As of today, I am completely free of That Bank I Haven't Been Naming That Claims To Be The Bank Everyone In The Country Uses. I will never go back, and every time I travel out of the area and have to pay a few bucks in ATM fees, I will cheer myself up by remembering this saga as one of the most unpleasant things I've had to endure lately. It will be worth some fees now and then to no longer be in the clutches of such a consumer-unfriendly institution. And because I am me, it's not as though I was able to walk in there today and withdraw my money and continue on my merry way. Oh no. That...
I should not poke fun at people who come here via random internet searching. It's not kind, and it probably only entertains me. On the other hand, it does entertain me quite a bit, and I'm pretty much in charge, here. (Also, nothing interesting happened today unless you want to count Chickadee and Monkey begging to watch a movie before bed, and me telling them the conditions under which that would happen, and them screwing around and taking too long to eat dinner and shower, and then when I informed Chickadee that she had wasted her time and there would be no movie, she went upstairs and...
Today marks a momentous occasion: For the first time in weeks, I have nothing to say about the packing of boxes. Hooray! I have to admit, however, that the "oh yeah, throw that in the back wherever, I don't need it" bag which Otto wedged into the trunk behind everything else did end up being the back into which I'd put my medication. WHOOPS. He was a very good sport about retrieving it for me when I pointed out that PROBABLY I could go without my estrogen without turning into a man for quite a while (and then my dad looked at his watch and said, "Probably not before 4 this afternoon,...
After agonizing over water in plastic bottles to top off our "authentic" colonial lunch, I arrived at the picnic to observe something interesting. Many of the children were clad head to toe in elaborate costume. Girls in bonnets and petticoats; the whole nine yards. But Chickadee and I ate our eggs and biscuits and apples surrounded by kids toting lunch in wicker baskets... although those lunches contained juice boxes, ziploc bags, and all manner of modern food. I think my daughter may have fibbed a little when she told me we had to eat colonial food. Maybe that was my penance for not making...
Today is Colonial Day at school, otherwise known as the day after the day when I realize I'm supposed to buy full colonial garb for my child and settle for something with a long flowy skirt and maybe stay up until midnight attempting to make a bonnet out of a napkin and some lace. Hooray! One of the perks of today is that parents are invited to join the children for a picnic lunch. At breakfast (while I was braiding her hair, Laura Ingalls-style) Chickadee casually mentioned that lunch needs to be authentic. "Authentic?" "Yeah! No processed foods, no plastic... pack it in a basket!" A basket...
I have spent the entire day convinced that it's Sunday. Nevermind that I went to church YESTERDAY (which should've been my first clue), but the whole Monday-holiday thing, it confuses me. I cannot be expected to follow along. I was supposed to spent today sorting and pitching the ever-growing contents of some of my closets, but that's hard to do with a helper who likes to chew on things. With the dog here, it became clear that cleaning was not meant to be. (Oh! Twist my arm! Keep me from being productive! Okay!) Just so that I wouldn't feel like a total slug, I decided to take the dog for a...
I come from a family which is fairly small; I have one sibling, each of my parents has one sibling, there are rarely more than two kids on any family branch and many of us are far-flung. My brother lives across the country from me and we lead very different lives. I think it's safe to say that I am intrigued by large and/or close families. As a result, I've apparently developed a habit of marrying into those sorts of families. (Yes, let's refer to my marriages as "habits." That should delight both ex and current husband alike.) The idea of a big crazy group of people who voluntarily spend...
Did you watch American Idol tonight? Did you happen to notice Jordin Sparks WEARING MY FREAKING WEDDING DRESS? What's that? You didn't? Because it looked so much better on me? Oh, you're sweet. Such is the hardship of 1) buying off the rack and 2) being fabulous. But, seriously, let's think about this. Jordin Sparks is 17 years old. Do I need to be mortified that we wore the same dress? I mean, it's not like I got it from K-Mart or anything. It's a silk dress from Nordstrom. (Which, HI, I never shopped Nordstrom when I was in high school, but then again, I wasn't on American Idol.) No, it's...
Sure, there's the small matter of how I don't even get to LIVE with my HUSBAND just yet, but still. The perks are amazing. Why, I just checked and the last three posts got a zillion more comments than usual. And my goodness, what comments they are! My swelled head barely fits through the doorway anymore, and tomorrow I shall sit and cry when this post doesn't get over a hundred comments telling me how pretty I am. Heh. Also, today I got a spammy "I love your website and want you to promote mine" email from someone who---in all seriousness, I think---addressed me as "Mrs. Otto." That made me...
