The Intractables
Who’s going to the movies today? Go on, guess!
If you guessed NOT ME, you are 100% correct!
I’ve decided the only way to assuage my disappointment over not getting to see The Incredibles today is to write, direct, and star in my own movie. I will be shamelessly ripping off the plot from The Incredibles, because I’m ambitious but not all that creative.
The Intractables is a laugh-a-minute romp featuring the world’s grumpiest family, called upon to behave normally for a mere 24 hours in order to attain the ultimate goal: getting to go to the movies.
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This just in!
As in, just handed to me on a teeny piece of paper with even teenier writing:
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Welcome to my new digs!!
Come on in, take off your shoes, and make yourself at home. I’m a lousy hostess but there’s bound to be some snacks around here, somewhere.
So, you like? I have been working like a busy busy little beaver with a generous allotment of help from both Jay and Zoot. Go show those two some loooooove because I know I’m feeling it! All of my dreams about moving off of Blogger have become a reality thanks to them!
Please change your blogrolls and bookmarks to https://wouldashoulda.com/ and kiss the Blogger site good-bye. I jest. Do not kiss Blogger; it does not deserve your love. Thumb your nose at it. If you’re not feeling that childish, just kind of give it the cold shoulder.
I have migrated all my old posts but the migration process is a gigantic hack and so there will be weirdness with some of them. Sorry. Deal with it. (Did I mention I’m a lousy hostess? Have some chips and shut up.) Also, there’s no way to migrate Haloscan comments, so even my most brilliant and witty posts appear to be neglected and ignored here, but oh well.
And now, let the love flow and the settling in commence. I may even get back to actually writing about stuff sometime soon. If I ever stop admiring my pretty, pretty site.
No. Just… NO.
I’m the one and only Yahoo! search result for “uterus grew back”.
I was kidding. Ewww.
(Yeah, I know I’ve been neglecting my blog duties. Sit tight, my pretties… something good is coming down the pike very soon, trust me.)
Mixed metaphors or channelling?
This morning I happened upon Unexpected Disaster Mess #37 and blew my cool. I mean I lost it but good; the kind of scene where the children freeze, watch me with rapt attention, and then scurry away as quickly as possible before I decide to eat them.
A plant had been upturned. All over a nearby stack of… well… stuff. Clothes, papers, a bunch of stuff I’ve been meaning to put away. Anyway, as per usual, no one had done it, of course. I launched into my “everyone makes mistakes but I can’t help fix it unless someone comes and TELLS me” speech, and both kids insisted that it wasn’t them. The steam curled out of my ears as I sputtered.
“You two are like CIRCUS ANIMALS!!”
This perked Monkey up considerably. I’m sure he was envisioning a life of cotton candy and popcorn, and maybe even funny hats. Who knows. Chickadee just cocked her head to the side and was clearly debating the relative merits of pointing out that I wasn’t making any sense.
I meant to say they were like barn animals. (Cuz that’s much better parenting, don’t you think? Accusing them of being barn animals?) I have no idea where the circus part came from. I might’ve been channelling Jenny. Jenny, can you account for the whereabouts of your psyche at about 7:30 EST this morning??
Lights! Cameras! Gawking!
How do you know when you have a keeper of a babysitter? Take this simple test to find out!
You should keep your babysitter if:
A) The kids love her
B) She’s reliable
C) She lives across the street
D) She’s bright enough to call you “just to let you know” that a house a few doors down is on fire, there are multiple fire trucks and ambulances on the scene, and please do not freak out, they are all fine in your house, which by the way is not on fire, and also the kids are sleeping through the whole thing
E) All of the above
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She gives great encore
Because I have all the memory and learning capacity of a paramecium, I turned on my Ben Folds Five CD in the car again today. When “Song for the Dumped” came on I immediately hit the button to skip to the next track, and Chickadee threw a hissy fit.
Her: NO! Go back! I like that song!!
Me: Honey, I don’t think we should listen to it.
Her: But I LIKE IT!
Me: *wavering; hey, I like it too* Well, I guess we can listen to it, as long as you understand they use some bad language in this song that we will not be repeating. We don’t use words like that, right?
Her: Right. I know, Mama.
Music: Well fuck you too! Gimme my money back, gimme my money back, you bitch!
Her: Mama?
Me: Yes, honey? *thinking: ooooohhh no*
Her: I would never talk like that. I would say, “May I have my money back, please?”
Me: MMmmffflllggg!
Her: Why are you laughing??
Cold feet
One Christmas, my ex–who was infamous for being a lousy gift-purchaser–accidentally bought me something wonderful. Well, he paid full price (which as you know I would never condone), but it was wonderful anyway. He bought me a pair of “wicked good” slippers from LL Bean.
I despise the New England habit of labelling things as wicked in order to convey their fabulousness as much as the next transplant, but friends, these slippers live up to their name. They are soft and warm and comfortable and last forever and I may just marry mine this winter. They are that fab. Everyone who sees my amazing slippers covets them, and I am forever gently rebuffing folks with, “NO! THEY ARE MINE MINE MINE AND YOU CAN’T HAVE THEM!”
In fact, the ex coveted them as soon as they arrived. So I did the appropriate thing, and waited two years until a pair in his size showed up at our local Bean outlet and then got him some. There’s wicked good, and there’s wicked expensive. I’m not saying these slippers aren’t worth their full retail price, I’m just saying I’m cheap. Anyway.
Winter rolls around and you will find me in my wicked good slippers just about every moment that I’m here in the house. I’m wearing them right now! (And what are you wearing? Oh, wait; that’s a different sort of entry altogether.) It is one of my greatest hopes that I will die with these slippers on and people will fight over who gets to pry them off my cold, dead feet.
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Nothing to see here; move along
I haven’t the heart to embed a pic of myself in the post so that it flashes right up at you when the page loads. Heck; turning the loyal Blog Explosion surfers to stone isn’t explicitly stated as grounds for expulsion from BE, but I’m guessing that if word got around, I’d be in trouble.
But you all responded so kindly to the pic of just my eyes and specs (although someone said my eyes are brown and I cried because they’re hazel and I felt so misunderstood). It became a real personal challenge to figure out how to snap a pic of myself either by stretching my arms or using the mirror. The result is here for your viewing pleasure. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I kid! Obviously, that’s not really me. That chick is way better looking than I am; also in better focus, with some actual color balance, and not smiling the big ol’ fake smile of “dear sweet Jesus make this photo be halfway presentable or I am going to smash this here camera into tiny little bits and never let such a device anywhere near me ever again, amen.” Also, her eyes aren’t hazel. So eventually I gave up, accepting that I am to be slightly blurry and yellow-tinted (you can’t use an attached flash in the mirror, ya know), and vowing never ever ever to promise the internet a picture of me ever again.
Call off the alert
Good news! I survived.
I did half an hour on the elliptical trainer, then collapsed onto the floor weeping stretched out for a while. While my hindquarters are still markedly jiggly, I’m feeling the burn, baby.
Unfortunately, Mary only placed second in the Minnesota-wide mathematics competition, and Laura’s bundt cake fell apart. It was touch and go there, for a bit. In the end it was okay, though; the town welcomed Mary back with open arms and some dude in a tophat declaring in a thick Scandinavian accent, “Tank you, Mary Ingalls, for putting Walnut Grove on da map!”, and Pa said the cake still tasted “mighty fine.” Phew.
In other news, Big Company strikes again! They must’ve heard I’ve kicked the sugar and all, because even though I turned them down on their offer to be a Vice President of Finance, they’re back begging at my door, again. Today they’ve contacted me to let me know I should apply to be a Vice President of Management Effectiveness. And let me tell you, it’s about time they recognized my abilities.
My first decree as VP of Management Effectiveness shall go like this: Hey, get your heads out of your butts and try actually matching people to jobs for which they’re qualified, and then when they apply for those jobs, call them back and hire them. Big Company–heck, most big companies–could use some work in this area. I’m gonna have my work cut out for me.
Also, once I’m a VP, I don’t think I’m allowed to use the word “gonna” anymore. Pity.