First of all... I regret to say that I went yesterday to Superstore, and I completely forgot about my plan to end world hunger one can of soup at a time. I remembered when I walked out the door and saw the Food Bank donation box. At first I was really upset. But I thought, that's OK. The seed has been planted. And in some ways, the seed is better than the tree.
Whatever that means.
Ok. Next time. For sure. For shizzle, and you know I'm serious when I break out the shizzle.
Second of all, I tried the Maple Brown Syrup oatmeal. Not very good.
So- sping has sprung. Finally. And we made our annual trek to the local Wal Mart in search of rubber boots. I waited patiently in line. And it happens to me every time. I get stuck either behind or in front of beside some kind of borderline neurotic person who may or not be on medications that they may or may not have forgotten to take.
The guy behind me was thirties, tall and lean. A slightly disheveled appearance. Eyes that seemed skittish, darting furtively around. Hyped up on coffee? Or something worse?? I couldn't be sure. And did he talk. On and on and on.... I heard it all. Troubles with his ex (possible stalker), his busy work shedule (trucker), his battle with the bottle (sober now two weeks), the loss of his lifelong friend and pal, Petey (budgie) who lived a very full life which was apparently, only one year shy of a Guiness World Record for Oldest Budgie, to which I wince and groan and reply "aw, shoot." Because what can I say? What can I do.
This is stuff that you can't even make up.
I have a long history of meetings with whack jobs. Here are some snippets of conversations I've been party to, usually unwillingly:
"See these callouses?? Know where I got them all? Working out. In prison." From the gentleman I was sitting next to on the bus one day.
"They had rocky road fudge at the Ex last summer. Did you ever try out?" From the grocery bagger at Safeway.
"I told my doctor that I thought I might be getting hemorrhoids, so she looked and she said "girl you're way past getting them and into "gottem"" From a woman at dance lessons.
"I had my first babysitting job... oh, God...nineteen...fifty one? Or fifty two?? Back then they didn't have none of the fancy stuff. Cloth diapers and I walked around with diaper pins stuck all up in my hair, because of the static electricity." From and elderly man at the library. Don't ask me about the pins and the electricity. I don't understand.
"My daughter has a baby about that age. Cute, but Indian. It's a foster kid. My daughter doesn't mind, though. Well, she can't have babies of her own, I guess, so she wanted to get foster kids. Well, she thought she could some older ones, but that's all they give her for now, these babies, Indian babies." (from a lady in the laundry soap aisle at Wal Mart)
And even though this doesn't constitute a conversation, I always remember the time at work when a coworker of mine brought a hot dog for lunch. She had it all wrapped up in tin foil, and then she unpeeled it and dipped it in mustard and ketchup that she had in little tupperware containers.
That was just plain weird.
What my face must have looked like as I watched her eat that. Even now when I think about it I screw up my face.
She used to end conversations with "I'm a big believer in the whole thing with Mohommed and the mountain." I would nod along, though of course, what do I know about Mohommed and the mountain?
Anyways, that is all for now. I must be going.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
This and That
Just a word of warning- this contains what I will call politely "mature content". This is my post Shraz drinking post, so it may not be for everyone.
Once I had a conversation with my husband. Okay, I've had many, but usually they're totally boring like "we need milk. See you later. Bye." or "I just let the cat outside." But every now and then we have an interesting conversation, and this is one of them. 'Interesting' in a funny kind of way, rather than in a profound or prolific or deep or "dude that's way out there" kind of way. Anways. Without further ado: This is actual dialogue from an actual conversation I had with my actual husband, a page right out of my own life, such as it is. He asked me, and I'm honestly not sure what possessed him to ask me this, if I ever took money for sex. That was pretty much a big N-O, I mean who does?? but I decided that I wanted to kind of, let's say, make things more interesting, by which I mean outright lie, so I said "yeah, once. A long time ago and I'm not proud of it." All serious like. He was like "how much did you get paid" and I said "forty bucks," which seemed reasonable, because after all- how much does sex go for?? I don't have the faintest idea at all. He was like "well, what all did you do for forty bucks?" to which I didn't know what to say. I'm not really down with the sex trade lingo, so I said the first thing that came to my mind, which (rather unfortunately) was "Over Easy. And Sunny Side Up." He was like "those sound suspiciously like the way eggs are prepared." And I was like "Ya, well, where do you think those names come from? The oldest profession in the world. And besides. In the sex trade, we talk in code. You never know when you might be talking to a Narc." And really, when you think of it, Sunny Side Up does sound provocative. I'm thinking- missionary?? And over easy?? Well, that one is open to a lot of possible interpretations. And then he asks me, as he pondered all of this, "did the guy ask for his money back?"
To which I might have taken offense, but I could only laugh in response. Because, after all, he has a point. These days, my idea of 'good sex' is if I can still watch the Tonight Show without interuption. I mean, honestly. If the thirties are supposed to be some kind of a peak, then I'm totally screwed. Pardon the pun.
So, naturally, sometimes I do think about taking up an affair, but then I think you know, I'm just not sure I'm up for it, energy wise. So much to do- I'd have to shave my legs more often (more often?? OK, at all, ever), get new underwear. Specifically, underwear other than 'Hanes Her Way' (God damn them for being so comfortable), that kind of thing. Now you're probably thinking that's bad, and not just the Hanes Her Way part, but the whole affair thing in general. But I only mean it, really, in the abstract. Like when I watched PS I Love You, I absolutely, totally and completely fell in love with the character of Gerry. And then I start to think....
Well I won't tell you what I started to think. Although it may or may not involve the Sunny Side Up and/or Over Easy.
Anyways. I'm pretty sure that a) Gerry is not real and b) even if he was real he died of a brain tumor so c) it's harmless to daydream a little bit. But mark my words- if I ever get married again (which you know, is very unlikely) I will marry someone with an Irish accent, or brogue or whatever they call it, if I have to travel the world over to find it. The thicker the accent better. And he will have a Celtic tattoo as well. Maybe several. I don't know. We'll have to see.
Anyways. Onto purer subjects
Some good news. Well, actually bad news that turned into good news. I had a really, really bad mouth infection. My whole jaw hurt so bad I couldn't hardly open my mouth at all except for like a little, teeny, tiny crack. At first I thought, OH NO, TENTANUS!!-- because, remember, I'm really way long overdue for my booster. But, thankfully, it wasn't tetanus and I'm still alive- for now- I wouldn't say the crisis is over. But anyways. The only thing I could eat was soup and Carnation Instant Breakfast. So I started taking antibiotics. And bonus!! The antibiotics caused a really severe bout of vomiting and diarrhea, which was kind of a bitch at the time but today I weighed myself and I lost like 5 pounds!! I was like "Wow. If only I got these mouth infections more often." One a month and I would be good. Twice tops.
I just feel so much skinnier. I always do after I've been sick for a while. I just want to put on my skinny pants and prance around. "Look at me, Gerry! Come and get me now, Gerry."
And now the bad news. I'm back to hating the dentist. I went a few weeks ago for a cleaning and it was BRU-TAL. I think the technician had the term "cleaning" my teeth confused with "gouging" my teeth. But I had a good run there. I've now had enough dental work done (I think- keep your fingers crossed for me) that if I die horribly and my body is too much of a mess to identify, due to 'decomp' (as they say on CSI) or burning or what have you, I'll have enough dental records to ID me, which is a huge relief right there. That's some good piece of mind, just to know that.
Anyways. That's that.
I'm going to bed now.
Good night.
Once I had a conversation with my husband. Okay, I've had many, but usually they're totally boring like "we need milk. See you later. Bye." or "I just let the cat outside." But every now and then we have an interesting conversation, and this is one of them. 'Interesting' in a funny kind of way, rather than in a profound or prolific or deep or "dude that's way out there" kind of way. Anways. Without further ado: This is actual dialogue from an actual conversation I had with my actual husband, a page right out of my own life, such as it is. He asked me, and I'm honestly not sure what possessed him to ask me this, if I ever took money for sex. That was pretty much a big N-O, I mean who does?? but I decided that I wanted to kind of, let's say, make things more interesting, by which I mean outright lie, so I said "yeah, once. A long time ago and I'm not proud of it." All serious like. He was like "how much did you get paid" and I said "forty bucks," which seemed reasonable, because after all- how much does sex go for?? I don't have the faintest idea at all. He was like "well, what all did you do for forty bucks?" to which I didn't know what to say. I'm not really down with the sex trade lingo, so I said the first thing that came to my mind, which (rather unfortunately) was "Over Easy. And Sunny Side Up." He was like "those sound suspiciously like the way eggs are prepared." And I was like "Ya, well, where do you think those names come from? The oldest profession in the world. And besides. In the sex trade, we talk in code. You never know when you might be talking to a Narc." And really, when you think of it, Sunny Side Up does sound provocative. I'm thinking- missionary?? And over easy?? Well, that one is open to a lot of possible interpretations. And then he asks me, as he pondered all of this, "did the guy ask for his money back?"
To which I might have taken offense, but I could only laugh in response. Because, after all, he has a point. These days, my idea of 'good sex' is if I can still watch the Tonight Show without interuption. I mean, honestly. If the thirties are supposed to be some kind of a peak, then I'm totally screwed. Pardon the pun.
So, naturally, sometimes I do think about taking up an affair, but then I think you know, I'm just not sure I'm up for it, energy wise. So much to do- I'd have to shave my legs more often (more often?? OK, at all, ever), get new underwear. Specifically, underwear other than 'Hanes Her Way' (God damn them for being so comfortable), that kind of thing. Now you're probably thinking that's bad, and not just the Hanes Her Way part, but the whole affair thing in general. But I only mean it, really, in the abstract. Like when I watched PS I Love You, I absolutely, totally and completely fell in love with the character of Gerry. And then I start to think....
Well I won't tell you what I started to think. Although it may or may not involve the Sunny Side Up and/or Over Easy.
Anyways. I'm pretty sure that a) Gerry is not real and b) even if he was real he died of a brain tumor so c) it's harmless to daydream a little bit. But mark my words- if I ever get married again (which you know, is very unlikely) I will marry someone with an Irish accent, or brogue or whatever they call it, if I have to travel the world over to find it. The thicker the accent better. And he will have a Celtic tattoo as well. Maybe several. I don't know. We'll have to see.
Anyways. Onto purer subjects
Some good news. Well, actually bad news that turned into good news. I had a really, really bad mouth infection. My whole jaw hurt so bad I couldn't hardly open my mouth at all except for like a little, teeny, tiny crack. At first I thought, OH NO, TENTANUS!!-- because, remember, I'm really way long overdue for my booster. But, thankfully, it wasn't tetanus and I'm still alive- for now- I wouldn't say the crisis is over. But anyways. The only thing I could eat was soup and Carnation Instant Breakfast. So I started taking antibiotics. And bonus!! The antibiotics caused a really severe bout of vomiting and diarrhea, which was kind of a bitch at the time but today I weighed myself and I lost like 5 pounds!! I was like "Wow. If only I got these mouth infections more often." One a month and I would be good. Twice tops.
I just feel so much skinnier. I always do after I've been sick for a while. I just want to put on my skinny pants and prance around. "Look at me, Gerry! Come and get me now, Gerry."
And now the bad news. I'm back to hating the dentist. I went a few weeks ago for a cleaning and it was BRU-TAL. I think the technician had the term "cleaning" my teeth confused with "gouging" my teeth. But I had a good run there. I've now had enough dental work done (I think- keep your fingers crossed for me) that if I die horribly and my body is too much of a mess to identify, due to 'decomp' (as they say on CSI) or burning or what have you, I'll have enough dental records to ID me, which is a huge relief right there. That's some good piece of mind, just to know that.
Anyways. That's that.
I'm going to bed now.
Good night.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Good Intentions
Hello again, it's been a while since my last entry. Every single day I have really honestly intended to come down here and write, but for some reason or another I haven't. Lots of crazy stuff going on. And by 'crazy stuff' I don't mean my usual mid winter Idol watching, although, of course, there's that, too. What's with that new judge? Another Paula? Like we need another one of those. Anyways. But like, literally- crazy stuff. My stupid cat went and had kittens. And then my stupid dog went and ate one of them, which constituted a very major crisis around here- two seriously disgruntled kids and one mildly constipated dog. And then I've been painting Gage's room in preparation for my parents visit- which has now came and went- because we all know how fussy they are and I'd finally had it with their not-so-subtle remarks about WOW!! How nice it is that Lorrie and Trent have a proper guest room, and Gee, isn't that nice that at least one of their kids cares about them??
Anyways. Here I am. It seems that many of my good intentions just go out the window. Last week I went to Superstore and bought (among other things) a box of Maple flavoured oatmeal and a pint of blue berries which I swore I was going to eat every day for breakfast whether hungry or not. It sounded so good in theory. A bowl of oatmeal and a serving of berries, maybe on the top, maybe on the side. That part I would have to play by ear. Anyways. Well I ate the blueberries. On top of a pile of pancakes with a side of bacon. The oatmeal is still in the cupboard, unopened. I just look at the morning and I just can't do it. Usually I take my breakfast of Pepsi and chocolate chip brownies in bed while I watch the Early Show. That crack of the pepsi can just really gets my day started right and I just don't think a bowl of oats is going to cut it for me, not unless is served on top of bacon or waffles or pork chops, and even then I'd probably have to scrape most of the oatmeal off of it first.
So then I thought, well who cares. I'll just go for a little power walk in the morning and it'll be even better than eating a traditional breakfast. Because really. Breakfast Shmekfast. And I promised myself that NO MATTER WHAT I would go outside for a walk EVERY DAY. But then the first day it took me about half an hour to go out to the garage, get the stroller, bring it around front, dress up the baby, dress up Payton, get myself ready. Finally we were ready to go and then we walk for like five minutes and the baby is crying and Payton is laying in the ground doing snow angels refusing to go any further and I just can't deal with it, I'm trying to push the stroller through the snow but it's just not designed for it and I'm cursing and finally it's just like, you know what. Exercise Shmekersice. Because I bet if I put on one of those little pedometer dealy's I probably walk a fair amount anyways throughout the day- what with the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning, etc, etc. That's what I'm going to do. Get one of those pedometers and find out exactly how much exercise I'm getting already. Because why should I do more if I don't really need it- strictly speaking. Because they do say that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and I'm not going to argue with that. I've heard of people actually having heart attacks from over excercising. And besides. I'm already married, which I like to say to my husband means that I'm already a boughten cow so the milk no longer matters.
I don't even know if that makes any sense.
But whatever. You get my point.
And then I thought that I would try to write every day. Set a time, like from 2-4 when Alex is taking his nap, and get into the habit of it. But the problem is that that's when American Justice is on, so, it doesn't really work out.
So- other than that, nothing much really new with me.
I relapsed and bought Becel today. I totally didn't even mean to do it, either. I just walked past the butter aisle, and was like, oh ya, we need butter, and grabbed some and put it in the cart. So now I can relate to heroin addicts a bit better, less judgement. It's not as easy as you think. Old habits really do die hard, just like they say. I'm going to have to get more involved. Do some street outreach. Maybe some public speaking. Now that I know how the other half live, I just want to do something, you know. Get out there. Share my story. Take it to the people.
Also, I decided today when I was at Superstore-ya, basically I do go there everyday, in case that's what your thinking. I'm pretty much like "Hey, Rosa, Did you dye your hair? It looks so nice like that, here let me get a picture of it. I'll email it to Gladys. She's on vacation." when I go through the check outs. But that's not the point. I decided that I, yes little old ME, wanted to make a humanitarian effort and buy something for the Food Bank Box every time I go to Superstore. I always walk past it, feeling a little guilty as I heave my heavy bags of Cocoa Pops and Mint Oreos and other impulse buys. I'm going to start donating. Even if it's something little. Like a can of soup. Given the sheer AMOUNT of times I go there, I'm sure it could actually make a difference in the long run. I mean, that's how we change the world, right, little things. One Random Act of Kindness at a time, that's what God says. And by God I mean Morgan Freeman playing him in a movie with that guy from the Office about an Arc.
And I urge you to do the same thing, dear Reader, who ever you are, if indeed you do exist. We might make things hopefully a little bit better for someone else out there. I mean, I'm not exactly living high off the hog here, either. I had lasagna and garlic toast for supper, OK. A very plain, low budget meal. With salad. And little stuffed artichoke hearts with a bernaise sauce. And lobster bisque. A very middle class meal. OK I was joking about the artichokes. But as I said. I'm sure we could all spare a can of soup or two.
Me with my good intentions again.
We will see how it pans out.
Good night.
And also, I was joking about the lobster bisque as well.
Anyways. Here I am. It seems that many of my good intentions just go out the window. Last week I went to Superstore and bought (among other things) a box of Maple flavoured oatmeal and a pint of blue berries which I swore I was going to eat every day for breakfast whether hungry or not. It sounded so good in theory. A bowl of oatmeal and a serving of berries, maybe on the top, maybe on the side. That part I would have to play by ear. Anyways. Well I ate the blueberries. On top of a pile of pancakes with a side of bacon. The oatmeal is still in the cupboard, unopened. I just look at the morning and I just can't do it. Usually I take my breakfast of Pepsi and chocolate chip brownies in bed while I watch the Early Show. That crack of the pepsi can just really gets my day started right and I just don't think a bowl of oats is going to cut it for me, not unless is served on top of bacon or waffles or pork chops, and even then I'd probably have to scrape most of the oatmeal off of it first.
So then I thought, well who cares. I'll just go for a little power walk in the morning and it'll be even better than eating a traditional breakfast. Because really. Breakfast Shmekfast. And I promised myself that NO MATTER WHAT I would go outside for a walk EVERY DAY. But then the first day it took me about half an hour to go out to the garage, get the stroller, bring it around front, dress up the baby, dress up Payton, get myself ready. Finally we were ready to go and then we walk for like five minutes and the baby is crying and Payton is laying in the ground doing snow angels refusing to go any further and I just can't deal with it, I'm trying to push the stroller through the snow but it's just not designed for it and I'm cursing and finally it's just like, you know what. Exercise Shmekersice. Because I bet if I put on one of those little pedometer dealy's I probably walk a fair amount anyways throughout the day- what with the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning, etc, etc. That's what I'm going to do. Get one of those pedometers and find out exactly how much exercise I'm getting already. Because why should I do more if I don't really need it- strictly speaking. Because they do say that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and I'm not going to argue with that. I've heard of people actually having heart attacks from over excercising. And besides. I'm already married, which I like to say to my husband means that I'm already a boughten cow so the milk no longer matters.
I don't even know if that makes any sense.
But whatever. You get my point.
And then I thought that I would try to write every day. Set a time, like from 2-4 when Alex is taking his nap, and get into the habit of it. But the problem is that that's when American Justice is on, so, it doesn't really work out.
So- other than that, nothing much really new with me.
I relapsed and bought Becel today. I totally didn't even mean to do it, either. I just walked past the butter aisle, and was like, oh ya, we need butter, and grabbed some and put it in the cart. So now I can relate to heroin addicts a bit better, less judgement. It's not as easy as you think. Old habits really do die hard, just like they say. I'm going to have to get more involved. Do some street outreach. Maybe some public speaking. Now that I know how the other half live, I just want to do something, you know. Get out there. Share my story. Take it to the people.
Also, I decided today when I was at Superstore-ya, basically I do go there everyday, in case that's what your thinking. I'm pretty much like "Hey, Rosa, Did you dye your hair? It looks so nice like that, here let me get a picture of it. I'll email it to Gladys. She's on vacation." when I go through the check outs. But that's not the point. I decided that I, yes little old ME, wanted to make a humanitarian effort and buy something for the Food Bank Box every time I go to Superstore. I always walk past it, feeling a little guilty as I heave my heavy bags of Cocoa Pops and Mint Oreos and other impulse buys. I'm going to start donating. Even if it's something little. Like a can of soup. Given the sheer AMOUNT of times I go there, I'm sure it could actually make a difference in the long run. I mean, that's how we change the world, right, little things. One Random Act of Kindness at a time, that's what God says. And by God I mean Morgan Freeman playing him in a movie with that guy from the Office about an Arc.
And I urge you to do the same thing, dear Reader, who ever you are, if indeed you do exist. We might make things hopefully a little bit better for someone else out there. I mean, I'm not exactly living high off the hog here, either. I had lasagna and garlic toast for supper, OK. A very plain, low budget meal. With salad. And little stuffed artichoke hearts with a bernaise sauce. And lobster bisque. A very middle class meal. OK I was joking about the artichokes. But as I said. I'm sure we could all spare a can of soup or two.
Me with my good intentions again.
We will see how it pans out.
Good night.
And also, I was joking about the lobster bisque as well.
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