I don't really have anything interesting to post.
I do have a sink filled with dirty dishes, and yet I'm using my superpower abilities to turn them invisible and thus ignore them.
I spent yesterday afternoon planting petunias and other annuals (so named because you throw useless money away at them annually). They already look tired and droopy.
My kids are now reenacting their own UFC tournament, and I'm second guessing my decision for a camp-free summer.
I had my first Sprinkles cupcake yesterday (won't be my last, damn are those good) and it counterbalanced the gardening and my "30 Day Shred" attempt.
The 4.7 earthquake from the other night rattled more than my house. I keep thinking I'm feeling aftershocks.
I got my hair highlighted last week and the guy used a purple toner. I now look like an old lady. Say hello to LollyGranny!
I am secretly hoping I run into "DeeDee" again.
Did you know Jackie O was 31 years old when she became first lady? I read that in a book and it completely freaked me out. And made me feel lazy.
I'm making sausage and peppers for dinner. (Chicken sausage from Costco- and my secret ingredient is to sweat the peppers and onions, and then add a splash of apple vinegar, a bit of sugar and tomato paste. Lots of garlic and you're done! And smelly).
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Emperor's New Workout Clothes
Today, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. It really wasn't all that bad, I just like to quote random children's books.
Have I told you lately that I despise my kids' preschool? I truly do.
A big problem with the school is the parents. Not a big community feel there, folks. Lots of fancy cars, lots of big diamonds and expensive yoga outfits, but not a lot of substance, if you catch my snotty drift. This morning, I was driving in the parking lot when a white Escalade cut me off and made me slam on my brakes. I noticed her vanity plates said "Dee Dee", and "Dee Dee" barreled towards the school and hightailed it into a handicapped spot. Able bodied and dressed in very expensive workout clothes, "Dee Dee" slung her expensive Dolce bag over her shoulder and grudgingly released her son from his carseat.
I purposefully parked right next to her, and worked up my best pre-coffee Evil Eye. "Dee Dee" was oblivious to my morning voodoo and pranced herself into the school. The security guard did roll his eyes after she sashayed past. We then shared a regular folk giggle about how ridiculous Orange County can be.
Have I told you lately that I despise my kids' preschool? I truly do.
A big problem with the school is the parents. Not a big community feel there, folks. Lots of fancy cars, lots of big diamonds and expensive yoga outfits, but not a lot of substance, if you catch my snotty drift. This morning, I was driving in the parking lot when a white Escalade cut me off and made me slam on my brakes. I noticed her vanity plates said "Dee Dee", and "Dee Dee" barreled towards the school and hightailed it into a handicapped spot. Able bodied and dressed in very expensive workout clothes, "Dee Dee" slung her expensive Dolce bag over her shoulder and grudgingly released her son from his carseat.
I purposefully parked right next to her, and worked up my best pre-coffee Evil Eye. "Dee Dee" was oblivious to my morning voodoo and pranced herself into the school. The security guard did roll his eyes after she sashayed past. We then shared a regular folk giggle about how ridiculous Orange County can be.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Closed Curtains
So this is kind of uncomfortable to talk about, but we are experiencing the first serious illness of one of our friends. I need to be somewhat vague on this whole thing, but it's disturbing, and distressing. At this stage in our life, we should be bitching about poopie diapers and hectic days filled with too much to do.
We have a friend fighting for her life. With stage IV Breast cancer that has spread. My husband is in the thick of it, serving as a medical translator at times, sourcing new information and relaying encouraging words from experts in the field. But mostly? Mostly he's being there for his friend.
She is writing as this process unfolds, and I find her writing, in all of its honesty, to be completely disarming. I've always felt like mortality was this kind of curtain, that is always in front our our face but we choose to not see. When something happens- something like this- I feel like the curtain is whipped away and we're forced to look at something that has been there with us all along. Does that make sense? The Italians have an old saying- if you ask them how they are doing, they reply:
"Fine. For now."
They get it. They get that time is fleeting and that the shit will hit the fan eventually. It made this mothers day that much more bittersweet, and I must confess that I scooped up my little ones and hugged them a bit longer.
We have a friend fighting for her life. With stage IV Breast cancer that has spread. My husband is in the thick of it, serving as a medical translator at times, sourcing new information and relaying encouraging words from experts in the field. But mostly? Mostly he's being there for his friend.
She is writing as this process unfolds, and I find her writing, in all of its honesty, to be completely disarming. I've always felt like mortality was this kind of curtain, that is always in front our our face but we choose to not see. When something happens- something like this- I feel like the curtain is whipped away and we're forced to look at something that has been there with us all along. Does that make sense? The Italians have an old saying- if you ask them how they are doing, they reply:
"Fine. For now."
They get it. They get that time is fleeting and that the shit will hit the fan eventually. It made this mothers day that much more bittersweet, and I must confess that I scooped up my little ones and hugged them a bit longer.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
My Bag Of Tricks Is Almost Empty
Today's surgery was a roaring success. The surgeon removed my Lucy's tonsils, and because he is a colleague of my husband's- he photographed them, and brought a copy of the photo out to the waiting room. Matt and Lucy's doctor huddled over the picture, and I overheard her surgeon exclaim, "Now those were some big gazongas!" (Note: must check WebMD for latest definition of "gazonga").
When I got to the recovery room, I tried to blot out the images of gurneys being rolled by with little kids strapped down, moaning from the anesthetic. I also tried to blot out my insensitive husband, who sees this stuff every day and would exclaim with glee "Look! Another Casualty!".
This was an outpatient clinic- so all of the kids around us were having ear tubes put in, or their tonsils and adnoids taken out. My lucky girl had all three. When I got to her, she was just coming to. They placed her in my arms, and I cradled her, and I kissed her, and then I tried to give her back.
She was pissed. Seriously, def-con level 3 mad. We tried to explain this to her in the days leading up to the procedure, but to a 3 year old, all you really hear is "What? I get to eat ice cream? FOR DINNER? FOR TWO WEEKS? Bring it on!".
The reality? Not so pleasant. She's grumpy. She's mad because her throat hurts. She's mad because I can't draw a butterfly exactly like her eight year old cousin. She's mad because there are bubbles in her bath, and then sobs when they all go down the drain. The dog licks her and it makes her scream. He scurries away and that makes her sob.
All joking aside, I am so grateful and blessed that this is all I have to complain about. That my little one is well enough to be crabby, and that we were out of there in 5 hours. And since I started sobbing like a banshee when they came to take her to the OR, I'm pretty sure the hospital was grateful to see me go too.
When I got to the recovery room, I tried to blot out the images of gurneys being rolled by with little kids strapped down, moaning from the anesthetic. I also tried to blot out my insensitive husband, who sees this stuff every day and would exclaim with glee "Look! Another Casualty!".
This was an outpatient clinic- so all of the kids around us were having ear tubes put in, or their tonsils and adnoids taken out. My lucky girl had all three. When I got to her, she was just coming to. They placed her in my arms, and I cradled her, and I kissed her, and then I tried to give her back.
She was pissed. Seriously, def-con level 3 mad. We tried to explain this to her in the days leading up to the procedure, but to a 3 year old, all you really hear is "What? I get to eat ice cream? FOR DINNER? FOR TWO WEEKS? Bring it on!".
The reality? Not so pleasant. She's grumpy. She's mad because her throat hurts. She's mad because I can't draw a butterfly exactly like her eight year old cousin. She's mad because there are bubbles in her bath, and then sobs when they all go down the drain. The dog licks her and it makes her scream. He scurries away and that makes her sob.
All joking aside, I am so grateful and blessed that this is all I have to complain about. That my little one is well enough to be crabby, and that we were out of there in 5 hours. And since I started sobbing like a banshee when they came to take her to the OR, I'm pretty sure the hospital was grateful to see me go too.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
I Speak Nerd Fluently
Tomorrow, my 3 year old is getting her tonsils taken out. They are also removing her adnoids and putting in new ear tubes. I'm certainly not looking forward to the procedure, or the recovery- but it will be great to not have a little Darth Vader in bed with me at night. Her snoring and sleep apnea has gotten so out of control, that she awakens in the morning with dark circles under her eyes.
In other news, I went to the Apple store yesterday to get my macbook fixed. The power outlet stopped working, and although I dread having to visit the pompously named "Genius Bar", I'm continually amazed at Apple's awesome customer service.
My "Genius" had bigger boobs than me. He was wearing a blue t-shirt that read "Not all heroes wear capes" and I overheard him talking about the new Wolverine movie. He looked at me warily, fixed my problem in ten seconds, and grinned sheepishly when I loudly proclaimed:
"YOU ARE A GENIUS! THANKS SO MUCH SUPERMAN!"
We then got to talking, and I immediately slipped into my nerd lingo. I quoted a little Tolkien, discussed the movie "The Matrix" and talked my genius into putting a new top and keyboard on my out-of-date warrantied laptop for free. I promised to come visit him when the new i-phone comes out, and may convince him to let me take him to the spa next door to get his uni-brow waxed. And buy a man-bra.
In other news, I went to the Apple store yesterday to get my macbook fixed. The power outlet stopped working, and although I dread having to visit the pompously named "Genius Bar", I'm continually amazed at Apple's awesome customer service.
My "Genius" had bigger boobs than me. He was wearing a blue t-shirt that read "Not all heroes wear capes" and I overheard him talking about the new Wolverine movie. He looked at me warily, fixed my problem in ten seconds, and grinned sheepishly when I loudly proclaimed:
"YOU ARE A GENIUS! THANKS SO MUCH SUPERMAN!"
We then got to talking, and I immediately slipped into my nerd lingo. I quoted a little Tolkien, discussed the movie "The Matrix" and talked my genius into putting a new top and keyboard on my out-of-date warrantied laptop for free. I promised to come visit him when the new i-phone comes out, and may convince him to let me take him to the spa next door to get his uni-brow waxed. And buy a man-bra.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Curious George
Yesterday I did something I've wanted to do since I moved here. We took George to Huntington beach- to this stretch of shoreline that is affectionately known as "Dog Beach."
It was hilarious. Picture puppy heaven- filled with frolicking pooches in the surf, sniffing each others' rear ends and chasing after endless tennis balls covered in sand. I immediately let George off his leash, and to my astonishment, he jumped in the surf to steal a ball from some Golden named Scout. I wasn't even sure he could swim. I'm not sure he knew either, but he was just going with the flow, folks. He had friends to impress.
With his snout covered in sand, George ran around, making buddies and running in and out of the water at breakneck speed. I started to relax, and waved to Matt and the kids who were watching the action farther up the beach. I popped my toes in the water, and made casual conversation with the owner of a 4 month old bulldog named Buddha.
And then I looked up.
And that's when I realized that George was gone.
GONE. G-O-N-E. I couldn't find him anywhere.
Not in the water, not stealing tennis balls, not up the beach- he was nowhere to be found. I walked down one side of the beach, and found about 10,000 other Black labs, but no George.
I walked back to Matt and the kids, hoping he may have popped back for a drink or a biscuit, but no luck. Instead, I instilled an air of fear with my kids who suddenly started yelling "WHERE'S THE DOG, MOM?" WHERE'S MY DOG? DID YOU LOSE OUR DOG?"
This Saturday went from happy to shitsville in the blink of one bulldog eye.
I plastered a fake smile on my face, and told the family I was going to walk down the shoreline again. That George was just playing a game, and I would bring him back. And then I walked. And walked. AND WALKED. Clutching my blue leash, I looked like some dog predator that scrutinized every single black lab to see if someone was trying to walk away with my now potty trained, and somewhat behaved dog. I started to think- was he stolen? Did he drown? Is he making out with some poodle under the pier?
About 2 miles away, I gave up and went to the nearby lifeguard stand. Sheepishly, I admitted I had lost my dog. The guy laughed, said no one ever steals dogs from Dog Beach, and that he would radio in to the other towers. I started to walk back to my family, empty handed, and not sure how I was going to face my kids when the guy ran up and said they had found George THREE MILES in the OPPOSITE direction.
My pooch? Apparently he's a runner. He looked a bit sheepish when I rescued him from the lifeguard office. But to my dismay, he also looked the tiniest bit proud. I've got to rest up if we're ever trying that outing again.
It was hilarious. Picture puppy heaven- filled with frolicking pooches in the surf, sniffing each others' rear ends and chasing after endless tennis balls covered in sand. I immediately let George off his leash, and to my astonishment, he jumped in the surf to steal a ball from some Golden named Scout. I wasn't even sure he could swim. I'm not sure he knew either, but he was just going with the flow, folks. He had friends to impress.
With his snout covered in sand, George ran around, making buddies and running in and out of the water at breakneck speed. I started to relax, and waved to Matt and the kids who were watching the action farther up the beach. I popped my toes in the water, and made casual conversation with the owner of a 4 month old bulldog named Buddha.
And then I looked up.
And that's when I realized that George was gone.
GONE. G-O-N-E. I couldn't find him anywhere.
Not in the water, not stealing tennis balls, not up the beach- he was nowhere to be found. I walked down one side of the beach, and found about 10,000 other Black labs, but no George.
I walked back to Matt and the kids, hoping he may have popped back for a drink or a biscuit, but no luck. Instead, I instilled an air of fear with my kids who suddenly started yelling "WHERE'S THE DOG, MOM?" WHERE'S MY DOG? DID YOU LOSE OUR DOG?"
This Saturday went from happy to shitsville in the blink of one bulldog eye.
I plastered a fake smile on my face, and told the family I was going to walk down the shoreline again. That George was just playing a game, and I would bring him back. And then I walked. And walked. AND WALKED. Clutching my blue leash, I looked like some dog predator that scrutinized every single black lab to see if someone was trying to walk away with my now potty trained, and somewhat behaved dog. I started to think- was he stolen? Did he drown? Is he making out with some poodle under the pier?
About 2 miles away, I gave up and went to the nearby lifeguard stand. Sheepishly, I admitted I had lost my dog. The guy laughed, said no one ever steals dogs from Dog Beach, and that he would radio in to the other towers. I started to walk back to my family, empty handed, and not sure how I was going to face my kids when the guy ran up and said they had found George THREE MILES in the OPPOSITE direction.
My pooch? Apparently he's a runner. He looked a bit sheepish when I rescued him from the lifeguard office. But to my dismay, he also looked the tiniest bit proud. I've got to rest up if we're ever trying that outing again.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Land Versus World
Dear friends from Orlando are visiting with us this week, and we somehow managed to sneak in a day to Disneyland so they could compare theme parks. For those that are not Disney obsessed, you may be interested in knowing:
Disneyland is much smaller. MUCH much smaller. Our castle looks like a miniature golf course castle compared to Disney World's. My friends almost wet their pants when they saw it. But hey! It's the original!
We have an Indiana Jones ride at Land, World does not. (But they have a gazillion other stuff that Land does not because they have the space to do so people!)
Apparently, our Toontown is better.
There is no New Orleans at Disneyworld. (This is our favorite place to hang out at night).
DWorld has a whole Star Wars convention with marching storm troopers and everything. We have a ride, and a Jedi Knight training camp. We do have our share of freaks though; that comes naturally this side of the MIssissippi.
DLand will give you free refills, and put your drinks in "to go " cups if you ask. DWorld, not so much.
"It's a Small World" is a bigger deal at DLand. Probably because it is the "smaller world."
We just got our first Food Fair, DWorld has been doing this for years. I want to go to Epcot!
We still have Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. DWorld converted theirs into Winnie the Pooh.
DLand has the coveted, hidden, "Club 33"- the private club where Walt and 32 of his buddies could gather for a drink.
There's probably a gazillion other ones, but if anybody is headed out to Anaheim anytime soon, give me a shout and I'll ride Splash Mountain with you. Extra bonus points if it's 102 degrees like it was on Monday. Poor Mickey almost looked like he was going to have heat stroke.
Disneyland is much smaller. MUCH much smaller. Our castle looks like a miniature golf course castle compared to Disney World's. My friends almost wet their pants when they saw it. But hey! It's the original!
We have an Indiana Jones ride at Land, World does not. (But they have a gazillion other stuff that Land does not because they have the space to do so people!)
Apparently, our Toontown is better.
There is no New Orleans at Disneyworld. (This is our favorite place to hang out at night).
DWorld has a whole Star Wars convention with marching storm troopers and everything. We have a ride, and a Jedi Knight training camp. We do have our share of freaks though; that comes naturally this side of the MIssissippi.
DLand will give you free refills, and put your drinks in "to go " cups if you ask. DWorld, not so much.
"It's a Small World" is a bigger deal at DLand. Probably because it is the "smaller world."
We just got our first Food Fair, DWorld has been doing this for years. I want to go to Epcot!
We still have Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. DWorld converted theirs into Winnie the Pooh.
DLand has the coveted, hidden, "Club 33"- the private club where Walt and 32 of his buddies could gather for a drink.
There's probably a gazillion other ones, but if anybody is headed out to Anaheim anytime soon, give me a shout and I'll ride Splash Mountain with you. Extra bonus points if it's 102 degrees like it was on Monday. Poor Mickey almost looked like he was going to have heat stroke.
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