And yes, you have to touch it. Don't just keep poking at it like it's going to clean itself.
I have no idea how he managed it, but he did. Also managed: poop on the rug. Yes. Now all I have to say is
TGIF!
TGIF!
TGIF!
Less than half an hour to go, folks. Once again,
TGIF!
TGIF!
TGIF!
Have a spectacular weekend, and try not to get poop on your soap.
"I'm thinking that pumpkin with cream cheese frosting would be good. I mean, pumpkin isn't very Easter-y, but the cake is a bunny, and what says Easter more than a bunny?"
"I don't know, maybe Christ on the cross?"
"You think I should make a Christ on the cross cake???"
I won't tell you how, after we agreed that Christ on the cross wasn't the most appropriate idea for a cake, we discussed an empty tomb cake.
I will, however, tell you that I'd totally make the tomb door out of a big cookie.
I've been having dreams of a serious nature lately. I'm not sure I've got a lot to say about them except that they seem so real, and incredibly terrifying, and I am always hoping, in the midst of them, to wake up and be fine. And I've been waking up, and I've been fine, opening my eyes to morning light and breathing a prayer of thanks.
These dreams are the kind that are revelatory in nature, and I think they may be a somewhat of a warning, a hint that things are not quite as they should be, more specifically that I am not quite as I should be. I guess I've been prone to wasting things lately, to using things up that are meant to be saved for later. I can't promise a miraculous turnaround in all areas of life, but I can promise to at least try, which is more than I've been doing as of late. I can promise to recognize a sacrifice that has been made for me and honor that better. I can promise to believe what I know is true instead of making excuses.
I am as thankful, I think, for the dreams themselves as much as I am for waking from them and finding they're not real.
(Though I do rather feel like I've spent some nights in A Christmas Carol, if you know what I mean.)
Seriously. What with the posting of a few more vacation photos and the window shopping and the blog reading and the whatnotwhoknowsanyway, I barely have time to maintain my nap schedule, which is, as we should all well know by now, essential to my general well-being. It's also cutting into my brownie-consumption schedule. I may have to take a sabbatical.
Kidding! How could I take a sabbatical when I have all this complaining about not enough napping and not enough brownie consuming to do?
Anyway, what? Do I have a point? Oh, yes, yes I do.
Jarod found this wist dealy-mc-thinger-ma-bobber and now I can add items to my very own wist as I internet window shop. Pretty nifty. I'll probably add more stuff every day until I get distracted by some other new dealy-mc-thinger-ma-bobber, so if you'd like to see what's cool and new and hip and fresh according to yours truly, take a look. If you like it, make your own and let me know. I'd love to see the stuff you're digging.
So I'll give you a list of completely uninteresting things I've got to report and hope it will pass for an entry.
1. I went a little crazy on iTunes this morning. This often happens when I mail off a payment to the credit card those purchases are billed to. My deal with myself is that I have to pay my minimum (note that I said MY minimum, not THE minimum, as my minimum payment is more than Visa requires) plus whatever I've charged that month. So I've got another month before this round of tunes shows up. All RIGHT!
2. For those of you who are wondering, I downloaded some Belle and Sebastian, a smattering of Goo Goo Dolls (ah, memories), Thelonius Monk (I may have spelled his name wrong), and Jem. There were a couple of other random songs, neither of which I can remember. Actually, make that a few, as there may have been three.
3. I was incredibly productive this weekend, but my floors are still dirty. A girl can do a lot, but she can't do it all, you know.
4. Of what I got done, the biggest accomplishment was getting together my Goodwill donations. I have a fine assortment of crappy luggage type items, old shoes, and assorted kitchen tools. I'll be making the Goodwill run on Wednesday, so if any of you other Kansas City folks have stuff that needs to go, feel free to drop it off. I'll take as much as will fit in the back of my car.
5. I am nearly done with my very difficult sudoku book. When they named it Ultimate Sudoku Challenge, they weren't kidding. I'm up to puzzle 123 in my Mensa book, and nothing in it has come close to the agony I'm experiencing at the hands of Will Shortz. I even did the very last puzzle in the Mensa book, just to see if I could do it, and it was a breeze compared to the ultimateness of the sudoku in my other tome.
6. The interesting thing about the Will Shortz book is that I had little trouble with the last two puzzles, which are supposed to be the hardest of the hard, but am stuck on one that is merely in the Beware! Very Challenging! category. I MUST be missing some essential bit of logic there.
7. I very nearly cried over dinner Saturday night when I talked about moving. I like to think I covered it up pretty well, though.
8. In case you're new, hey, guess what? I'm moving. My nanny information will go out to families in the New York tri-state area next Monday, and if all goes well, I'll be starting a new position somewhere out there in early/mid-June.
9. This terrifies me just a little bit, but don't tell anyone I said that. It will be fun! It will be an adventure! I'm going to love it!
10. While I'm sure that it will be a fun adventure that I'll love, I reserve the right to freak out a little and get all weepy mulitple times in the meantime.
11. It is naptime, and I am sleepy. Goodnight, all.
1. I am working hard on downloading all my vacation photos so I can process them and make you a pretty, pretty (like a princess!) album on flickr. There are a some up already, but not the prettiest ones. Once I get everything off the CF cards, I'll start Photoshopping and then I'll have something to share. I realize this process would be ever-so-much faster if I'd invested in A) a CF card reader and B) a newer version of iPhoto, but alas, I prefer to spend my money on important things like shoes and bunny cake pans. Also underwear, but I probably shouldn't mention that in mixed company. (OOPS! Too late!)
2. Though the children slept beautifully all night, I did not. And I. Am. Tiiiiiired.
3. I cannot WAIT for the kids' mom to get home this evening. With my luck, her flight will be delayed and I'll be here until some ungodly hour, like, say 7:45pm, but I'm still hoping and praying that it'll be more like the projected arrival time of 6:15ish.
4. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...
Here's to a speedy entrance into the weekend.
My experiment with the children (see previous post) was a rousing success. Both children slept from 7:30pm until I woke them up this morning at 7:10am. No one woke up in the middle of the night. No one had trouble going to sleep. Everyone was cooperative getting ready for the day this morning. Dr. Weissbluth, you are a genius. If you have kids, I highly recommend reading Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and following the good doctor's advice.
Because the children went to bed so early, I was free to watch TELEVISION. Yes, it's true. I selected Chapelle's Show alternating with figure skating. I took a call while viewing, and so turned the TV to mute, and did you know that the hideousness of some figure skaters' costumes is even more glaringly hideous when there's no sound? Truly. Some of these people really need to check with me before giving their costume designers the A-OK to Yeah, go ahead and make me a really ugly sparkly costume which will make people question my fashion judgment. My good taste could really come in handy. One man was seen sporting a headband with tails that flowed out behind him as he skated, and an ice dancing couple looked strangely alike, and also (stranger still) JUST LIKE FABIO. You may think I kid, but, sadly, I do not. These people obviously need my help, and some costume designers obviously need to be out of work, and soon. Trust me on this one.
Or, you know, watch figure skating on mute yourself. You'll see exactly what I mean.
With the children, of course! I've been reading Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and have been wondering for some time if Jack's difficulty focusing on tasks could be related to lack of sleep. When he has time off school, he'll still take a solid two hour nap in the afternoon, and I'm thinking that regular bedtime and a short rest time at school just aren't enough. And so: Tonight, since I am in charge (Have I mentioned yet that I'm in charge? Overnight? Oh, oops, no. Well, I am), I am moving up the bedtime by a full hour and seeing what happens. According to the book, this sometimes helps children sleep longer in the morning and helps them sleep without waking in the middle of the night. If it doesn't work, I'll be the one to reap the early morning, so I figure it's worth a shot. If it works, I can report back to their mom that, Hey, and earlier bedtime is sublime! If not, I'll just be up a little early and no harm done. I'll report the level of success tomorrow.
(Though I must say that right now? The level of success seems high, even VERY VERY HIGH, if only because it gives me more time to scroll through all those glorious cable channels and find something truly unfortunate to watch.)
I don't care what your political leanings are; if you're arrogant, I'm not going to listen to a word you say. We may agree on some things and disagree on others and maybe both of us are capable of holding up our end of a discussion quite well. But if you take on that tone, you know, the one where everyone can tell that you think you know everything? I'm just not going to listen. Do you hear me? I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY IF YOU CAN'T BE A LITTLE HUMBLE WHILE YOU'RE SAYING IT.
Right. So. The contractor who is working on the basement at work has been teasingly badgering me to listen to Bill O'Reilly.
Every day.
I've politely declined each time, but he thinks that it's just such an awesome joke, why doesn't he go for it again? (Um, I don't know, maybe because it annoys the crap out of me? And maybe because I recognize you're making assumptions about me and my political leanings which may or may not be true? Hmmm...) So you can feel my pain, I bring you (dun, dun, DUUUUUN) Today's Conversation with George.
George (looking at oven clock): Only an hour and a half!
Mary (glancing over from where I am feverishly preparing beanie weanies): What? Are you talking to me?
George: Oh, actually it's one hour and thirty-seven minutes. You don't have to miss it today.
Mary: Well, gosh, um, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be busy. See, I believe in sharpening my mind during my free time*, and so I have this book of sudoku puzzles with me. There are 576** of them, and I'm only on number ninety-three***, so I should probably work on that.
George: Oh. Well, you don't have to listen right then. You have satellite? Or cable television, right?
Mary: Actually, no. I don't have a television. I think it's better to use my free time to read or listen to good music or something else which will enhance my thinking skills.****
George: Oh. Wow. No television? You really ARE a Democrat.*****
Mary: I lay no claim to any political party, thank you very much.
George (exiting, because I have possibly rendered him speechless, hallelujah): Okay, well...have a good day then...
One of these days I'm going to kick that man in the shins.
*Please don't tell George I watch Dr. 90210.
**That may be a slight mistruth, as I don't know exactly how many puzzles are in the book.
***This also may be a slight mistruth. I might be on number ninety-four. I can't remember.
****Please also don't tell George that I ask my boyfriend to record America's Next Top Model and Grey's Anatomy for me.
*****I'm pretty sure I know a lot of Democrats who don't shy away from television. Any of you Democrats want to give me a hand with that one?
There's also nothing like Chinese water torture, so, y'know...
Actually, it's not just a both feet jump. It's kind of more like a cannonball.
Off the high dive.
My flight got in late last night, and it was nearly 2am by the time I was in the door and scurrying about, trying to get the trash emptied and kitty litter changed. Yes, that's right; one of the first activities upon arriving home involved dealing with refuse and cat feces. WELCOME HOME!
So. By the time I set the alarm, the clock read 2:23am. I think you may have guessed this already, but getting out of bed this morning in order to be to work by 7:30 was no picnic. It's a good thing the clothes I wore on the plane were still clean and I could just grab them off the dresser and put them back on.
This morning Mary Liz had her five year check-up. She got the usual check-up, plus a bonus round of peeing in a cup (and on my hand! ADDED! BONUS!), three shots, and a finger stick. According to the nurse, she's a good bleeder. According to me, she's a good pee-er. And also she's pretty brave when it comes to shots. The finger stick was the only thing she complained about, and then it was just an "OW!" that indicated absolute annoyance with the nurse doing the blood draw. I mean, the audacity of her, trying to make sure that Mary Liz isn't anemic. How could she?
But the blood draw was over in seconds, and then there were band-aids, and special SpongeBob toys from the Special Drawer for Big Kids Who Get Shots, and all was soon forgotten, or at least until she had to use her hand to open the car door, at which point she sized up the situation and seized the opportunity to have someone else open the door for her. That's my girl!
And then there was Target, and then there was lunch, and now, finally, it is naptime. There's a load of laundry in the washer and three more to go before the end of the day. Yippee, hooray, and all that. We're also promised inclement weather, which may bestow a snow day upon the students of Jack's school and thus interrupt my usual Tuesday Morning Nap-A-Thon. You can roll your eyes at me if you want and play your finger fiddles in mock sympathy, by I won't be paying attention to you. I will be too busy feeling sorry for myself to notice your utter lack of respect of my need for daytime sleep.
In other news, it turns out that if you leave your apartment a mess and go on vacation, it stays a mess until you get back and clean it. Who knew? I did a little clean-up this morning, but frankly I could care less about the crusty hairball I found in my bedroom and the dirty dishes in the sink. Right now all I really want to do is sleep.
Enjoy your Monday. I'm off to enjoy mine on the comfy couch.
Or, rather, down to the beach and out.
Today marks the last day of my vacation. From here we're headed to a beach that's beneath the take-off path of LAX (where all the cool kids hang out, or at least where two cool kids are hanging out today) and then to LAX itself so I can catch my evening flight back to Kansas City. I've had a wonderful time, and I hate to leave Holly and return to what is possibly questionable weather, but I'm also ready to be home. It will be good to feel a warm embrace when I step off the plane, to be greeted at home by plaintive meows, to sleep in my very own bed.
Farewell, California. You've been great, but it's time for me to go.
I did not, I repeat, DID NOT purchase the throw pillow. I only visited it and found something more expensive that I wanted to purchase.
I didn't get that either. I got a greeting card instead.
Be proud, people; be very, very proud.
Also: Note to self: If you bring more than two devices that need to be recharged on vacation, you might also consider bringing your own power strip. Just a thought for optimum battery charging efficiency.
Anyway, the oatmeal. This morning I got up and, between opening my eyes and making it into the kitchen to get some breakfast, convinced myself that I wouldn't go running, and it was fine, and after all, guess what? I'm on vacation.
However, that whole vacation thing doesn't hold up under the weight of two packets of Quaker Instant Oatmeal, for this miracle food makes me feel like I! Can! Do! Anything! Including an eight mile run. On vacation.
Magical.
Yes, I know boringest is not a word. I'm trying to add some excitement to my day by being creative with the English language.
And now, lest I lose you before I really have a chance to bore you to tears, let's review what I have done with my day:
1. Wake up.
2. Eat oatmeal.
3. Waste time reading things I've already read on the internet.
4. Grudgingly put on my running clothes and shoes.
5. Consider napping instead.
6. Run. (I ate too many nachos and other assorted grease-laden foods yesterday to just take a nap.)
7. Shower.
8. Complete long and involved process I call "getting ready," which includes an entire family of Proactiv products and lots of smoothing of my hair.
9. Waste time on the internet while embroidering. (Multi-tasking! So efficient!)
10. Leave the house.
11. Take some pictures of flowers and trees and my own shadow.
12. Drool over some appliqued pillows. Think to self, "I could totally do that," as if I'd even get around to it. Please. I might as well just cough up the forty dollars one of those suckers costs.
13. Seriously consider coughing up forty dollars to buy a throw pillow.
14. Think to self, in my own defense, "It's not unreasonable to spend forty dollars on a throw pillow if it has all those cute birdies [or kitties, depending on which pillow I was eyeing] on it. That's quality workmanship!"
15. Leave store, but not before being seriously tempted by several items featuring bunnies.
16. Proceed to Starbucks.
17. Order iced grande hazelnut percent no whip mocha. Employee looks confused, can't find the right cup, must be new. Or maybe no one who frequents this 'bucks gets anything so...high maintenance.
18. Drink iced mocha, complete three sudoku puzzles.
19. Discover that the water bottles I've been wanting are on clearance. Score!
20. Purchase water bottles, which are the same water bottles I could probably get at home.
21. Return to apartment.
22. Decide that the internet must know the incredibly intriguing details of my day.
What? What's that you're saying? I could have done all those things without having to travel 2000 miles across the U S of A?
Um, yeah. I KNOW.
Also, do not order the quesadillas at the airport, particularly if you tend to get puffy when you fly, for they will only enhance your puffiness, and lo, your face will balloon to twice its normal size, and your eyes will look like two small slits.
Well, maybe it wasn't that bad. What was bad, however, was my foray into the world of Time Change Math. Basically, I got all confused about time changes and how they relate to flight times and somehow failed to realize that my flight from Chicago to Phoenix would take three hours and forty-freaking-five minutes. I'd say it was the longest flight ever, but hello: Sydney to LA with a bunch of teenagers, anyone? In reality, it was a kind of long flight during which I slept through the beverage service (thank you, Dramamine, I love you with all my airsick heart) but was fortuitously able to switch my seat assignment to an emergency exit row, so the leg room was, well, it was beautiful.
As for the Phoenix to LA flight, it was pretty near perfect. We left late, and all the passengers who had international connections out of LAX had been reassigned to other flights, thus our plane was maybe (maybe) one third full. Which meant (hallelujah) that I got my own row. You know, ALL TO MYSELF. I proceeded to curl up on my side and sleep until we began our final descent into LA. Not. Too. Shabby.
And of course it's wonderful to see Holly. She lives in a cute neighborhood in Claremont. I went for a short run this morning and was delighted by how green everything is and how good it smells (eucalyptus, anyone?). I think Segment Two of my vacation is going to be just right.
Say you have tickets to a sold out show at Park West in Chicago. Say it's...um...Jamie Cullum or something and really, it's FANTASTIC. Maybe you even complained to some girls who were just trying to find a place to stand in the balcony that they needed to move because you'd gotten there an hour early to get your spot. Maybe you were kind of bitchy about it, but oh, well. My question for you is this: After all that trouble to get your very excellent spot, plus factoring in that this is one of the best shows ever, why would you leave before it's over?
(But PS, Nicole and I really enjoyed sitting on the stools you vacated, as well as the absence of your snotty selves, so thanks for that.)
(And PPS, thanks to the very nice people who moved over for us to have a spot; you people were awesome, unlike some people who will remain nameless, if only because I don't know their names.)
In other news, Nicole is my parallel parking hero. She parked her non-power-steering car in a spot that left just an inch of space in the front and two inches in the back. AMAZING. I would've taken a picture, but I saved all the room on my tiny xD card for Jamie Cullum. Still: Nicole deserves all the parallel parking kudos the internet has to offer.
I'm off this evening to California. Weather here has been crusty; it teased me yesterday morning by offering up a balmy sixty degrees, but cut that right out by the time I had to wait 45 minutes for my re-routed bus (long story, not worth telling, but let's just look at the bright side and recognize that the girl at the stop in capri pants without a jacket was much more uncomfortable than me).
I have photos (and video, if I can figure out how to get that going for you) of the Jamie Cullum show (which was quite possibly the best show I've ever attended), as well as some of the rest of Segment One of my vacation. You're gonna love 'em, but you're going to have to wait to see 'em. I'll catch up with you in California...
Tomorrow morning Jarod and I hit the highway for Segment One of my vacation. We'll both be in Chicago for the weekend staying with friends of mine, then I send him home alone and get on with Segment Two, which finds me California bound. If you've been following along for awhile, you'll now be thinking that I probably packed two weeks ago after making eighteen lists on the backs of Starbucks receipts, but the truth is that I'm only half packed and I only made one list, and that's of all the chargers I have to take along for the batteries of my many devices. This morning I wasn't packed at all, and I stood there, befuddled, open suitcase before me, all clothing at my disposal. I felt completely lost. As much as I'd like to think I'm an excellent packer, the truth is that I'm an excellent packer only if I've had a lot of time to mull over my clothing choices and have made several lists. Circumstances being what they are, I'm a terrible packer with a tendency to bring too many pairs of shoes. I get the sense that I'll end up in California with eight pairs of shoes and too few pairs of underwear.
I guess it's a good thing they sell underwear in California.
I mean, who do I think I am, first of all, expecting a child to actually wear the shoes she picked out at the shoe store? Second, where do I get off thinking that, because we discussed at length the impending use of new shoes, and the fact that, because we had discussed it, there would be no fit-throwing or complaining, that I could give consequences for said fit-throwing and complaining? Third, why on earth would I be a little bit peeved when I declared the complaint session over and she pulled her mother around the corner to complain some freaking more about the shoes she'd picked out? I really don't know. I guess I'm just mean and unreasonable and bent on torturing children by allowing them to experience both consequences and rewards for their choices.
Gosh, what's my deal?
Capitalization is arbitrary in this one--just letting you know. Pretend I'm Brilliant like Arundhati Roy or something.
Earlier this week I came down with what I thought was a chest cold but turned out to be Full On Influenza. Of the hacking, aching, ibuprofen-laden variety. I threw the ibuprofen into the mix myself, just for fun, and also because I still had to go to work. I'm one of those annoying people that thinks if I can stand up, I am able to work. (Also, for reasons I won't explain right now--due to laziness, not because I can't share for some other reason--it's harder than usual to take the day off.) Thanks to my schedule (three long days, spaced evenly with two short ones, so that there are never two days in a row in which I have to make it all day long without sleeping on my couch for the bulk of the morning), I was able to make it through mostly all right. It was touch and go yesterday before the ibuprofen and iced mocha kicked in, but after that I managed beautifully. (Oh, except that part where I wanted to lay down on the floor in Target for a little nap. But we won't mention that outside of this parenthetical note.)
I don't do well being sick, not because I'm a miserable sick person, but because being sick interrupts my precious plans to run the world as I see fit. I had a schedule, people! I was going to stick to it! I was going to enter my week of vacation with the dishes done, the floors swept, a load of running miles under my belt, everything packed ahead of time, note to the cat sitter in legible handwriting, possibly using more than one ink color and some cute illustrations.
As it is, I'll be leaving a film of dust and other detritus on the floor, a sink full of dishes, and a note that is scribbled on the back of a receipt. Unless, of course, there's a miracle before early Saturday morning. I'm not banking on that.
I just showered, not because I was in need of a shower, but because it would A) make my hair look better (I went to bed with it wet last night--MISTAKE!!) and B) feel really nice. I just wasted water for the sake of vanity and comfort. Awesome. My excuse it that I'm sick. Kind of. More like getting over being sick, but still feeling...kind of meh. To that end I also decided to skip my running mileage for today and eat Little Debbie snacks for breakfast (comic brownies, delish). I had a lot less trouble allowing the Little Debbie indulgence than I did admitting that I needed to take the day off from running. Because I had a plan! And I was going to execute the plan! Even if it killed me!
But then I noticed that I was breaking into a sweat whilst getting the kids ready for school this morning, and the temperature on the thermostat read sixty-seven cool degrees. Fever breaking, perhaps?
In the beginning of my running days, it was all about getting out the door in the first place, making the mileage, deciding to do it again the next day. But as the stakes have become a little bit higher, and I've registered for Pikes Peak Marathon after Pikes Peak Marathon, the opposite has become true. Now it's more difficult to keep myself in when necessary. If I don't complete my planned mileage, I feel a little...bereft. A little bit unfinished. Somewhat undone. But, so the running articles say, it is just as important to rest when necessary as it is to get in all those pesky training runs, and so sometimes I have to admit defeat, plan a supper of soup and an early bedtime, and understand that I've let no one down just because I can't run today.
But still.
MEH.
Seriously. I tried, but was cut off at the pass. Before I was done complaining. I KNOW. Why would anyone want me to stop? My complaining is delightful! Music to the ears! A veritable symphony of glorious... Okay, okay, I know. I'll quit. Mostly because there are eleventy billion reasons I shouldn't be complaining, and I don't want to tempt anyone to outline those.
But anyway. Does something small ever irritate you SO MUCH that you just feel like you need to go on and on and on about it until someone pretends to take pity on you or at least listens until their ears fall off? Yes? (Say yes. You know you do it.) Well, dear internet, that is why I am here. Because last night I got a tiny sandwich that was charred at the edges when I really wanted a regular sized sandwich that was lightly toasted, and there was no way I'd complain about it to the slowest employees in the universe who both seemed very nice and who probably would have felt terrible if I'd mentioned that, hey, I ordered a small sandwich, not the Sandwich of Miniatureness, and I really don't like blackened anything, much less blackened crust of bread. Also it would have been rude and not very nice and is probably mostly a symptom of my American sense of entitlement (I want what I want! And I want it perfect! And I want it RIGHT NOW!) and also an indicator that maybe I wasn't feeling well, but hadn't realized it yet. (My skill with run-on sentences is unparalleled, I know.) (Also, chest cold, anyone? It's so much fun!) Because, internet, somehow getting a sandwich that was less than perfect was a REALLY BIG DEAL to me. And seriously? I can forgive.
I just have to complain a lot first.
I'm just checking in because I feel I owe you an update on my life, and I'm assuming you want to read it. Also I'm about to set you free from your sorta embarassing problem, provided that your sorta embarassing problem is the same sorta embarassing problem as my former sorta embarassing problem.
But first I want to admit that I'm a lazyass who can't seem to reply to comments or return e-mails in a timely manner. I'm kind of sorry, but not sorry enough to get right on that or anything. I do want to say that I love, love, love it when you comment (and e-mail! This parenthetical note is for you, Tina.), so please keep doing it. Please. I beg. I don't reply to all the comments anymore, but I do beg. See this? I'm begging. I could spend the time I'm begging actually replying to your comments, but this takes fewer steps and mouse clicks. See? Am lazy. Terribly, terribly lazy. But still: I love you! And your comments!
Ooooookay, then.
This morning Mary Liz and I painted The Plaza red and then had lunch at my house. I decided that since I'm going out tonight and may or may not have awhile to get ready (I forgot to mention to the kids' mom this morning that I need to leave on time(ish) today), I should go ahead and put on clothes that I can wear on tonight's date. Which would be fine, except: Since when does a shirt of mine stay clean all day? At lunchtime I managed to get a perfectly straight line of grease across the middle of the shirt, presumably from balancing the container of leftovers against my torso whilst pulling additional foods from the fridge. I didn't check to see if it smelled like prosciutto stuffed chicken, but I'm fairly certain that's what it was. When I returned to the workstead, I did what any resourceful girl would do and doused it in Palmolive (Toughest on Grease! Mild on Hands), then rinsed that portion of the shirt out in the sink. While I was wearing it. So now I'm walking around with a huge wet spot in the middle of my shirt, and I'm not sure I got the grease out. However, if Palmolive lives up to their claims the grease should be obliterated and I'll be wearing a clean shirt that smells faintly of dish soap tonight. Foxy! I just hope I don't have to go anywhere before the sucker dries.
And really? There's nothing else to tell that will excite you, unless you have toenail fungus, in which case I urge you to try this as opposed to something (*cough*LamisilTablets*cough*) which may or may not destroy your liver and various other organs required for the normal functioning of your body in the process of destroying the nasty little dermatophytes which are causing the problem in the first place. I've been waiting for years to get a pedicure, and now I can finally get one, for the Funky Feet Essential Oil Blend, it has cured me. Hallelujah and tell them I sent you. Also, don't pay attention to the warning label on the bottle and think you can't just spread it right on top of the offending nails, because you totally can. I wouldn't recommend smearing it all over your body, but using a Q-tip to apply it to each individual nail is fine. Also also once a day is fine. Also also also I recommend putting it on in the evening after you've gone all the places you're going for the day because essential oils often have strong aromas and this blend will make you smell like you're a patchouli-wearing hippie who likes to cook with basil and thyme while baking cinnmon rolls. It's not entirely unpleasant, but it's not exactly a fitting fragrance for the office or a social function. Unless, of course, your office or social function is filled with patchouli-wearing hippies that enjoy cooking with basil and thyme whilst baking cinnamon rolls. In that case? Go right ahead and put it on before you leave the house. Enough said, right? (Or did I cross that line eight sentences ago?)
ANYway: Naptime fades, and so do I. Enjoy your Wednesday.
