Half-full, dammit!
I’m working on my positive thinking.
My new glasses are still not ready. Laundry is threatening to take over my home. One child started to disrobe at the Dollar Store this afternoon, and the other one has started saying, “Whatever!” in response to anything I say that doesn’t reinforce her need to be Queen of the Universe. Despite my fervent prayers for the six tons of leaves in my yard to perhaps just blow elsewhere, the task of yard clean-up is still waiting for me to get a grip and grab a rake, already.
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More like Frenziedween
Gah. Is Halloween over yet?? It’s starting to feel like a month-long extravaganza. I have a huge stack of paper pumpkins and renderings of witches and the like that I’ve been forbidden to throw away. First we spent the beginning of the month choosing and finding and refining the necessary costumes, and since then it’s been an exercise in patience. For me. The children are not patient. The children ask every single day if it’s Halloween yet.
And today, what fun! Halloween parties at school! Because heaven knows it’s not like they’re going to have enough junk food this weekend! Great!
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Name that domain!
I am very seriously kinda sorta maybe almost committing to moving to a real site sometime in the near future. Blogger has pissed me off one too many times. So after that whole thing I’m not thinking about resolves itself sometime next week, I may start taking steps to get off this cheap server and freeload elsewhere. Ha!
The problem is, I very much like my site name. There is really nothing more apropos for my usual state of mind than “Woulda Coulda Shoulda.” But–in case you haven’t noticed–typing that out as part of a domain name is a gigantic pain in the rear. I need a domain name that’s a little easier on the fingertips but retains the spirit of my theme.
So! A contest! Name my new domain! Leave suggestions in the comments. The winner will receive my undying adoration, and maybe some cookies if I ever get around to baking some more. I’m all about incentives, no? So gimme your best shot.
Better than dumpster diving
I was really hoping to pick up my new glasses today, but I called just now and was informed that they’re still not ready. “They sent me the wrong lenses! Twice! Well, the first ones were wrong. The second ones were scratched. Hopefully I’ll have them done tomorrow.” I suspect all of that to be elaborate code for “Tuesday I took the day off, Wednesday I had to sell some other people some stuff, and today I’m mostly surfing Amazon and spending the big hunk of money you gave me on Monday.” Hmph. So, tomorrow; maybe. Pardon me while I tilt my head a little like I’m really interested in what you’re saying, but in reality I’m just peering at you through the one teeny tiny spot on my glasses that isn’t blurry.
Alas.
But! I am quite cheerful today, nonetheless, because I have friends who are just like me. Camaraderie can come in many forms, but the bond forged over a bargain high is a beautiful thing. Excuse me a moment… there’s something in my eye….
I knew it had to be something amazing, because it started like this:
8:40 AM, the phone rings. Caller ID: friend’s cell.
Me: Hey! What’s up?
Her: …
Me: Hello? Are you there?
Her: …
Me: Bad connection. Call me back!
8:41 AM, the phone rings. Caller ID: friend’s cell.
Me: You there?
Her: …
Me: Hello? Hello?
Her: …
(line goes dead)
8:42 AM, the phone rings. Caller ID: friend’s cell.
Me: Bark once for yes! Did Timmy fall down the well??
Her: …
Me: AAARRRGGGHHHHHH!!! Call me back you dork!
8:48 AM, the phone rings. Caller ID: friend’s home phone.
Me: Something is seriously wrong with your cell phone.
Her: I know! I know! I’m sorry! But I was so excited, I wanted to call you right away, and I think my cell battery is dead.
Me: Well what’s the big excitement?
Her: I went to the dump this morning!
Me: Wow. That is exciting!
Her: Shut up. Remember how I told you they clean out the Still Good Shed on Wednesdays?
Me: Yeah?
Her: Well it was completely empty this morning except for ONE bag. One lone bag, sitting in the corner.
Me: And the bag contained…?
Her: Oh, just some clothes.
Me: ??
Her: Just some size 4, gorgeous, dry-cleaning-tags-attached Ann Taylor clothes. Gosh, I wish I knew someone who was a size 4!
Me: I’M A SIZE 4!! Pick me! Pick me!
Her: Oh yeah, that’s right. There’s a couple of purses in here, too. I’m bring it all over to you later.
Me: Yay!
Do you think it’s a trap? I mean, it’s so hard for me to digest that my town is so full of over-rich people who simply have their expensive clothes dry cleaned before they leave them at the dump like garbage, it’s not much of a stretch to believe that the next time there’s a PTA function the lights will go out and a black light will sweep the room, illuminating the invisible ink that was used to scrawl “THE WEARER PICKS UP EXPENSIVE CLOTHES LEFT AT THE DUMP” on the front of my blouse. It could be something like that, you know.
Then I realized, all of the rich snooty people around here already despise me, anyway. So what the heck!
My friend arrived with her arms full. Oooohhhhhhh. Pretty, pretty clothes. Silk pencil skirts. Cashmere twin sets. A little black dress. And two black purses. The first is a fun medium-sized leather bag from Banana Republic. Very cool.
The second? Is a satin Kate Spade bag. Not a knock-off. (I looked it up!) Be still my cheapskate heart. The only way I’m gonna get to own a Kate Spade bag in this lifetime is to get it from the dump. I can live with that.
Once I top off my new ensembles with my cool new glasses? I’ll be unstoppable. In the sense that I will be making a lot more trips to the dump. Yeehaw!
Real hobbits!
It is genetic
The following is an actual exchange I had on the phone with my father this evening.
Me: I’m glad you’re feeling better. Maybe now you’ll stop coughing up green stuff.
Him: Yeah. If I’m gonna cough up green stuff, I want it to be large-denomination bills!
See? I can’t help it. And the kids never had a chance.
Case in point: I present, for your consideration, Halloween of 2003. Chickadee was Madeline, right down to the red pageboy wig. Monkey was Buzz Lightyear, complete with inflatable wings that hindered his ability to walk through doorways. They were cute. They were adorable. They were nearly invisible. Why, you ask? Well, my dad and stepmom were here visiting over Halloween, and were coming out trick-or-treating with us. So they brought costumes!
Take a good look. You can click on it to see it larger. Do you think anyone looked at the kids? Really not. It may be hard to see because it’s so dark in the picture, but my father’s mask included long, curly, purple hair. 
They were the hit of the neighborhood. If the picture is fuzzy, it’s because I was laughing really hard when I took it. I mean, I thought I was quite the daring sort with my glow-in-the-dark fully-jointed skeleton earrings. Those two put me to shame. My sense of humor pales in comparison. Nobody lost an eye, but the fun and games did sort of come to an end when the little girl around the corner took one look at my dad and burst into tears. Monkey kept patting her and saying, “It’s okay, that’s just my Grandpa! He’s silly!”
[Readers from my father’s office: This is the point at which–if I was feeling evil–I would suggest that you rally to have him wear this mask to Friday’s meeting. But I would never do such a thing. I’m sure you could come up with that idea all on your own, right?]
“My blog exploded and all I got was this lousy site crash”
If I had spent more than a few minutes reviewing my general luck and Blogger’s track record thus far, I could’ve predicted that as soon as I signed up for Blog Explosion, all of BlogSpot would take a dive.
I couldn’t get into my blog all morning, and then this afternoon when pages started loading again, I couldn’t get into the dashboard to post.
Welcome, Blog Explosion visitors! This is my blog; chock full of “Page Not Found” juicy goodness. I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit and… hey! Where are you going??
When my new glasses come in? And I’m irresistable to men? The first thing I’m doing is finding me a nice rich guy who wants to buy me my own domain and Movable Type and perhaps even a pony. Just because. Then he will also sweep me off my feet with his listening skills, compassion, sense of humor, and sexual prowess. Hey, if you’re gonna dream, dream BIG, I say.
Last night I had two extremely vivid dreams. In the first one, I was surfing Blog Explosion (GEEK! GEEK! I had a DREAM about BLOGGING because I need a LIFE!) and found my ex’s blog. I seriously doubt my ex blogs. He’s the sort of person who would view such an endeavor as a complete waste of time. But in my dream, he had a blog, and it was wildly entertaining because it was composed of approximately 120% bullshit and fabrication about what a wonderful guy he is. Now this would be weird enough. But in my dream, he also had my site listed on his blogroll. This is how I figured out it was a dream, and woke up. If he’d found my site, he would’ve been able to keep it to himself for a maximum of five seconds. It was too improbable; I woke up and laughed out loud.
In the second dream, my one and only post-marriage ex-boyfriend (not to be confused with my ex-husband) resurfaced to tell me how losing me was the biggest mistake of his life, and how sorry he was that he’d treated me so badly. I was very confused, in this dream, as his confessions were gratifying but also served to remind me that I’m not quite over this schmuck. There wasn’t any laughing when I woke up from that one. There is something profound but deeply disturbing to be learned from the fact that I am having a harder time resolving the loss of a less-than-a-year boyfriend than the loss of a nearly-ten-year marriage. I don’t care to know what that knowledge is. I mean it. If you know, don’t tell me. I suspect it involves the word “loser.”
Then, of course, all of these exciting things happened to me today, but every time I sat down to blog, Blogger was still broken. All of these thrilling events have since flitted out of my brain to make room for more important things. Like that I have to provide chips for Friday’s Halloween party at school, or that Chickadee’s hair is crunchy and if I don’t get her into the shower tonight, CPS will probably be here tomorrow. Sorry. No tales of my day for you! Bad Blogger!
Plus, you have no idea what I have to put up with, here. Monkey is laying on the floor at my feet, chanting “I’m a Yankees fan! I’m a Yankees fan!” (When I asked him what a Yankees fan is, he said he didn’t know. Phew.)
Frustrations
In case I haven’t mentioned it–which I’m sure I haven’t, on account of I’ve been so successful with my Great Plan–I have this Great Plan in place. It goes a little something like this: think about anything, anything at all, rather than thinking about the Perfect Job Which I Might In Fact Get But Maybe Not. If I think about it, I vacillate so rapidly between the unfamiliar glow of hope and a dark cloud of deep despair (because if I don’t get this job? I give up) that I become very dizzy and need to lie down and also consume large amounts of carbohydrates. Hence the Great Plan. What am I thinking about? Why, lots of things! All kinds of things! But not that whole thing I’m not thinking about that I can’t mention because that would require thinking about it! Haha!
See how that works? It’s genius.
In the meantime, I am pondering various frustrations of varying levels of pettiness. It keeps me occupied.
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My child, my self
“Are you in your pajamas? I hear you playing, and I know you’re not playing if you’re not ready for bed.”
“Where did you put my pajamas?”
“They’re right THERE.”
“Where?”
“Right in your room! Don’t make me come in there!”
“On the floor?”
“Yes.”
“Are they folded in a little pile?”
“Yes.”
“Are they my favorite green?”
“Yes.”
“And nice and fuzzy?”
“Yes…?”
“The same ones I wore last night?”
“YES…!”
“Hmmm. Haven’t seen them!”
(It’s really hard to scold when you’re fully cognizant of being the source of the culprit’s smart-ass gene.)
I prefer being on top
When I paint. Sheesh. You’re sick.
A friend of mine has been “in the process” of painting her family room for something like six months. I couldn’t take it any more; when I saw her this weekend, I told her to pick a day because it was time to finish painting. She picked today, and I went straight over there after dropping the kids. We sponge painted the entire room. I did all of the work near the ceiling, because she has a bad shoulder and shouldn’t be reaching. And really, I find that Zen mood that overtakes me when I paint settles in better when I’m perched on a ladder or a chair. It must be the additional concentration.
Despite my single-minded attention on the task at hand, I discovered myself singing along with the radio. The station we were listening to was an “oldies” station, and many of those “oldies” are from when I was in high school. That made me feel pretty oldie. Wah. But that is not my point. My point is that amongst the Beatles and the Billy Joel and the James Taylor and all the other stuff they played for three hours while we painted, I knew all the lyrics to all of the songs without even thinking about it.
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