In something like 15 hours we’ll be on our way to Phoenix and I can’t express how excited I am to go. I’ve been using this weekend as a touchstone all year long (only 4 more months til Phoenix! Only 7 more weeks til Phoenix!) and nothing’s going to stop me now. Including the fact that I have virtually NO INVENTORY to sell at the convention AND the banners didn’t arrive in time AND the convertible we wanted to rent is laughtastically expensive (so we’re getting a Ford Fusion or something) AND the fact that I only have 2 clean pairs of underwear to my name AND the fact that we have to get up at the crack of dawn to take the Kidlet to school… I don’t even care. The fact that I’ll be away from home and surrounded by - and living with! -friends and I might get to smooch a newborn baby… it’s already the best vacation I’ve ever had.
I love my husband dearly, but he’s a bumbling fool. If I don’t remind him of things a million times and convince him that, yes, he DOES need to finish the root canal that was started several months ago then he wouldn’t. He would forget to eat, forget to sleep, forget to take care of himself and he’d evaporate into thin air. He acknowledges this readily and appreciates everything, but today - just today - I want to scream GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER BECAUSE I AM HAVING A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN OVER HERE.
Kidlet is swimming at what is, apparently, the “hot mom” pool. The “oh I’m so old, I’m already 24” bitches who clearly spent more than am hour in hair and makeup before bringing their toddlers to the pool where they’re too involved with themselves to notice the crawling-aged baby (9, 10 months?) crawling INTO the jacuzzi and even then it’s all “silly girl! Come back and sit by me. Here, play with this Us Weekly”
Last week in my hotel room, I watched a show on HGTV about people buying vacation homes in foreign countries. Mindless schlock, to be sure, but I thought it would help me fall asleep (also it was the only channel not running infomercials at 3am). Instead, it kept me awake because I just kept thinking “who the hell does this woman think she is?”
She wanted a vacation home in Italy in some ancestral village (although her ancestry was negligible, but whatever, she can buy a townhouse in an Italian village, per her American rights) and all of the listings that she was shown were total crap. The places needed MAJOR repairs - you know, things like the roof is caving in and there’s no wall in this room - and were pretty sketchy looking. Maybe that’s just how it is - you spend your life savings to travel halfway across the world to vacation in an apartment that’s one step up from a lean-to.
But my biggest problem was her attitude toward the realtor. She kept acting dismayed and pretty pushy and rude about the poor condition of these houses. YES, they were run-down and overall pretty miserable (I wouldn’t want to spend my vacation there) but that’s hardly the realtor’s fault. I missed the beginning when they discussed budget, so it wasn’t until the end that I found out that she only wanted to spend something like $75,000 which was why she was being shown condos in the slums. Which only made me angrier. It just seemed so typically American. That she wanted a vacation home, in some remote place she’d never been because her great-great-great-great-great-great something was supposedly from there and she wanted style and luxury and amenities out the ying-yang but for third world prices. And when the reality of the global economy crept in, she’d snap at the realtor about how she didn’t like the cabinets or this bathroom wasn’t nearly big enough. (Her loudest and most obnoxious complaint was that to access the houses built on the side of a hill you had to walk down a sloping street, which wasn’t even steep. She just didn’t like walking)
“I love shoes! preferably Mary Janes, Ballet Flats, and Slouch Boots! I like to get them wet and muddy too! If you see a pair that you’d like to see wet or muddy, let me know, I take requests!”
This person favorited a picture of some shoes I posted on Flickr. Apparently this person is a muddy-shoe fetishist. Man, what the fuck is wrong with people? Seriously. Get the fuck out, fucking weirdos. Remember when flickr wasn’t filled with fucking creeps? Fuck.
I used to get a lot of comments on a picture of my foot (it has something like 10,000 views), but they were tame at least (“you have nice feet”, “your toes are cute”)… Ryan keeps saying that I should post pictures as a second income. If someone pays for the pedicure, they get to see a picture. ;)
I am extremely fortunate that my nephew’s parents are going to live. His father didn’t lose his leg, as the doctors expected that we would. Mom isn’t on the brink of death anymore and her prognosis is very good.
In fact, they will be coming home soon. Dad within the next day or so and Mom shortly after. Which means that I have to go clean their house. Because they both nearly died of bacterial infections (strep ain’t no joke, people! You got a kid with strep throat, keep them home from school and get them on antibiotics!), their whole house needs to be sterilized and I’m pretty much the only person who can or will do it. But I really don’t want to. Beside the fact that it’s going to be an entire day of me missing work to scrub someone else’s toilets, I am just plain creeped out. I know the point is to eradicate any bacteria hanging around (and it’s extremely unlikely that I will be exposed since it’s been over a week since the house has sat empty) but I get the hooky spooks just thinking about it.
My only other option is to hire a specialty cleaning service (I can’t ask some random cleaning lady off Craigslist to disinfect a sick ward) which will cost hundreds to thousands of dollars because there are so few companies that take on biohazard clean-up, I would have to use a specialty company who usually cleans up crime scenes and stuff.
I like watching infomercials. If there’s nothing on and I’m just laying on the couch, zoning out in front of the tv before bed, they are weirdly comforting. I’ve never bought anything off an infomercial, though. I think part of the reason I like them is that I would watch them as a kid and just be…
I watched one when I was unable to sleep in a hotel and it was for some baby food maker. Basically, a magic bullet style blender that comes with tupperware. But it was over-the-top cheesy (trying to be ironic, I guess) that was oddly watchable.
"How many Haunted Mansion things do you have? That’s a lot of toys for an adult. I’m going to play with them since you don’t, ok?"
"Your bathtub is DISGUSTING! There were two ants walking on the side. TWO ANTS!! I guess that’s not too many, but… whoa. Disgusting.” (it’s getting hot out, the ants are sending scouts in the house looking for water. The two offending ants were killed on sight but, still, y’know, it’s super disgusting. This comment should also be filed under “please Jeebus don’t let him tell everyone at school about our ‘disgusting ant problem’ that makes it sound like we live in a recycling plant.”)
"Your music woke me up all night. I kept thinking ‘oh my gosh, there’s a whale inside my bed! And it’s stealing my blanket!’" (I play one of those "ocean sounds" CDs when I go to sleep)
Please excuse Giddy Girlie’s absence this week. She has been dealing with a family emergency in which she has unexpectedly been bequeathed a 6 year old boy for a couple of weeks. His parents are both hospitalized and in isolation, so she is dealing with some very major emotional trauma as well as the surprise of becoming a mother overnight. She hopes to be able to return to the internet within a few days, once things have evened out and she can figure out where the homework folder is kept and what size socks she should be buying for this kid.
I was asked to do a “favor” by my boss for one of her work friends. It’s a work-related thing, but doesn’t have ANYTHING to do with my job. This “favor” is particularly laborious and administrative and could be done by anybody (including this lady’s own executive secretary) and has taken more than 3 hours of my day to complete. So I emailed the lady and let her know it was done, she immediately replied:
"The document name shouldn’t have the quarter in it. Please advise!"
1. change the name your fucking self (for the record, I named the document EXACTLY WHAT SHE TOLD ME TO NAME IT) 2. keep your fucking apostrophes to yourself - don’t yell at me with a nonsense ‘sentence’ that is just pointing an arrow at the fact that you’re a moron.
I’ve been sitting here, contemplating replying only with “you’re welcome.” What’s the worst that could happen?
Last week I was with a lady who was aggressively pursuing this guy who wasn’t interested in her and he kept, literally, leaning around her and trying to talk to me (I think he was hoping that if his body language said “check out how I’m ignoring you” she’d back off) and then I…
I feel like I should proofread things before I post them. I just noticed a typo. D’oh!
Last week I was with a lady who was aggressively pursuing this guy who wasn’t interested in her and he kept, literally, leaning around her and trying to talk to me (I think he was hoping that if his body language said “check out how I’m ignoring you” she’d back off) and then I realized he was flirting with me when he said his name was Kilgore Trout.
I have to admit, that was a decent strategy.
Plus, it was extra funny when the lady tried to bring the conversation back to herself by saying how she loved Kilgore and she used to draw the little face on her school notebooks all the time. (She was thinking of “Kilroy was here”)