order to get the hobo semen necessary to join the Gloucester High pregnancy pact? I have a few things to say to those poor girls: meet my ybab. I took her to her two-year-old well visit the other day, and she screamed and wrapped her legs around my waist like a monkey and would not stand on the scale. She fell asleep from sheer rage in the exam room, and thus and only thus was the doctor able to physically approach her and listen to her lungs and look in her ears. Perhaps my special purpose is to do ybab "Baby Think It Over" demos around the state.

Of course the "pregnate" issue is being muddled in with birth control access. Birth control access = good, as far as I am concerned (and I make sure to access it as much as possible), but what do you do about a fifteen-year-old who thinks having a child is a good idea? They are not interested in using birth control. Women may control their bodies, but deeeeeee-amn. Shee-it. What a mess. I also don't understand the concept that there is only one dead-end community to live in for the rest of your life in all this great land. Why, move to Lowell! You could work at the CVS favored by 90% of the city's methadone users and steal my credit card info from the Express Pay reader. And my ybab will have a fit on the floor and then bite you.

2008-06-15T20:06:00.003-04:00

Where does one begin?

One could begin last week, when one spent a fair amount of time sitting on the toilet while barfing in a Halloween pumpkin bucket (don't you keep one handy to play with in your bath tub?), or one could begin two years ago tonight, when one was flippantly out for a pasta dinner while in labor, unaware of dire twists and impending abdominal surgery, but at any rate, one could say it has been a most intriguing run-up to this year's ybab birthday celebration.

Martha Stewart be damned! Martha Stewart would have known to pencil in "salmonella," and she would have hired someone to get sick for her and her entire household. That person would have barfed in a hand-turned ceramic bucket with a pleasing shade not unlike the egg of a young Buff Orpington. Then Martha would have been free to make a monkey cake with a face fully articulated by sixteen colors of buttercream icing. A ybab has an incredibly long memory when promised a monkey cake, so a monkey cake was obtained through back channels. I am ashamed to say what actually took place. It may have contained real monkey.

At least I had the foresight to have cart loads of toys arrive UPS in the days leading up to ybab's birthday, so once she was feeling better just as I was becoming completely incapacitated, she was able to enjoy learning to use a box cutter and diving into piles of bubble wrap. It was like her birthday all week! And so efficient. I will never wrap again.

My parents are also in town, which is a story in itself for another time. They arrived one morning wearing matching lime green shirts, but not exactly matching: one was more of a kiwi than a lime. "Did you feel I was not already sufficiently nauseated?" I asked. "Oh, we didn't plan it." "But surely you looked at each other before you left the hotel room?" This line of questioning was fruitless because my sister had told me about the matching lime green shirts making an appearance weeks ago. They know exactly what they are doing!

And they would be the only ones to know what they are doing, but somehow Mr. H and I rallied and pulled off a birthday party. Mr. Whole Foods may have helped. For my re-entry to solid food, I went with sangria. Vitamin C is good for what ails you. A good time was had by 100% of the ybabs who live in my house, and a cat has barfed a festive coil of pink ribbon, so we will count this as successful, even though the poor monkey is never getting back from space.

2008-06-06T10:46:00.002-04:00

Pre, post, and currently traumatic

Internet, you jerk. I am trying to decide if I should go back to the therapist I saw last year or the year before or maybe the year before that for Wanting to Throw the Ybab in the River Syndrome. I want to throw the ybab in the river again. I am starting to think this is a personality flaw on her part, not mine. Can you have a two-year-old treated for Total Asshole Syndrome? Is there some kind of off-label use for animal tranquilizer everyone else is in on but me? I am so sorry that jerkism is hereditary. It is really biting me in the patootie.

But anyway, the therapist I saw back whenever that was happens to drink lots of soda with real calories, and that used to disturb me to no end. And I couldn't just tell her that (because I'd sound crazy, wokka wokka), but jeez, I can't watch someone drink two Mountain Dews or Pepsis in a row at 10AM. Am I really that boring with my petty neuroses that the woman has to prop her eyelids up with toothpicks? Don't answer that.

I idly considered finding a new therapist, maybe one of those fancy CBT ones who will snap me with a rubberband every time I consider peeing on the floor. I wonder how therapists of that ilk feel about how cock and ball torture comes up ahead of their professional organization in the Google? Does this give them a complex? Do they just move their no-complainy bracelet to the other wrist and blithely move on? I'd like to know what that's like. I require a full day of rumination if someone is a little hasty at a 4-way stop! And do not even talk to me about the grocery store. I couldn't find the wheat germ. It was awful.

Oh well, if I can't have low calorie mental health, at least I finally convinced someone at Saab to put a new liger on the back of the car. Someone stole the original one! Can you imagine? What must they be doing with it?

2008-05-22T22:52:00.002-04:00

Gorgeous ladies of Craigslist

It's that time of year where I troll for summer help on Craigslist, a process not unlike slamming your head in a storm door. The storm door emails you in pink capital letters, eschews punctuation completely, and inquires "What is this job for? How much does it pay? When do you need me to start? Why am I emailing you again? A/S/L? Is it OK if I commute from another state? Is it OK if I am only 12? Gas is expensive: can you pay more than you stated you would in order to assist me in my unreasonable commute to your town?"

Well, you get the idea. Pesky storm door. It's only a slight deviation from the "selling something on Craigslist" response template. Of course some people shock me by being competent! I don't know what to do with that! I fear success! But not exclamation points.

My personal formula for Results seems to be "email address with some combo of numbers or xnamex" + "lack of standard English" = "hilarious inappropriate Myspace profile." Do people really think that a prospective employer can find Craigslist but not Facebook and Myspace? Is it that hard to refrain from putting a photo of your butt smoking a cigarette on a public website? The formula is never wrong.

I keep forgetting to call about the results for my back scab hole. Wouldn't they call me if something were awry? Surely this is need-to-know stuff. Uh, it's not getting any smaller. Does skin stop regrowing at a certain age? After all, this year I will be 25 again.

Also, ybab said "Go to store. Buy cake." Uh, twist my arm!

2008-05-21T11:06:00.004-04:00

If, when, why, what?

My ass has been kiting checks again, if you know what I mean. And I hope you don't. I have a series of impossible choose-your-own-adventure dealings with which to deal. Please pull up a chair.

The largest problem is probably our ridiculous living situation. Let me tell you it: we live in a beard of bees. No, we live in a loft in a charming old mill with a recycling program and a contentious owner message board, steps from a body of water that did not even flood this year, a lovely park, and old world charm-y cobblestone streets! There are now restaurants where you can get shiso on everything, if that is a kind of thing you like.

In short, my lovely home is a fantastic place for anyone who does not own a toddler. It is RATHER SMALL for raising a team of helper monkeys as well, so be warned. But people are all concerned with "mortgages" and "credit" and "interest rates" and do not seem keen on buying anything these days. That's too bad. I would like to sell you my bee beard. The bathroom was recently painted by a man who could pass for Perez Hilton. There are numerous other selling points, including the fact that we would get out anytime you wanted, even in the middle of the night, and we would leave any items of furniture you fancied. I might do your grocery shopping and other unpleasant errands for a year. Do you need your taxes done? I got a guy. We recently discovered the image of the Blessed Virgin in the ceiling over our bed, if that helps.

We have hit upon a plan to kidnap Ricky Gervais, namesake of a local car dealership and famous actor/director, before he leaves this lovely town when his movie finishes shooting. He taunts me with posts about using a private jet and house hunting in New York. He clearly has no idea he needs a Lowell pied-à-terre. We will convince him of the beauty of this area by taking him to the Blue Moon, a windowless cinderblock strip club out on 3A, and then to Club Thirtysomething across the way for a nightcap. There you will be able to find a woman with a tattoo reading "The only things getting between my legs are a hard dick or a Harley." I assure you, she is out there. Then we'll take a tour of where they print The Lowell Sun. We could start with the proofreading department, but the donkey died several years ago. Very sad.

From there, we'll attend a Lowell Spinners game, participating triumphantly in dizzy bat, and after this, some skanky townie friend of my sister-in-law is probably having a "Jack and Jill" shower at a VFW.

Perhaps some of you more worldly types are concerned and wondering why I am not pushing the martinis and the shiso a bit harder, but honestly, you can get that anywhere. I moved here for the local color, or colour, if you must. I moved here to live next to a minor league ballpark and a methadone clinic. It speaks to me. You just can't make this crap up, except when you exaggerate a little. You people who can have nice things don't know what you're missing.

2008-05-19T11:46:00.003-04:00

The Halls of medicine

Bless, but there is a giant disgusting hole cut in my back! An actual doctor did it, so at least this time there is an explanation.

He was going to remove another thing while he was at it, but I asked him if he was going to cut it the same way as the other one, and he said "Oh, no, that's just a skin tag. I'll just snip it off with scissors." Well, to hell with that. I can boil water, and I have a pair of scissors. That is not going to count against my deductible, no thank you! "You're not going to try this yourself," he asked when I declined assistance. "Uh, no, I'm going to pray about it." Ybab is boiling water right now.

Mr. H has gingivitis. He claims the dentist told him he needed prescription mouthwash. I asked if the dentist also suggested that he start flossing. "Oh, uh yeah, I guess." I JUST LIVE HERE. In a land where nobody puts anything back where it belongs, and everyone manages to climb on me and jab me in the band-aid covering the gaping crater that a professional burned to crispy blackness as an afterthought of sadism. I sure would like one of those hyfrecators for my home kitchen. I'd make the tiniest Baked Alaskas.

A ybab screams bloody murder and refuses to brush her teeth, and we have to wrap her in a towel like we're giving a pill to a cat. I say "You don't want gingivitis like your father, now, do you?" And she glares at me and plans to kick me in the kidney after I fall asleep. These people have no respect for the gums and other soft tissues.

2008-05-07T21:33:00.003-04:00

Highlights, for childrens

Someone's world was rocked by the fact that everybody has a butt. And Spiderman? Spins webs with his butt.

2008-04-28T12:15:00.002-04:00

The rain in Spain

Fellow humans, I am living proof that all it takes is one rainy day to undo a month's work of feeling pretty spiffy! I should just live in a gro-light.

Instead, I live in a place where someone parks lengthwise across three parking spots, one of them being mine! I live in a place with a husband who snores and refuses to get his sleep apnea mask properly fitted to render it comfortable enough to wear and thus stop the snoring. I live in a place with a small child who pitches an unholy fit about sleeping in her special big girl bed, preferring to climb on top of me at 2 AM and 4 AM. I heard tell that at 4 AM, I actually snarled "You and your waking up and you and your snoring! I hate you all!" before jamming a pillow over my head and crying myself back to sleep. Or I don't know what I really did, because I don't remember even saying this. Someone claims I said this. Maybe someone is lying. Maybe someone is delusional due to oxygen deprivation from extreme sleep apnea.

The small child had a fit at the library this morning. Last time she assaulted the sign language bear, and this time she wept 10,000 tears when transparent scarf time ended. I am enjoying a fine cocktail of "Am I horrid parent, or is there something legitimately wrong with her?" This cocktail is a multivitamin and a glass of water and empty promises that someone is going to bring me back lunch soon.

While at the library, I overheard one lump of a woman say "Oh, I never know what to order at Starbucks. Everything on the menu is different." Starbucks should take a memo and introduce a menu with only one thing on it. Or 30 things with the exact same name and constitution. The other lump who was the target of this declaration replied "Lattes! I love lattes! Get a latte!" And then I wept 10,000 tears, and I fell on the ground and kicked my legs in the air until a janitor came and removed me. That exchange, plus the fact that the LOL, MA newspaper, the Lowell Sun (motto: "We never spellcheck, and we call hot dog restaurants gourmet"), reports that a new wine and cheese shop called "Cest wine, Say Cheese" [sic] is opening, causes me to fling myself on the bed like a be-kneesocked school girl and scream "Get me out of this god-forsaken town!" Can't you see that I am destined for bigger things? I'm packing my bag and heading to the bus station right now, like Axl Rose in the "Welcome to the Jungle" video. You'll never take me alive, LOL, MA.

2008-04-17T14:52:00.002-04:00

Is there an awareness pin for this too?

The weather has been delightful for a change, so ybab and I are making the most of it. We were at the park, and a ybab dominated the top of the slide like a 33 inch colossus. Some antsy pantsy older kid scrambled up behind her and started crowding her, and then he started whining and muttering. I was thinking "You little shit," and I looked back at him and saw he was wearing a button that read "I'm not misbehaving. I have autism. Please be understanding." Oh, oops. No arguing with that. But where can I get a helpful button for myself?

"I'm not disdaining you. I'm aloof and avoidant and afraid of you because you seem nice."
"I really don't recognize your face out of context. I would say hello if I realized I knew you."
"Your parenting style makes me uncomfortable. I am not going to talk to you at all."
"Your child is simply horrid. Would you like a paper bag and some rope for that?"

I'm imagining this working more like an L.E.D. belt buckle, I guess.

2008-04-15T11:46:00.002-04:00

Situations

A ybab has learned to say "I don't like it!" this week. Now everything is "I don't like it!" Mr. H speculated that she's just saying it because she can, but I believe that she has been seething for months and has a backlog to work through now that she can express the sentiment properly.

We can't go do our normal crazy crap this week because there is a movie shooting in LOL, MA. There are trailers and giant heaps of equipment and security guards blocking the way to our STUFF. We have to do our STUFF. This is not fair. If we even attempt to do our stuff, we look like the rest of the slack jawed yokels lining the streets hoping to see people half of them never heard of before. I do not wish to bother anyone, but I do wish to get a snack once in a while. Snacks make the world go 'round. And obese, for that matter.

Yesterday I asked a few different yokels in the space of a block what was going on at the place being filmed. I knew exactly what was going on, but I stayed for the Rashomon-like variations. Apparently there are about 72 different people starring in this movie, for starters. Then I asked if the yokels thought there would be any dogs in this movie. Oh, the opinions! This will be less amusing after a few more days of this.

2008-04-10T12:29:00.002-04:00

Busting out all over

It was the first really nice day of Spring yesterday, and ybab and I ventured out for a cup of batshit crazy. We passed by a local bank right after it got robbed. I wouldn't have stopped there anyway because their ATM charges $2. Can you imagine! I go to the one two blocks away. We were just in time for every cop in town converging on the scene and throwing the guy on the ground, depicted by Norman Rockwell here. Ybab tried tripping him first, but he was just too fast.

We watched the prodding for a minute, and then we strolled to the coffee shop, where we ran into one of the cops who helped with the slamming on the ground. His throat was hoarse from running, so he changed up his regular drink and got an iced mocha. Again, can you imagine! He regaled everyone with cop stories, but we had to leave because someone had opinions.

Opinions are a condition shared by the residents of the neighborhood we walked through to get to the playground. They are a giving lot, rolling down their car windows so you can hear their music, fancy free with favorable input on one's physiognomy. I still test well with certain demographics, it seems. Ybab still tests well with drunks, one of whom chucked her under the chin at a stoplight. She bit him, no doubt feeling like she had something to prove after letting a marginally armed robber get away.

At the playground, we made the acquaintance of a woman with two jailhouse tear drop tattoos under her eye. And cell phone dad was there, blissfully unaware that I pulled his toddler out of the street several times while he was busy chirping people. Father who throws a ball at his own son's head on purpose was there too. Father had either poor or exceptional aim and also managed to hit Vomits truly in the temple, knocking my sunglasses askew! At this point, I called Officer Mocha, and he settled the whole thing on the ground. You go to the playground with the army you have.

The moral of this story is that we live in a very good town. You should move here too. I have a condo to sell you.

2008-04-06T21:05:00.003-04:00

My filing technique truly is unstoppable

You do not want to know what I did with three days of naps, one father-supervised walk to feed ducks, and a P-Touch. I feel a deep sense of calm in my soul. A place for everything, and all the other stupid crap shredded and recycled.

I even went through a stack of proxy cards and voted them, generally installing incredibly old rich white men on boards everywhere. Sample additional question: "Some tedious meddling killjoy shareholders feel we should not invest in companies that profit from genocide. The board recommends a vote AGAINST this measure, as we wish to swim unfettered in our money bins." Well, a vote for genocide is OK with m--- whoa, wait a minute, reading messes things up again! I voted against profiting from genocide. So far, I've lost 3% for the year, so genocide can't be that lucrative anyway. Don't worry, the 3% was in retirement accounts, and I'm only 25. Indefinitely. The government is going to have a tough time making me take mandatory disbursements. I have a portrait in the attic I'll use as ID.

OK, I made the 3% back last week. But still. Genocide!

2008-03-27T23:13:00.002-04:00

Conquer existentialism in 72 easy steps

Can you believe I can go to the grocery store without a dissociative episode or panic attack? It was not always so, blogarinos, although that was still not enough to keep me away from the grocery store. Sometimes it's kind of fun when the stuff on the shelf dances. Hell, I've paid for that experience before. But anyway, such vapors are a thing of the past. They took away my fainting couch down at the Hannaford. They also stole my debit card number, but that's another story for another time. I got a new card, and the expiration date is no longer a very lucky 08/08, which was very popular when calling for Chinese takeout, trust me. Oh right. So anyway, to conquer your existentialism, try doing all your errands with a small conscience who yells at you, passersby, and dogs and fire trucks, just in case there are any. Your conscience should also throw things at you, like a grocery list, a pen, a travel magna-doodle, and a bag of organic soup beans. This works wonders for the constitution, if not the complexion. You might also substitute fire juggling if you do not have a conscience. You'll be far too busy and concerned with your own survival to be crazy, at any rate.

The other day the conscience ran right over to that giant plastic car shopping cart, and I grudgingly soaked it in rubbing alcohol and secured her with a well-gnawed rope. A litter of other children saw her riding in splendor and made comment to their mother as to how they wished for a similar experience. MOMMYIWANNACARCARCARCARMOMMMYYYYYYYY. Their mother glared at me and said "No, we can't do that today."

"YAY! DRIVE CAR! FUN! WHEE! BEEP BEEP!" opined the conscience. Her timing is impeccable. The other kids dialed it up to about 12.

I decided to run with it, since other lady glared at me. "Yes, honey, I love you! You are driving! This is so much fun! I love it when you have fun with me at the store! Yay! What does the car say? Who's the best little girl?"

Then I had to leave without all my groceries so I wouldn't come out and find my tires slashed. On the way out, I realized if you go in the other entrance, there are no fucking plastic cars stored on that side. Oh. This is what it's like to have low concerns.

2008-03-20T12:06:00.002-04:00

March madness

It's a good thing I am in good with the powers of the universe because the last few weeks have been bumpy. Emotionally, March is like landing a duct-taped regional jet with a wicked crosswind on the twelve feet of runway Logan Airport can afford. At the end of the twelve feet is the harbor and an LNG tanker, so you see how the stakes are high. November of course stabs me, but March sees me hanging by my feet twitching as the last drops of blood drain away from my head. And then something wondrous occurs from all that oxygen deprivation, and god starts talking to me.

Now, don't get too ruffled. My god is a pretty lowercase kind of ultimate love, a safety net of interconnected interests rather than a personification. I call it god because I simply do not have a better word. This year, god is telling me we're in for a flood, but it will be OK. I kind of preferred three years ago when god told me to take up learning Chinese and buy tickets to Spain, but apparently god is not a fan of the exchange rate now.

Last night, Mr. H took it up on himself to show me many links about horrible things happening to dogs. An artist in Honduras, or possibly Guatemala (all those countries look alike), tied up a manky stray dog in a gallery and instructed gallery patrons not to feed the dog. The dog starved to death over several days. The internet responded to the news with all-caps comments about castration, and the pictures were quite sad. Horrible point about how human are sheep and horrible point about how we walk by starving animals and people in the street on a daily basis and also do nothing. I like to think I would have fed the dog and called the damn police, but I am not sure if the Honduran P.D. would have been all that moved.

Then ol' Mr. H showed me a video of a Marine holding a puppy, and whaddya know, he throws that little fuzzball off a cliff! I live under a rock, and I had not heard of that one. Apparently some people are making the point that the average YouTube looky loo cares not for actual people dying in Iraq (brown or otherwise), but puppies? Do NOT fuck with puppies! I was going to a candle-lit vigil for ending the Iraq war yesterday, but it was sleeting, and I decided not to take a ybab out in that. Oh. ALL-CAPS COMMENT ABOUT PUBLIC FLOGGING.

I was so pissed that now I have to pray for all of these assholes, including Mr. H, who could have kept these things to himself. In fact, I have to pray for the whole damn internet. This is going to take a while. If you need me, I'll be in my cave.

2008-03-04T08:15:00.002-05:00

Make mine a Listo and OJ

Only 17 days until Spring, goldendoodles! And it is with great regret that I only just remembered there is an enormous bottle of high-quality gin (oxymoron?) in the liquor bunker in the kitchen. Where were you in November! No on-the-job accidents since...what time is it now?

Next week I am vacationing in style in a location ten degrees warmer than here. Break out the winsome safari shorts! The Simpsons are going to my parents' house. Oh, come on. It could be worse. I could have a gummy smile or cankles. My parents will feed us for a week, and when ybab gets up at the crack of dawn, I will say "Go find Grandma," and she will gleefully race down the hall. Whether she actually finds Grandma or just ends up rooting around under the kitchen sink is anyone's guess. Grandma is the one without the Mr. Yuck sticker, if that helps. No, Grandma routinely gets up at 4 AM, outfoxing even a ybab. It's what Laura Ingalls Wilder would do. I trust ybab will be intercepted and drilled with flash cards until I awake from my beauty rest.

2008-02-29T08:39:00.003-05:00

Clinging tenaciously to my buttocks

Darlinks, I have had nothing to write. I have been experiencing excellent customer service, and thus reeling in shock. Why, I got a letter from Blue Cross, Blue Shield, and they said "WE WILL NOT PAY! NOOOOOO!" And I said "Surely this is but a minor misunderstanding, for I always operate within policy," and I called and said "Surely this is but a minor misunderstanding," and they put me on hold for 30 seconds while I listened to their selection of "Everbody Have Fun Tonight." Then the representative came back on the line and said "You are absolutely correct! This is our mistake, and we will reprocess the claim on our end. You need do nothing further but prop up your feet and book a massage. Here is my name, direct line, and confirmation number. Have a pleasant day."

So then I died of joy, and I will probably have to call them again about the whopping bill I will receive from my ybab for use of a defibrillator to revive me. Only it was more like a few fridge magnets and a rolling pin that she used, so I am NOT paying for that.

Right now, on this blessed leap day, ybab is feeling poorly. She has come down with some sort of rhinovirus owing to her father placing her in that filth-encrusted plastic racecar shopping cart. Why, did you know, he did not wipe it down with carbolic acid, nor did he steam clean and Simonize her upon returning home? I publicly shame and renounce him!

And double renouncing for even putting her in that hellish chariot in the first place, because now she will accept no substitutes. There is nothing quite like getting a dirty look from an enormous woman (who probably drives an enormous SUV and routinely straddles two lines on the public thoroughfares) because one cannot maneuver past the onions quickly enough for her liking when one is pushing a disease-riddled Sherman tank of infant entertainment. One thinks "My life has come to this." One moves on, stiff upper lip. One gives up and weeps openly as the wheels of the beast get stuck on the freezer case for the sixteenth time. My willowy arms are simply not powerful enough!

2008-02-13T12:02:00.002-05:00

Quagmire no more!

Now, did you think "giggity giggity" or "Iraq" when you read that subject line? I meant Iraq! Read my mind! Then I thought "giggity giggity." Then I had to go check the spelling of "giggity." Then I saw other open browser windows, little magpie that I am, and I had to check Facebook not-Scrabble and stuff like that. It is a wonder I returned here at all. But I thought I would take a few moments of my precious ybab nap time to rejoice in the fact that Congress and Roger Clemens are finally hammering out an exit strategy for the Iraq war! YES! It is about time, don't you think? Jesus H. Jones. That is what they are doing, right? I only get to look at CNN for three seconds every day.

2008-02-08T17:34:00.000-05:00

February: worse than October, November, December, and January?

I think I just came down with scurvy or rickets or something! Aaaaaaaaaah! I hereby declare it St. Croix's Day! I'll be at the airport if you need me, pre-spending my tax bribe that consists of my own money anyway.

2008-02-07T21:36:00.000-05:00

Bubbly hatch

Thank god I found the emergency bottle of champagne! Oh shut up, you have one too.

2008-01-30T22:17:00.001-05:00

People still think they are me

Or am I actually the wrong person? I am not sure anymore. My secret disposable Gmail account keeps getting appropriated by others with similar names, and it's like having a window into arcane and hideous secrets of existence. I live in my own head, first and foremost, and some of my scariest moments as a child involved seeing myself in a mirror and realizing "I am a person! I am three-dimensional! I am ME!" But in my old age, I have realized that it is far worse to be other people.

January 29
Heidi to Alan, Nina, Lisa, me, Eric, Maggie
not sure if you guys have seen this..but i love this audition. I've seen the video many times. haha...
the beginning part made me laugh so hard because Nick does that a lot also.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=HifybwoujTk

January 29
Y. Lisa to Heidi, Alan, Nina, me, Eric, Maggie
Hehe, Alan and I saw that last week on American Idol. They were awesome!

Which part exactly does Nick do all of the time? I'm curious....

January 29
Heidi to Lisa, Alan, Nina, me, Eric, Maggie
the "chicka bow wow" part.

It's from axe deodorant comerical. Of course Nick doesn't do it with such skill.

January 30
Y. Lisa to Heidi, Alan, Nina, me, Eric
Oh, haha...do you chime in with your "ow wow"? Hehe! A duet!

November 14, 2007
Hello [my first name],

I was talking with Louise the other day and she mentioned that you were curious about me and what I looked like.

Jody and I have a Wedding website you are more then welcome to check out. You probably haven't seen Jody in a while either. We have our engagement photo on the site.

http://www.weddingbells.ca

If you can't get it to work just let me know and I can email the photograph.

Take care,

Kate C--

P.S. Louise said she had told you I was of a German background. Actually, my Dad was in the military and I was born in Germany because he was posted there. My family name is actually Old English, the first part Cowper ( should be Cooper, the ancestors couldn't spell) means a barrel maker and Waite means a clearing. We have done some genealogy and we can trace back 14 generations in England, which is kind of cool, though, both sides of my family have been in Canada for several generations.

September 26, 2007
Someone in Australia named Marena requested that someone named Janet forward this along to me!
FW: no 83 [I am itching to read numbers 1 through 82, let me assure you]

"....
While all this was happening Gordon was in South Africa. We always give him a list of stuff to buy there, and he is very good about it. So on 26 July he arrived back, armed with a suitcase filled with drugs: Sudafed, Codis, Bezerol, Rohypnol (stuff we can't buy here), his own medication, and lots more. As he approached Quarantine he noticed a big sign: "Channel 7 is filming 'Border Patrol' today". He almost had a heart attack ? what if they find all those pills and he is filmed on national television for the whole world to see him as a drug dealer! Fortunately he seemed small fry and he shot through without a hitch.
....
We joined John and Carol for an evening of Peruvian singing by one of that country's famous singers. Not my cup of tea. It was a long evening, everything in Spanish (she did not have one word of English) and the music was pretty much the same ? uninteresting and loud. Pity to waste so much time and money and not enjoy the evening.
....
The Ski Saga

Before Gordon knew that he had to go to Chicago, we had planned a trip to the snow fields. (We haven't been for a few years, due to knee ops and such.) We booked our usual Adaminaby cottage and to make it a bit more reasonable, we invited several people to join us. One after another they fell by the wayside, and then Gordon got summoned to Chicago. I was willing to cancel the whole trip but he insisted that I still went. In the end only John (40, unmarried) was still able and keen to go, and then I managed to cajole and bribe Maria and Eric to join us for the weekend. John and I were leaving on the Thursday and coming back the Monday. Then, the day before departure, the owners of the cottage phoned to say the sudden warm weather had the snow melting and did we still want to do it. I consulted John and my children and all of them said they'd still like to go, whether they ski or not. So the trip went ahead. I bought the food, packed the car, made the padkos, locked up the house and when John arrived we were on the road within five minutes. We had a few hitches along the road with wrong directions and ended up driving the last hour in the dark through a kangaroo infested national park on a dirt road. But we got there in the end, had our liquid refreshments and psyched ourselves up for the morrow.

We woke to a rather miserable day, with rain hovering on the mountains tops. John had never ski-ed before and booked in for a lesson straight away. I tried out my ski legs on my own and found that the few years of absence and the increasing years have not been kind to me. In addition, by the time we got to the slopes, it was raining quite hard, also sleeting and snowing at intervals. We were sopping, dripping wet, but determined to persevere. I had about an hour of braving the elements when I decided to take a brief break. I took off my skis, put them in the ski racks that are all over the place and went to the loo. By the time I got back, about 2 minutes later, some low life had nicked my skis!! I was devastated, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. My lift pass, a whopping $70 for the half day, was useless and a waste of all that money. I was not happy. Not at all. After John's lesson (by then he was a wreck ? he is not very fit) we went home, calling in at the ski hire place. They were very kind and I only had to pay TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS instead of $600+ for new skis, and then I had to hire more for the rest of the time. There was a bit of ranting and raving that night, and I still get viciously angry when I think about it.

Maria et al arrived that night, but well after midnight. We had a brief visit together in the morning but John had booked another lesson, so off he and I went, leaving the young ones to amuse themselves. In the end they didn't even attempt to ski and just had a lazy weekend, showing Becky the farm animals and chilling out together.

That night we had a lovely braai outside around a big fire with the Murrumbidgee River flowing a few metres away. By then it had turned cold again and every morning we woke to heavy frost.

Sunday morning we left for the ski fields again, and Maria and family went home. John was getting on quite nicely, but unfortunately my enthusiasm had disappeared and I found it quite a struggle to go to the toilet and everywhere else with my skis glued to my body. There was no way I was leaving them anywhere again. So I had a few runs, a few hard falls, and started wondering if I was not getting too old for the game.

Monday morning we left for home. What a to-do about almost nothing, as far as I'm concerned.

Well, the rest of my letter contains just a few incidental snippets, like

Eventually getting the cleaners in again every fortnight (Gordon: "So I don't have to feel guilty about not helping".)
.... [and then the incidental snippets continued for another 2 pages]
"

Life is a miracle. What a to-do about almost nothing.

2008-01-25T08:58:00.000-05:00

Waiting for dumbo

A child persists in climbing on the dining table, and she listens to me not. I definitely should have gotten a dog. But then again, I couldn't teach a dog to shout "Banzai!" when it jumps off the table. Life is a series of agonizing trade-offs. Fast, good, and cheap? Choose two. I am so cheap that I only chose one.

For example, I attended a condo board meeting last night in order to find out about the status of our association being charged 293k for the mistakes of a real estate developer and an insurance company. And while I gained somewhat valuable information (we're screwed), I had to listen to a woman repeatedly ask "What can the board do to prevent floods?" Everyone's eye drifted to the window, where the river is clearly visible. Yes, what indeed can we do to prevent floods? "Well, did they KNOW this place would flood when they built it?" You mean 100+ years ago, prior to global weather patterns shifting? "Well, what can we DO?" Finally, I yelled "Move!"

Captain Obvious that I am, we are still dragging our feet on putting our place on the market. Various online estimators show an approximately one zillion dollar drop in value. We don't even have an idiotic sub-prime loan! And we can pay our bills, so there's certainly no remedy available. It's just collateral damage. Not looking forward to paying a ton of money for getting out of my apartment. It's actually a perfectly good apartment, especially since we hammered out how to prevent the river from flooding. The trick was to get in good with the beavers, and they will tell the river to stay the course. We just have to dump beaver chow over the scenic walkway railing at various requested locations. Beavers want "Just Tomatoes" dried mango from Whole Foods, though, and that crap is like $5 for a little tub.

That poor woman went on for another fifteen minutes. Another woman brought her dog to the meeting, and the dog finally ate the first woman. This was a relief to all. I think I am going to look into getting a service tiger for just these situations. Maybe the tiger will learn to yell "Banzai!" too.

2008-01-18T09:01:00.001-05:00

What r u into???

I went to the library yesterday, and it seems that the Dewey Decimal Classification had been downgraded to a "fun suggestion." Did I miss a state law? I could not find any of the books I sought. My life is the poorer due to my inability to locate "Let's Sue Ourselves: A Guide to Dissuading Idiot Condo Association Members From Frivolous Lawsuits," "Arson for Profit," "How to Force Your Toddler to Eat," and "So, You Can't Remember What You Used to Enjoy Because You've Been Slogging Through Functional Depression For So Long."

Oh, hell, I just have January! It is related to November in the DSM. I am going to knit the world's longest scarf!

2008-01-11T09:44:00.000-05:00

The CEO is an illiterate cat with a food item on its head

I get emails from Morningstar goading me into affluence, and I see that today ORLY has been upgraded to "consider buying." Great! This will go nicely with my core holdings of OMG, LOL, and WTF.

For the purpose of making that dumb joke, I found out that besides ORLY, only OMG is a real ticker symbol. What? You mean most of my portfolio is imaginary? That much I know is true. But the good news is that I only need to save one million dollars a year in the last three years before I retire in order to reach my retirement savings goal! I am not going to bother saving until then. I am positive I will make enough space bucks then. It will be a breeze. A chilling breeze, from the depths of outer space.

Also, the river is rising abruptly ahead of predictions. My flood insurance does not become active until the 26th. Timing, schmiming.