Sunday, May 30, 2010

CBC=Kalli fail

Well never mind about that...

I made it to all of about 4 hours of the CBC.

My boy came down with a fever, which morphed into tonsillitis, which found us at an urgent care at 8 pm Saturday night.  He doesn't get sick often, but I'll give the kid some credit... when he does he sure likes to go all the way.  Poor little Nublet spent the night in our bed with me, Daddy parked it on the couch.  Sleeping with a mini furnace draped all over you and trying to mentally steel your bladder into not exploding while you hold it for hours in order to avoid moving to keep that sick baby asleep, is not my idea of a good night.  But we have survived.  It's now Sunday afternoon and he's starting to perk up a bit.  As I type he's sitting next to me trying to eat some Play-Doh.  What is it about that junk that screams "PUT ME IN YOUR MOUTH!"?  I have no idea.

Anyway, because of all that I only made it to half a panel, didn't do much "networking", and pretty much have deduced that I suck at conferences.  I also found myself drawing blanks when other people were handing me their cards and asking for mine and I had nothing.  I just kept stumbling around saying "don't worry, you're not missing out, my blog isn't that great".  Ah, self deprecation, helping the ill-prepared cope socially for centuries.

Whatever.  I know the organizers worked extremely hard on getting that stuff together and to have almost 400 people show up for such an event is a huge accomplishment.  Bully to you my friends.  Well done.  Well done.  

I have some stuff brewing around in my head but it will have to wait for another day.  After all, it's taken me most of this one to get these few paragraphs out.  

Happy long holiday and Memorial Day to you friendies.  Let's hope this means summer is finally going to show it's stupid face around these parts.  

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

my dual nature

The other day my boys and I were walking into Paradise Bakery when we passed this girl who was about my stature except maybe a bit heavier, and sporting a haircut that sort of resembled mine from a year ago.  Hub said "she kind of looks like you" (for the record, she didn't at all) and instantly I shot him a look that probably would have killed him if I had that sort of power (working on harnessing The Secret for that too.  Eventually I will be unstoppable).  Seriously a bonehead move on his part.  Men should just learn that unless they're saying you look just like some incredibly hot supermodel/celebrity they should just keep their mouths shut.  

I wouldn't say I'm an overly insecure person.  I certainly have enough mental ammo to be, thanks to my traumatic adolescence spent as Slagathor the Snaggle Toothed Wonder Girl.  But that's all mostly fixed now and other than a persistent case of mildly obnoxious adult acne I think I've got a pretty good grasp on reasonably attractive.  Mind you I know my limitations.  I'm not a size 6, never ever and even when Hell freezes over will that ever happen.  I have rubby thighs and a nice collection of cellulite in certain special places.  My lady lumps are nothing to brag about though perfectly adequate, my nose turns up and I have nostrils the size of quarters, an attribute my husband is fascinated with by the way.  Also, sometimes I have a beard.  It happens.  

I'm a normal wo-man, woooooman (say that like on So I Married an Axe Murder).  

But I'm still a girl.  I still compare myself to other women on a daily basis, I'm still my own worst enemy.    

You can blame it on the media, blame it on social pressures, blame it on your adolescence, I do.  The truth of it is that I wish I weren't so quick to size myself up against others.  It's a weakness.  I guess I should just be glad it's not an obsession.  

I wonder a lot about how it will feel to get old.  I took my Grandma to to the grocery store today.  She's 87 and I wonder if when she looks in the mirror she sees an old person looking back at her, or the young woman she used to be.  I read the obituaries pretty regularly, it's sort of a morbid fascination I have with aging.  I look at what age people are when they die, what they died from, and my favorite part is when they include two pictures, one from their younger years and another more current.  More often than not people look nothing like how they used to and that is a crazy thing if you ask me.

I feel like I've always looked like myself, even when I didn't if that makes any sense.  Yes, I learned the magic of tweezing and received some special assistance in the form of braces.  But it's always been me, Slagathor/Kalli, one and the same.  We're obviously still all in here together.  Parts of me are always going to be physically and emotionally unattractive no matter what.    

Am I still going to be like this when I'm older?  Slightly paranoid and always a wee bit too critical of myself and others?  Probably, but I hope aging will have some positive effects on me and that magically I'll mature into a sort of self aware wise woman who embraces her saggly bits and diagrams the constellations formed by her moles for fun.  

Or not, that's sort of gross.   

A while back, my friend Sue gave me what I took as a compliment.  She said on her blog that I was "one of the very few bloggers I know who looks just like her picture".

Good and bad I hope that's always the case.  

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Facebook can suck it

I've mentioned several times about how much I hate Facebook.  

I fully understand the powers of the internets, I love the internets, I love this blog (most of the time), I love the friends I've met through this blog.  But even blogging can get annoying.  

However, I doubt I'll ever hate blogging the way I hate Facebook.  

Facebook has it's good points, be they few and far between.  I like finding old friends I want to find, I like that people can create events and invite me to them, I like seeing some pictures of my friend's kids and weddings and whatever.  However, I hate random people I've lost touch with on purpose finding me, I hate when I don't "friend" them and they send me messages asking why?  I hate the pointless and stupid updates about "ate too much" and "hey, it's Friday!", or "I'm depressed" and every other attention seeking, affirmation wanting, banal and whatever descriptive adjective I could come up with here. I hate the stupid pictures some people put up, I hate that my random relatives are all on there, or people from my home town that I vaguely knew once a zillion years ago, I hate the idea of random people I don't even know that well looking at my information.  I hate that no matter how stringent I set my privacy standards, Facebook keeps changing theirs and if I don't stay up on it, basically everything I never wanted out there ends up that way regardless.  Personal information and the internets wigs me out in a major way.  I hate that when you go to cancel your Facebook account they instead "deactivate" it for you, so they can keep all your information and all you have to do is log back in and things magically re-appear.  I hate that I had to search out how to delete it permanently because they don't make that information easily available.  I hate that the CEO of Facebook is all of 25 years old and has made himself a bazillionaire off of invading privacy and sharing other people's information.

I just pretty much hate Facebook.  

So I'm done.  

Deleted permanently.  

You won't find me back on either this time around. 

And now I'm done talking about this.     

Monday, May 17, 2010

Sleep is the answer

This kid

has been rocking my world lately

The last week he's been sleeping in well past 8 am which is glorious and miraculous beyond any description I can offer.  In all truth I should be up and getting junk done but you should know me better than that.  I love to sleep.  I think sleep is the secret to life.  I think all problems in the world could be solved with more sleep.  Have you a problem?  Take a nap, eventually it works out.  

The irony of all this, of course, is that generally it takes me a ridiculously long time to fall asleep.  My brain works in major hyperdrive and I am, by nature, an over achiever in the worry department.  But lately, this hasn't been much of a concern.  It's hit the pillow and out until I wake up with a numb hip to stumble my way down the hall to the bathroom around 5 am.  Numb hips, such a bonus in the pregnancy sleep department.  But it's all good in the hood.

The only negative lately is that there are basically no baked goods around here, a problem which I plan to shortly rectify with these suckers.

There are random children in my backyard swinging their hearts to pieces.  This neighborhood is awesome.

And now Justin Beaver-helmet head is on Ellen.  I don't get it.  I really don't.  Like he has to be a girl, right?  And he has male back-up dancers.  I think I'd be embarrassed if that were my job.  

Thursday, May 13, 2010

we have arrived, mostly

And so, my flock hath migrated southward.  

I wish I could say it was to a tropical island, but the siren song of Happy Valley was too much for us to resist and so we find ourselves somewhere in the vicinity, tucked into a much neglected red brick rambler (is it a rambler still even if it does have a basement) with no baseboards or trim (they had to go), but freshly refinished hardwood floors, a couple new walls, some paint, and an entire summer's worth of honey-do projects ahead.  Seriously, we're going to be busy.  He with the stuff involving tools and whatever else, me figuring out what to do with this:

No, it's not the South 40...

it's my garden plot.  

Good thing my master gardner Granny lives next door, except she's 87 and I'm not so sure I can convince her to weed the whole thing on a regular basis for me.  Though she did do my front flower beds, GRANNY SLAVE LABOR AT IT'S FINEST!  She would murder me for calling her Granny.  And then say something really inappropriate because that's what 87 year olds do.  They can't hear, then get angry, yell at small children, and then say weird things.  Old people are so crazy.  When I'm 87, if I'm still coherent, I won't feel bad anymore for demonstrating any sort of verbal awkwardness because it's my g-dang right at that stage in life.  Am I right or am I right here?  I'm right.  Senility does have a bright side.  

Anyways, most of our crap is moved now.  A few loose things hither and thither but all of the essentials are in place.  Internet: check.  Cable: check.  Bed: check.  Clean underwears: check.  Sweatpants: check.  Kitchen with food: check.  I'm good to go.     

People even came over today, I entertained in my luxuriously large kitchen (DOUBLE OVEN!), if you can call stirring together a pitcher of grapefruit Crystal Light while everyone else brings the food entertaining.  

I hate moving.  But then you get in, get settled, get stuff on the walls and suddenly you're home.  

I like that part. 

Now, if you'd like to volunteer some plant donations, or to reserve some time to come weed, just let me know and I'll pencil you in.  Heck, maybe I'll even be generous and pay you with a zucchini or two if I manage not to kill whatever we plop in there, because if I've said it once, I'll say it again, I'm a giver.     

Sunday, May 9, 2010

moms and houses and yee haw!

this move/remodel is sucking my life away

a small look into what we've been dealing with:


However, today is a day for the Mamas, myself included.

so yip and skip and hooray for us!!!

i love this stuff
Happy Mother's Day

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

if my head weren't attached I'd lose that too

A small vignette:

Two days ago I was driving home from the IKEA, land of Sweden if you will.  The Nublet fell asleep in the car and I reached back and took off his little shoes so that I could carry him straight in and put him to bed when we got home, which is exactly what I did.  Later that night I was over at the new house painting when I get a phone call from my mother in law asking where his shoes are?  I figure they are either in the car or somewhere at home but can't really say where exactly.  The next day I search, and search, and search some more and call the Hub to search his car, and then search some more and then scratch my head and get angry, because I love those shoes and THEY ARE GONZO.  And the next pair I have for him, of the same exact shoe mind you (Love you Auntie S.), is too big still.  And I'm fretting, because have I mentioned?  I love these shoes.  They fit his fat feet and that is a tough find.  Plus I had figured on handing them down to little brother because I am Franny Frugal like that.  

This morning at 7 am Hub comes in with one shoe, he found lodged in the roof rack of the car.  One shoe.  Obvs. I stuck them there when I leaned in to retract my child.  Which means the other shoe could be anywhere from here to freaking Timbucktu.  What am I going to do with one shoe? 

 And yet, I have hope... I NEED A SHOE MIRACLE!!

I'll be doing a neighborhood sweep today.  Maybe I'll put up a poster.

It could happen.  If I harness all the powers of The Secret I could find that shoe, right?

Geez Louise.  I hope so.

In any case, if you see the Left one of these laying somewhere on the side of the road, hit me up.

**UPDATE 9:41 am
THE MISSING SHOE HAS BEEN LOCATED, I REPEAT, LOCATED!  Lying (laying?) by the side of the road up the street.  No joke.  The Secret works and I am the harness master of all the chi in the universe.  

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

all hands on deck

Don't mind me

I'm just sitting here deciding whether I should take a nap or go eat my third piece of toast for the day.  

We're in the middle of moving, well not really, we're in the middle of painting and sheet rock-ing (is that verb?), and sanding hardwood and then getting ready to move is more like it.  

I like the manual labor, I even ran a sweet rotary cutter/sander thing to saw through wire meshy stuff in the walls that blew sparks everywhere and I felt like a bad ass.  Power tools are hot.  

But really what I'm saying is don't expect much from me here in the next week or so.  

I'm busy.