This is the time of year when I pull into my driveway all smiley because the tulips are coming up.
Although, the other day, I pulled in and my daughter’s boyfriend was parked in the drive which distracted me from my tulips. Apparently he was mortified, while I tee-hee-hee’d. He couldn’t back his tiny car out of our enormous drive with me alongside him so I had to completely back out and turn into the street in front of my neighbor’s house so that he could get out. He should maybe bring her home more often — he can get more practice backing out, they can have lip-to-lip time, and I can avoid the carline — it’d be good for everyone, see?
Anyway, off lips to tulips:
Most of them aren’t open yet, but the white ones have been up and open about a week now. By the time we clear the brown and gray from the lawn, all the colors will have opened and they’ll be at the height of their blooms.
tulips
tulips
tulips
tulips
tulips
I love tulips so very much. I plant more every year. They are my favorite flower.
I live with people who lift. They say things like…
I don’t fuckin know what they say. Some of them don’t parle croissant or habla taco, and I don’t speak lift.
“Say things about weightlifting.”
“Like what?”
“Say the words I don’t know because I don’t know and I can’t think of any.”
“Today I power cleaned and hang cleaned and strict pressed and benched and did kettle bell rows.”
“I dead lifted and did shoulder rows.”
“Yesterday we did Russian twists and shoulder shrugs.”
“Yeah.”
“And close-grip lat pull downs.”
“I did supine pull-ups.”
And I’m like “Kettle? These salt and vinegar kettle chips are so crunchy!” Oh yeah, sometimes while they lift, I swim or walk on the treadmill, and sometimes I’ll even use the nautilus equipment cause I am a little middle-aged white woman who wants to keep her original bones, but then I go home and seriously, I try NOT to lift things. I like to feel light and buoyant.
Is the crushing weight of the world not heavy enough?
I have heard the lifters say they have to lift more because they didn’t feel any pain.
Who the fuck are these people?
For those of you who know me, I would rather run than lift weights. And for those who do not know me, I only run when it’s imperative, like chasing and tackling a toddler before she reaches the street, like running and sliding into the back door to prevent the kitten escaping. Occasionally, I find I am running on accident, because I’m having fun playing, but all these times are rare and short.
I also live with runners. They say, “I ran X kilometers,” and since I don’t understand running or kilometers, I say, “I typed about that long.”
I walk fast. If I need to get there faster than I walk, I drive, okay?
Running makes my heart beat too fast, triggering anxiety. It makes me sweat and my rosacea flares and my boobs hit one another and there’s chaffing and I get thirsty and then I have to wash my hair. No, thank you.
Furthermore, I drink Gatorade only when I am ill.
Remember when you were a kid and your mom took you somewhere to get something special and you asked, “How many can I get?”
Yeah. My kids, Gatorade, every time we go.
I recently got a damn tetanus shot. The Tdap. Yay, cause don’t nobody want diseases that kill us, but also, boo, cause those damn things hurt. I don’t mean the tiny poke of ow with the injection, but the hard, tender bump after. Oh that doesn’t happen to you? How nice. In case you have not, as of yet, figured out how special I am, IF THERE IS A REACTION TO A THING, I WILL HAVE IT.
Living in my body be like this:
For Other People “May cause…”
For Me “You gonna have…”
I’m just glad I’m not in the group that can’t have the vaccine.
It didn’t hurt right away, which made me think they maybe make kinder shots now. The following day, the tenderness inflamed and I made Mentor feel my bump. Then I made my kids feel it. All three ladies gently slid their hands over the bump and made the same surprised-sad face when they felt it.
When The Mister got home, I made him feel my bump and HE PRESSED INTO IT and said he felt nothing.
It should be noted that Moo and I could actually see the bump through my cardigan, but The Mister couldn’t feel it.
So later, when the lifters were showing off their big muscles, I slid my hand across The Mister’s bicep and I said, “I don’t feel anything.” Happy Friday Everyone!
This weather though! Windows open at night, warm sun on my face in the day! Ooher! Slept like a baby last night, 8 solid hours. Woke up tired. How tired? I drank a cup of actual caffeinated coffee.
Work just be mayhem. People quietly clicking and typing and getting papercuts like whoa.
Been tough times on my upper extremities lately. Overextended my right thumb trying to open a box, got two papercuts, tore a cuticle on a cutting board, slept wrong and got a crick in my right shoulder — then some Paul Bunyan-lookin mofo came into the office and shook my hand like he was so pleased to meet me, he’d planned to take my arm with him when he left! When all that was healed, the doctor gave me a tetanus shot in the left.
Today my hair is somethin you’d see in a shampoo commercial from the 70s and I’m the Before girl who can’t get a job or a date or whatever, because is it straight? is it wavy? is it curly? kinky? big? flat? frizzy? Yes, all.
I picked up my kid at six and said, “Ya know what I like?”
“Hmm?”
“Home.”
And I did not pass go and I did not go to the gym or the park and you couldn’t convince me to, either. Even if you have big brown eyes and fluffy ears and you have indeed been a very good girl all day. Mama no walkies. Mama sit.
Now, SHE could be a Breck Girl.
I had to go home and put on my pajamas and read blogs and wait for my husband to bring me a foods. Three waffles, three eggs scrambled, three bacons, and four strawberries. Yes, you read that right. (Okay, so I gave Sadie the floppy bacon bits, but don’t tell The Mister. He cooks on Tuesdays now, and we don’t wanna muck that up!)
How’s your weather? Whatcha been eatin? What’s up with your hair? How’s work?
Typing quicky now, almost midnight, need some blogging in my day.
We just finished the vanilla milkshakes I made. I’ve got dinner going. It’s toasty grilled cheese in the oven and tomato soup on the range. Everyone’s pretty hyped about it.
The Mister and I had the laziest day two people ever had. I got up around 8 and made some omelets — mushroom, Swiss, and chive. I took them to bed and we watched shows and ate omelets. We talked about doing things. We did. It was a beautiful day. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to DO anything. We had no idea we were so tired. I kept falling asleep on The Mister and then that put him to sleep and so we had three naps today. Three naps. We rose for some laundry and chips and salsa, but mostly we were dowwwn.
Bubba went to a cookout thingy and I don’t know what the girls did, but they weren’t out and about.
We finally decided that we’d go get some groceries to avoid doing it Sunday. At like 9pm we decided this. And then, because the store was so empty of people, we sorta leisurely shopped and talked and made googly eyes and that was quite nice for grocery shopping.
that’s the mister down there
It was a fab day. Frittered away a sunny day and don’t even care because it was simply fabulous to snuggle one another, the kids and the pets, to watch shows, to play games, to nap — apparently we needed it.
As a pagan heathen Unitarian Universalist, I have not as of yet found that I need Jesus, but I know the need for Jesus is real and true, because I have friends who talk about it. We’re good with it. They’re like, “I’m takin communion,” and I’m like “I’m takin in the trees,” and we’re mutually pleased for one another.
I believe I mentioned that work has been crazed lately?
I walked into Mentor’s office the other day and rather unusually she was listening to music.
“What are you listening to?” I asked.
“Jesus! Cause I need it!”
I left Mentor to her… (I don’t know what to call that.) Partially out of respect that she needed a clearer head or calmer spirit or whatever, but also because I couldn’t help but laugh, because —
Well it’s not Jesus, is it? I mean, it might be a song about Jesus, but it’s not a literal recording of Jesus. I wonder if Jesus sang well? Imagine people on iTunes waiting for Jesus to drop his new single. Imagine people camping out waiting for Jesus tickets. Y’all know I love the Beatles, but I do think Jesus would outsell them. The crying and fainting would be a public health concern.
Can you imagine the songs Jesus would sing? WELL I CAN. I have noted that a lot of rap and country titles would work for Jesus. As you know, Jesus spent a great deal of time with the poor and at least one ho.
Anyway, on this fair Friday I must share this song, which in our house is called, “Ghetto Jesus” because one time Sassy asked for it and we knew exactly what song she meant.
And if you think I’ll go to Hell for writin this post, here’s another one she asked for around the same age. It’s the “Fourth of July” song.
Of course, nothing will ever top my reverent mother-in-law singing along and tapping her fingers to Marilyn Manson’s Personal Jesus.
Oh my gosh, you guys! My whole family was home alllll weeeek while I worked. That was rough. I missed my people so very much. I worked a lil late Monday and Thursday and quite a bit late on Tuesday (What else is a Tuesday good for?) On Wednesday, though, I left at 5:00. Well, 5 o’somethin, close enough. Work is crazy and I am crazed. If work was not crazy, it would have been an ideal time to take a personal day and enjoy the incredibly beautiful warm spring weather we had.
There have been teens at my house like whoa. There were so many teens in our house that the sisters resented visiting parties due to the lack of sister time. Today, The Mister told the sisters NO MORE SLEEPOVERS. As with any company, even when you like the teens a lot, you truly prefer your own…
One of them did this:
Which made me laugh, but also made me a bit uncomfortable, cause Gumby and Pokey, you know.
The Mister picked me up some fleurs. I no longer remember who had a vase of yellow daffodils, but one of you bloggers did, and I had daffodil envy so The Mister picked some up.
Aren’t they so frickin happy?!? Cheerful af.
The Mister made a concerted effort to pad my week with happiness.
Two nights, I fell asleep on him.
We took Moo to sushi. Yum!
We took Sassy to ice cream. Yum!
On Thursday, he picked me up from work and we got me this margarita. Yum!
Yes, I did drink it all. I slurped it right on down. It was good. I needed it. Plus quesoeverything!
Today he took me to work and took Blanche for her maintenance.
Sigh. He’s such a great person to share life with. I love him so much. Even though he is a grumpy man who has no memory and every chance he gets he offers my cat to houseguests, he is good to me.
Now that you know my week was rough but trimmed in pleasantries, I am delighted to announce I HAVE NO PLANS FOR THE WEEKEND! I shall do the week-end-ing as I please! Tra-la-la! Now, tell me, how are you?
Last Saturday, Sissy and her wee people came to Indiana and thusly we spent the afternoon with our family — Mottern, Party of 15. Oh my goodness, my heart nearly burst from all the happy! Wonderful, magical time, heart-heart. So much laughing and hugging and so many photos to commemorate the day!
And then I got good and sick. Down for three days. Despite Lysine and rest — fever, swollen lymph nodes, headache, and epic lipsplosion!
The only ‘selfie’ you’ll see of me from last week is the one of my shadow — look how ginormous my pants are and how tiny my head is! It reminded me of one of those children’s books from the 70s. (If you had them, you know.)
I want to tell you all this was a better week, but it just wasn’t. There was the sick. There was a death in the family. Bubba ended up back at hospital as his issue is still not resolved, work continues to accumulate faster than we can complete it and my being gone helped none of us, and hand to God, some nitwit is still texting in that group text from more than a week ago and I am thiiiiis close to posting that phone number right here, but I wanna take the high road, ya know?
I’m not saying I wasn’t physically healthy and emotionally stable enough to sit through the swim banquet, only that they played Blackbird, so I hadda cry at the slideshow of everyone’s beautiful talented babies, some of whom I don’t even know.
That song makes you cry, too, right?
Even I got a bad grilled cheese this week. There wasn’t enough cheese to hold the breads together and it was overcooked.
A sandwich!
A shoelace!
My husband’s shirt!
My hair!
A stapler!
— Things I’ve broken a nail on lately. If that’s not bad enough, I want you all to know, this week I realized both my index fingers are too crooked to line up my electronic pool shots.
The week did improve overall as it went on.
Thursday we got an extra teen — one of those kids who’s delightful enough to stay at your house for five days? Rare, I know. I made spaghetti carbonara and a bigass salad and bread, and we did so feast and laugh well into the night. Friday Master Boombastic came spent the day and we had pizza and gelato and movies. Today, we drove Sassy to friendlet out of the city and we got Starbucks and the sun was all warm and shiny and I decided it was a good time to take to the park. It was very, very good.
warm sunshine was warm
moo and her friend up the hill
wolfdog sadie and me, not up the hill
Now I’ve got my black pepper chicken and my laptop.
I won’t catch up, but I’ll be around, cause I missed y’all!
I’m full of gratitude tonight and I’m happy to be back in blogland to share that with you.
Me this week: “ain’t nothin gonna break my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no! oh no! what is happening? ain’t nothin gonna break my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no!”
Lather, rinse, repeat. All. Week. Long.
This week can suck my pretty pink penis.
We will not go in order of importance, we will follow the random patterns of my brain, as we have all become accustomed to.
I enjoy stomping in icy puddles and breaking icicles because it’s stuff you’re allowed to break. I break stuff on accident alawt. Being permitted to break things is refreshing and satisfying.
Bubba went back to hospital and they sent him to bigger, better hospital where they fixed him but he’ll have to mend.
One night, The Mister stayed with Bubba and I had to sleep alone with my cats and my dog, off n on for the first time in seven years.
On Wednesday, I put in a 12-hour day. I wore yellow. And canvas shoes. And I went out for lunch and got myself a grilled cheese sammich where the edges are all crunchy and the middle is all soft and gooey and I had that with a big fat soda and a yellow cookie and the sun was all shiny and warm and I smiled the whole outdoorness time. Subsequently, I got a lot done.
What I looked like by the end of Wednesday.
Same.
On Thursday, I wore brighter yellow, but the day paid it no mind and I have concluded, via rigorous testing, just sos ya know, wearing a particular color has no impact on the course of one’s anyday. I officially give up.
Mercury’s in retrograde and the time changed and obviously the moon has grabbed on to something icky to wax to fruition.
On the one hand, I be all RISE ABOVE and on the other hand, I be all WHITE FLAG! WHITE FLAG! Y’all know I like things that come in white.
And so it continues —
NEVER PUT ME IN A GROUP TEXT. I complained about this, loudly, unto my family unit, and then two days later my husband put me in a fucking group text because as I suspected, he never listens to me. I cannot work with my phone vibing all over my desk, my bag, the floor, the drawer beside my bag — I was like Phoebe with the smoke alarm.
What if that’s my boss? I can’t ignore it, for fuck’s sake. Imagine that.
“Thank you for holding, this is Jolene.”
“Why aren’t you answering my text?”
“I’ve been placed in a text chat with 67 other people and I had to turn my phone off or kill myself and I otherwise have a lot to live for, so I turned my phone off.”
Reasonable? No, I think not.
I was dangerously close to sending a group text to every fucking one of my contacts: I DESPISE GROUP TEXTS. Choke on the salty irony of my announcement.
Plans were hatched and then canceled. Womp-womp.
Oh! This week I received an email asking me to send cash in with my kid and not tell her why, for a Surprise. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!? Clearly they do not have teenagers. Who the fuck gives money to a teenager higgledy-piggledy? (see that?)
This week, Sassy’s lunch account had run out and I had just paid Moo $9 and I told Moo to give Sassy money for lunch and Moo told me that when Sassy came to find her, she already had a one and made Moo give her $3 so I asked Sassy what the fuck she ate for $4 lunch and where she got that dollar she already had. Surprise! We take accounting seriously over here, y’all.
–> Insert sections of topics I can’t blog about, but which can be summed up with don’t hang your shit on me, verily, all actions have consequences, racism looks bad on everyone, speak your motherfucking truth, and bitches be trippin.
It wasn’t all bad.
There was some making out at the stove on stew night.
Sassy and I played word games.
One night there was gelato.
It got warm and windy how March days sometimes do.
And there was that sammich…
HAPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!
May this weekend give you no reason to rant!
I spend a lot of my time this way. Wearing soft, warm pajamas and snuggling a quilt Papa did not make for me. Shh.
Is winter longer this year? I think winter’s longer this year.
The sun is out more. The other day, I left work around 5:30 and the sun was all shiny, and I thought hey, maybe we could get a door shot today but when I looked at the thermostat it read 9° and I thought hell no we won’t!
The stupid time-y change-y people are gonna make it dark in the morning again. Fuckfaces.
I’ve been busy working, taxiing teens, making snuggles, yawning, getting the sicks, running the errands. I am good at all those things.
Since I last blogged, Sassy got a sick, Bubba has been to hospital, and Moo and I have been to urgent care. The Mister is fortunate, which is a clear testament to chocolate’s antioxidant properties.
For months, I’d only gone to Facebook to play Scrabble. Sometimes I see my friends on my texting device, but I don’t have Facebook on my texting device. Well, I tell ya what, Facebook caught on to me, and it won’t let me play Scrabble until I’ve interacted a bit, which I feel is extremely manipulative, if clever. I do miss some people terrible and have considered hiding all but a dozen friends. I wonder if Facebook would allow that or if it would arrange for Scrabble to give me only vowels until I properly social media?
Scrabble, yes. Jesus as your bigotry excuse, no. Posting cat photos, yes. Showing me soup that looks like scat, no. I think that’s fair criteria.
Maybe I wanna live in my special bubble, okay? Maybe I want happy, cute, delicious, snarky, funny shit that completely reflects my worldview, hm? Maybe I’m self-centered this way. I am, after all, a self.
My phone thinks I’m a ho. hoeyfullystated. *sigh*
And I prolly am, cause who else would photograph an ice phallus?
TARTLET for 64 points!
I washed Blanche, which I don’t like doing. I blame all the unlimited wash people – WHADDATHEYGOTTAGOEVERYDAY?!? Of course, I got her all shined up so it snowed again *shakes head* That’s what makes people buy unlimited washes.
We got a new staff member. I like her. I liked the other one, too, but I didn’t enjoy doing so much of her work along with mine, so I like this one better.
At Christmas, Moo received a lip balm that she didn’t like and I did like it and now I am completely dependent on it and I asked the gift giver where the hell I’m to buy more of it and they are sold out. It was a limited time holiday thing and now it’s March and no one cares about my dependency. It cannot last forever. No lip balm ever lasts forever. Come November, you gonna see me at Ulta with a case of that shit.
There’s a weekend on the horizon and I feel like my lip balm will last the weekend.
Bad parent me did not sign up for the six-hour volunteer shifts at the thing. I’m galled at the six-hours-or-naught ask, and well, naught, motherfucker. If they want to motivate me, they should try praise, ice cream, or taking away my Scrabble.
(I may go over there. I may go to work. I may starfish in the center of our bed and watch Frozen Planet. I may fully embrace apathy. Who can tell? Okay, I never starfish, but I could. YOU GUYS, I don’t even need to go to the grocery store!)
