Saturday, April 30, 2011

In which I fantasize about telling Portland to suck it

You guys, somebody get a thermometer - I think I'm sick! I have become bored with Teen Mom 2 and I'm surfing garden supply websites! What is going on?

I am months, even years behind in my gardening. I have no idea how to do anything related to plants. My father spent his childhood as the live-in landscaper and hates everything to do with a backyard, except for maybe sitting on a deck with a cocktail or riding a small mowing tractor over acreage in a cowboy hat. As a result, he starting paying a gardener as soon as he could afford one and has never looked back. Thus, my little sister and I were saved ever learning anything about dirt, plants, weeds, and whatnot. I think it was my responsibility to water the houseplants once, and I think everything died.

Yet still I dream of my farm life. I am lucky to have cool neighbors, even though we live in very Burby 'burbs. There is a school in our neighborhood that is up for renovation, and a few of my neighbors are petitioning the city to swap properties with the school district and turn it into a park instead, a park with a community garden! It won't happen, but how cool is it that they even want it to happen? What if there could be a community chicken coop, or a community What if we could have a little farm and be featured in national publications as the Just So Of The Moment-est Neighborhood Ever!?

If it happened, I'd drive down to Portland just to flip them all off and tell 'em to suck it.

Friday, April 29, 2011

I swear I'm not a stalker

In my ongoing attempts to Be Exactly Like Dooce, I had an ultrasound on my left ovary yesterday. It had recently popped, so may have been the source of the pain I had been having, but has no current cyst/tumor/fetal twin arm growing out the side of it to explain anything conclusively. So we wait and see if I still have said pains and go from there. I have my own suspicions about the cause, but superstition requires I not say anything yet. And no, I'm not pregnant.

I have been writing about myself an awful lot on here, and not so much about the baby. Marlo is eleven months old now, and currently in that sort of Baby Frankenstein phase where she staggers a little on her feet and says DAH! pointing with her whole arm, and then falls down. She spent some time this morning waving at the Royal Couple on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, which was almost unbearably cute.

Speaking of the Royal Wedding, was anybody else looking at Pippa and wondering if Prince Harry has been tappin' that, or is that just me?

PREDICTION: Billions of babies named Pippa this year.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Quoth the Tori, "nevermore"

I'm sure you probably guessed it, but that stuffed crust pizza was a huge mistake. I swear I could feel my kidneys shuddering as I tried to digest the stuff. The advertising is just so damn persistent! And really the catalyst was being in the airport. I saw a guy eating a personal pan pizza from the airport terminal pizza hut and I was hooked. And he even threw half of it in the garbage! I was incensed. I thought about retrieving it but that would be disgusting. About .5% more disgusting than eating one fresh.

It is funny, though, how you feel like garbage and you crave garbage. Why can't I be smart enough to crave kale and spinach and stuff when I'm stressed? Is it Darwinism in action? The weaker, more susceptible to stress among us eat garbage and die? Probably. Oh wait, I forgot, evolution doesn't exist. It's because the snake gave Eve the apple so therefore you should resist all health food.

Oprah has some new thing to make you look 20 years younger. That would mean I would look 12. I think I'll pass.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Possibly not helping my mental condition

I caught myself in the mirror and realized I look about four months pregnant. So I did what any reasonable person would do and ordered a large stuffed crust pizza from the Pizza Slut.

I am also drinking a beer. You know, fighting fire with fire.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Something about lemonade, I think

The other day I was sitting on a chaise lounge, thinking about this horrible cloud of depression that feels like it is literally shrouding my brain. I was thinking about calling the doctor. I was thinking that maybe it might be time to take the pills, for once. I was wondering how much I should say to the doctor if I did call her, where the line was between conveying the seriousness of my symptoms and getting myself put on some sort of 72 hour hold.

 I was sitting there, thinking all of this, when all of a sudden I was shat upon. A bird flew over and shat a big berry shit all over me. All over my towel. All over my cover up. All over my magazine. It was breathtaking. I sat there, stunned, immobilized, trying to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean. Here I am, thinking about the disaster that has become of my mental health, and I just got crapped on.

What else could I do? I laughed. See Brooke Shields? Tom Cruise was right! Who needs meds when you can just laugh when something disgusting happens at a comically well-timed moment?

I'll be okay. Don't worry about me. But you may hear more from me on the matter.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Sexualizing the non-sexual

Do you watch that show, "America's Next Great Restaurant?" I do, although I'm not sure why. I TiVo it and watch it while I am eating my lunch. Then I can fast forward through most of it and just watch the vaguely interesting parts. It's your basic filler tv, where you don't really care too much what's happening, you just want something to zone out on so you can stuff your face in peace.

So basically the whole gist of the show is that Bobby Flay, the Chipotle guy, Curtis Stone and Token Woman are going to invest in someone's new restaurant concept. The most interesting parts so far have been how Chipotle guy doesn't go five minutes without reminding everybody he founded Chipotle, and also how he got rid of the contestant who had a plan for a new fast-casual wok restaurant, which just so happens to be his new concept which is just now hitting test markets. If I were the wok lady, I would be pissed about that. But yeah, that's barely intrigue and it is the high water mark of intrigue on this show.

The other interesting part is deciding whether or not I would actually want to have relations with Curtis Stone. Sometimes I think yes. Other times, I think he looks sort of like he's in drag, like a guy in drag dressed up like a dude, if that makes sense. Or more precisely, like he showed up on set without realizing he forgot to take his drag show make up off from last night. His lips and eyes are just a little too pretty for my taste. But, if push came to shove, I'm sure I could suffer through it.

Then there's Bobby Flay. I've always had a bit of a secret dirty-boy crush on him. OH don't pretend like you've never had a crush on someone you also think is just dirty and gross. But how do you get dirty grosser than Bobby Flay? He's a ginger AND his voice is annoying.

It's the cockiness. When someone who looks a fool like that is so arrogant, you have to believe it's because he's packing some serious heat. I bet if you and a girlfriend met Curtis and Bobby in a bar, you would think you totally won by hooking up with Curtis. But then the next day when you shared your conquest stories, you'd totally be wishing you had got Bobby instead. I bet a bazillion dollars on it.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Enough class for wine, still handle Patron

Were you afraid that the thugs got me? Maybe a little bit? Just say yes. Aww, I appreciate your concern.

I wish I had time to stay and chat, but since I now live this life that I would not recognize as my own if I was just dropped down into it, I have to be skedaddling. What with the 7:30am muffin baking and the never-ending laundry and the dog who needs his rabies shot and the late morning toddler music classes and what not.

But when I get a moment I will tell you all about it. Promise! And it will all be hysterically funny and super interesting! Not promise.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Just me and my Israeli secret service buddies, hanging out

I realize that my previous post may be interpreted as some sort of brag list, i.e., listen to all the cool electronics you can come steal from my house. That was not the intent. Rather, it was a self-deprecating joke about how I am so awesome at motherhood that Marlo thinks the things most worth having are the electronics I am always staring at over her head. You get it now, right. Good.

I have been slightly paranoid about the whole coming-to-my-house-and-stealing-things thing lately. Like I was explaining to the credit card guy how my husband was going to be out of the country and they could expect some charges from the UK or Germany and don't get all agitated and freeze my account, okay?! when I suddenly got real paranoid. There was a voice inside my head screaming HANG UP!! TELL HIM JUST KIDDING AND HANG UP!! IT'S A TRAP!! As though the guy in the call center in South Dakota (that's where he said he was, anyway) was going to hang up and call his network of Thugs and arrange to have someone come murder me in my sleep. Unlikely, right? But still, made me totally nervous. Like this is the exact wrong thing to do, call up some guy and identify myself as Home Alone on these specific dates. All to save the embarrassment of having my credit card rejected at the grocery store.

Good thing I have a dog who is not afraid to cut a bitch.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Stick your granola where the sun don't shine

Here is a list of Marlo's favorite things, which should once and for all prove my superior motherhood:
  1. My iPhone
  2. The TiVo remote
  3. The house phone
  4. My laptop
  5. Mo's laptop
In other words, she knows what all the important stuff is in the house.