Wednesday, March 30, 2011

And I Thought I Was Annoying...

I have no idea if this story will even translate- but today at swim lessons, I met the world's most annoying mom. Picture if you will- a bustling, chlorinated hub-bub of afternoon hulabaloo at the local swim club. The kids that are not swimming in the (urine) pool can play on a plastic play set conveniently situated on some wet (hopefully not also urine) artificial grass. Against the wall, parents sit on teeny-tiny benches that immediately humble and degrade- and we try to look cool as our knees graze our chins.

It was a normal afternoon. Filled with the normal sound of kids playing, parents talking, blah blah blah blah blah. And then...SHE comes around the corner. Trailing 3 children, she immediately starts shrieking, "NO LOLLIPOPS ON THE PLAYGROUND! GET DOWN FROM THERE! RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

I quickly glance up from my Angry Birds (do not judge) and figure her volume and intensity must be a short lived transgression. I thought wrong. This lady has had so many kids, for so long- she simply has forgotten how to talk in a normal voice.

"WHAT'S THAT? YOU HAVE TO GO POTTY? DO YOU REMEMBER WHERE THE BATHROOM IS? GOOD! THEN GO! I WILL WAIT HERE FOR YOU."

At this point, we all kind of glance around and wonder if someone is playing a joke. She continues.

"YOUR SISTER IS IN THE BATHROOM. I HOPE SHE POOPS. YOU KNOW HOW SHE'S HAD TROUBLE POOPING LATELY. SHE REALLY SHOULD BE EATING MORE FRUIT! OH GOOD, THERE SHE IS! LET'S GO- TIME TO GO HOME!"

The lady sitting next to her almost choked on her silent tears. Mrs. Annoying packed up her brood, and yelled the entire way out of the club. After I gathered up my kids and told them the story, we came up with our own imitation of Mrs. Annoying.

(all of these comments have to be said at the top of your voice. As loud as possible).

"HERE ARE MY LIBRARY BOOKS. SORRY THEY ARE LATE."

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE."

"I LIKE KITTIES. KITTIES AND PUPPIES."

We laughed (loudly) all the way home.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Things That Bug Me

Crikey. I'm getting forgetful in my old age. Hello! Remember me?

So, we're slated to close on our house in California in 6 days. I am almost afraid to write those words, fearful that something unexpected may come up. Because it has. In the past. Two other times. Fingers, toes and all extraneous items are crossed. You will hear the cheering from here if it happens. (and the screams if it doesn't).

In other news, we've submitted 3 offers on 3 different Texas houses in the last ten days. Didn't get one. Maybe it's because we've left one of the most horrific housing markets in the country to inexplicably now live in THE hottest real estate market in the WORLD. Like, houses going for $50K ABOVE asking price hot. Ridiculous.

I'm holding out hope that the house fairy will come visit and put a somewhat affordable, decent listing under my pillow.

In other news, my good friend and her kids recently had a bout of head lice. Despite furtively checking my kids every few hours- and finding nothing, I'm convinced my itchy scalp is bug-who-shall-not-be-named. My husband is tired of holding 2 pencils and a flashlight, and last night gave me the professional opinion that I have an itchy scalp. I may listen to this after I dip my head in some malathion.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Real Gas

Colin Firth won an Oscar. Huzzah for Mr. Darcy!

In other news, the licking of blisters has stopped, and I've started the infamous Couch to 5k program.

I got the app for my iphone, and that, combined with the company of my beloved black labrador, try and make up for the fact that I absolutely detest running.

I really and truly hate it.

But maybe, with each passing day, I'm starting to hate it less and less.

Although this morning's run didn't go so well. I'm not only referring to the cramp that wouldn't leave my left side, or that my dog needed to stop and sniff every other hedge- but I stupidly threw on an older pair of yoga pants this morning. I didn't realize this particular pair of pants were so shoddy that I would need to hold them up as I ran around our local university. Yours truly looked like a 1930's vaudeville act.

With all of the running I've been doing- the scale isn't moving much. You see, along with this new regime, I've somehow also acquired the appetite of a 14 year old boy. I'm STARVING. I woke up the other night, and there were bite marks on my arm. I'M EATING MY OWN ARMS IN MY SLEEP. Ok, not really eating my arms- but maybe I am eating a Girl Scout cookie or two.

Damn you, Girl Scouts. They need to revise their pledge to something like this- (you can sing it to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy)...

"On my honor, I will try
To sell my cookies to my country.
To help people get real fat
and to live on blood pressure medication."

Sorry. That's the best I could come up with, and I am now stupidly realizing that most of you probably don't know the real Girl Scout pledge to begin with.

In between last week's runs, I squeezed in a yoga class. (Yes, this is the most exercise my body has seen in a decade, and it's like "Hey lady! Shouldn't we be on the couch with a pack of Samoas? What's the matter with you?"). I'm certainly no yoga expert- but it does seem that in the handful of classes I've attended over the years, that somehow, someway- the person on the mat next to me farts. This happened last week. We were supposed to be doing a dog-like, camel something or other- when the lady next to me completely broke wind.

It didn't even faze her. She kept on doward camel-ing, or whatever it was- while I fell over in a collapsed heap of distress. It's bad enough that everyone's in bare feet (I think naked feet are hideous)- but FARTING? Crikey. That couch and cookies are looking mighty fine.