Double Points If It's Chocolate

There is one thing I didn't take into account when I decided that it was time to level our yard and start from scratch: the overgrown shrubs and trees did provide quite a bit of shade to the front of the house. Why is this important? Well, aside from the fact that the shade did help a bit to keep the electric bill a little lower while we attempted to cool the house down from "broiling," the overgrown tree in front of Turtle's room, in particular, was of assistance when it came to regulating the amount of light that entered his room in the morning. Why is THAT important? Well, apparently my child is a little sensitive to light. So with that tree gone and the summer upon us, his morning wake up call has been coming earlier and earlier each passing morning.

This morning, Turtle woke me up at 5:55. In the morning. Did I mention it was early? In the morning? He walked into our bedroom with a big grin and a "Good morning, Mommy" and an "It's not early! It's bright out!" To which Mommy responded by rolling over, looking at the time, wincing and saying "Oh, you have GOT to be KIDDING." I mean, the kid had a point: It was indeed bright out. But the logic that got him from Point A) it is light out, to Point B) therefore, it is not early, was lacking in a certain je ne sais quoi. So, swallowing a sigh, I sent him back to bed, and to his credit, he actually went. But it did cause some discussion between Oscar and me about how to rectify this little problem we're having with the sun. And the son.

Toward the middle of the afternoon, after dragging Turtle around the mall in an effort to drain any last bits of energy he had before shipping him off for a nap, I decided that there was really only one option at this point: taping aluminum foil to the windows.

I can hear McMama laughing already. See, the last time we went to New York for a visit, we had to tape aluminum foil to the windows for the same reason. And it was particularly necessary there because of the three hour time difference. So the big joke during our visit was that Turtle and I were turning McMama and Company into drug dealers, cooking up meth in their upstairs bedroom, and whatever would the neighbors think?

Of course, here, it's a different story. Our neighbors already assume we're drug dealers. After letting the yard get all overgrown and nasty, and never introducing ourselves, and having a couple different people (like Hotass and Snark's Mistress) come and go, letting themselves in with their own keys, we figure our neighbors have already ratted us out to local law enforcement. So I'm not expecting too much trouble now that we've put tin foil on one of the bedroom windows. They probably figure it's par for the course.

In fact, I'm hoping that maybe with this latest development, our neighbors will start bringing over baked goods, in an effort to win us over and score some deals on some really good shit. I think I'm going to hold out for a cheesecake. Cookies and brownies are all well and good, but I can make those. No, to get the really good shit, you need to bust out the big guns. And nothing says "Be my supplier of illegal narcotics" quite like a homemade cheesecake. Wouldn't you agree?

Would You Like Pepper With That?

I would like to start by saying that it makes it really difficult to get back into a regular posting groove when you have the sneaking suspicion you have broken a finger. Now, granted, it's only my little pinky finger on my right hand, but still. You have no idea how often you use that finger until you suspect you have broken it. And before you ask me what I did to it, I have NO IDEA. Oscar is baffled by my ability to forget important things like "OMG, where did that MASSIVE BRUISE come from???" but when you have a three year old kicking, poking, elbowing and otherwise attacking you all day long, you learn to shake off the various hurts you accumulate in a day fairly quickly. So I don't know. I just know it hurts.

And now, on to the fun stuff. I was watching Turtle play with a pepper shaker today and was reminded of a moment from my own childhood. Back in the second grade, I was given a test to determine if I qualified for the "gifted" program at my school. Now, for the purposes of today's story, I'm not going to get into how that test led to quite a few of us having some of the most miserable academic careers EVER, but suffice it to say we will get back to it at some point. In any event, I scored high enough on the test to get into the Extended Learning Program the following year. That meant that once a week for the rest of my time in elementary school, I was pulled out of my normal class and placed in a class with the other "gifted" students, where we worked on logic problems and did experiments and learned critical thinking skills.

Looking back on it now, I'm a little resentful of the way I was pigeonholed as a "brain" and was saddled with all of the attendant expectations, but at the time, I LOVED my ELP classes. In fact, at the time, I loved being considered one of the "smart ones." It was like being a member of an elite group. Not to mention the fact that those logic problems and experiments were damn fun.

In fact, one of those really fun experiments had something to do with pepper. I don't remember the specifics, but I do remember looking at the pepper shaker and thinking about how pepper is supposed to make you sneeze. And being a "gifted" student, and a somewhat analytical type, I started wondering what about the pepper caused the sneezing. And then I started wondering if it was really true that pepper makes everyone sneeze, or if some people just have an allergic reaction to the pepper and THAT'S what causes the sneezing. So I decided to perform an experiment of my own.

I snorted the pepper.

Yeah. You heard me. I snorted the pepper. A lot of pepper.

And I was a "gifted" student.

I'd be surprised that they didn't bump me back down to my regular class except for the fact that I tried very hard to conceal the fact that I, a "gifted" student, had just snorted a pinch of pepper into my nasal passages. On purpose. I may have been stupid enough to do the deed, but at least I was smart enough to cover it up.

Needless to say, I learned a little bit about the properties of pepper that day. Such as, it is never, NEVER a good idea to willfully shove pepper up your nose, unless you want to claw at your nose for the rest of the day and beg for a quick death. Just in case you were curious.

YAY! Vacation!

Well, I may be a bundle of neuroses, but at least I have something to look forward to: my upcoming trip to New York to visit with McMama. In less than a month, Turtle and I will be boarding a plane to enjoy almost two weeks getting spoiled by Oscar's family. Not to say that visiting with Oscar's family doesn't come with its own bundle of neuroses. After all, McMama has a new playmate in Oscar's step-brother's wife, and I'm feeling an intense need to pee on her so she remembers that SHE WAS MINE FIRST! But I've been practicing my growling and spitting, so I think I'm completely prepared to meet the challenge.

I always look forward to my visits with Oscar's family, and this trip is no exception. We don't really have many plans at this point, although McMama has, out of deference to me, made some noise about finding a gym so we can work out together. Of course, I'm not feeling too confident about the odds of that actually happening, particularly since she whimpers and starts calling out for her mommy every time I talk to her about my workout routine. But I suppose those two weeks away would be a nice first step towards dealing with the fact that my obsession with my weight/working out/diet is bordering on the unhealthy. In fact, I'm thinking that perhaps I need to suggest that McMama and I go to a movie while I'm there, since the last time we went to a movie together, we polished off a huge bag of popcorn and a few packages of candy, not to mention the two vats of soda. We could consider it a nod to my mental health. (I'm all about the creative justifications.)

I just wish we could figure out a way to split our time between our home here and their home there a little more effectively throughout the year, because this "only getting to see Oscar's family a couple weeks a year" thing is SO not working out for us. And yet, moving to New York completely would just cause the same problem in reverse, in that we wouldn't be able to see MY family more than once a year. It's a crappy situation, frankly. Can't someone invent a transporter device, already, so Turtle and I could pop in and out at McMama's house for the day and be back in time for dinner? Please get on that.

Anyway, I'm hoping that by the time we leave for the airport, I will be in a slightly more stable mental state, but if not, I will look forward to the time on McMama's porch to cure my ills. And hell, even if it doesn't cure my ills, the week I spend out in New York ahead of Oscar will certainly cure HIS ills. After all, sending the crazy lady away for a week does make the heart grow fonder. Or something like that.

I Bet They'll Name A New Diagnosis After Me

Well, fresh from the weekend, I think it's safe to say that I am mostly recovered from HateFest 2007. My mood is much improved, although I still can't say what it was that had me so cranky and bitchy to begin with. Still, I am not complaining. Neither are Oscar or Turtle, who, by late last week, were making great strides in their quest to build a bomb shelter, the better to avoid Mommy and her Mood of Doom. No, at this point, we're all just happy that Mommy's not going nuclear every five minutes.

Of course, spending all of that time trying to figure out what exactly was causing my psychotic breaks, while not resulting in any kind of epiphany about that particular subject, did result in a somewhat surprising self-realization: I am completely and totally neurotic. Not that I use the word "neurotic" when discussing my condition with others. No, instead I go for the generic word "goofy." I'm "goofy" about things. It somehow sounds better and less alarming when I put it that way. But we all know that's just code for the fact that I? Am a total fruitcake.

Then again, anyone who has been reading this blog for any length of time would already know this. The evidence is ALL over these pages. Like the series of posts about my diet, for example. Those only scratch the surface of how obsessive and neurotic I am about my weight, how much exercise I get, and what I put into my mouth. Because if you were a fly on the wall at my house, you would know that if I have a cookie one day, and the next day I step on the scale and the numbers read even half a pound higher than they read the day before, I will not only berate myself at length about my "weakness," I will also put myself through an extra half hour at the gym to balance out that cookie and work off that half pound. Never mind the fact that the damn cookie by itself couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces and thus had next to nothing to do with the weight fluctuation. My twisted little mind has a warped perception of cause and effect.

Not neurotic enough for you? Okay, how about this: Oscar and I were less vigilant than we should have been about birth control this month, and despite the fact that my period is not due for another couple of weeks, I already have myself convinced that I'm pregnant. This, of course, means that every weird hiccup is a pregnancy "symptom." Hell, at this point, I'm making stuff up to prove my hypothesis. ("Was that mole there before? SEE? SEE? I MUST be pregnant!" "Honey, that's a speck of dust." "NO! It only LOOKS like a speck of dust. But look! I'll blow on it and you'll see! It's a pregnancy mole!" *blow* "-----" "Yeah, okay, it was a speck of dust. But that still doesn't mean I'm not pregnant!") Even when I try to convince myself that every little "symptom" I'm experiencing is undoubtedly psychosomatic in nature (because seriously, my uterus, though crotchety and sensitive, still has to work within the laws of physics and could not possibly be sending pregnancy messages to my body prior to actual ovulation) I still find myself rocking back and forth, mumbling "how could I let this happen?" ad nauseum. I know. It's disturbing how disturbed I am.

So I guess between my week-long freak-out-a-go-go and my recent realization that I am a smidge (if by "smidge" you mean "whole helluva lot") goofy, it's time to suck up what little remains of my pride and look into some professional assistance. I mean, it really shouldn't be this hard to keep things like this in proportion, right? Aren't most people able to cope with life's little setback and uncertainties with a little more aplomb? Yeah, that's what I thought. So I apparently need to talk to someone and see about getting my head screwed on straight. Because, seriously, it's not that I mind the big hole in the backyard that's serving as Oscar's and Turtle's current base of operations. It's just that we spent an awful lot of money on the landscaping and I'd like to enjoy it a little bit longer before the boys start putting the barbed wire fencing and the "XY Chromosomes ONLY! Double X's KEEP OUT!" signs.

Grrr....Argh

Sorry things have been so quiet around here lately. (Wow, look at those cobwebs!) First, I hated everything and everyone, and then it was Snark's Mistress's birthday, and then it was Mother's Day and McMama's birthday, and then it was my birthday, and then I hated everything and everyone again. All that hating and celebrating and hating again left little time for posting amusing anecdotes about my oh-so-fascinating life.

That's not to say that my posting today means that I am cured of hating everything and everyone. Just that I was feeling guilty for not checking in and entertaining you and the guilty feelings were distracting me from my very busy schedule of hating things. And quite frankly I don't need the guilt on top of the hate, so here I am.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure that I have much to say that isn't "Grrrrrrrrr....you suck." Quite honestly, I'm not even 100% sure I know why I'm in such a bad mood. Nothing really pops out at me as a reason for my discontent. Except that despite my best efforts, I appear to be gaining weight again and I don't know if that is because I'm gaining more muscle than I am losing fat right now or if it's because my metabolism hates me as much as I hate everything and everyone right now. Either way, it is a cause for grumpiness, but not the end-all, be-all, I don't think.

No, I think I'm mostly just in a pissy mood for no reason whatsoever, which in and of itself is a reason to be pissy, because if I HAD a reason, I could fix whatever was causing the pissiness, but NOT having a reason means there's nothing I can do except wait out the pissiness and hope that someday soon, I'll be in a better mood. It's not looking good.

Anyway, I hope all of you are having a much better couple of weeks than I am, and have all sorts of fun plans for the weekend. As for myself, if things don't improve shortly, I'm abandoning my diet in favor of getting healthier emotionally and I will be shoveling Ben and Jerry's into my mouth until my crappy mood says "uncle." Feel free to contact me if you would like to donate a pint and/or a spoon.

Tidbit

Last night, I held hands with Patrick Dempsey, walked arm-in-arm with George Clooney, and shopped for power tools with Matt Damon. I am LOVING my subconscious right now.

Edited to add: it just occurred to me that perhaps all of those dreams were my brain's way of wishing me a "happy birthday." Either way, I'm not complaining. Instead, I'm going to try to go back to sleep and see if I can dream of making a porn movie with Eric Dane. I'm not sure if that's quite what they mean when they say "find a happy place" but if it works for me, I don't see the problem.

No, Really, The Hangover Lasted Four Days

Okay, first of all, what is the point of going to the nice little local coffee shop with the free wireless connection if the free wireless connection isn't working? For THIS, I ordered a fatty, sugary, coffee-y concoction that is so very clearly NOT on the diet plan? I think not.

So. Where were we? Oh. OH! My night out with Hotass. Well, let's see. We ate some sushi. We saw Dirty Dancing in the theaters and clapped with the rest of the audience when Patrick Swayze managed to say "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" with a straight face. We talked about what it would have been like if Samuel L. Jackson had been cast as Johnny Castle. "Nobody puts motherf***in' Baby in a motherf***in' corner, motherf***ers!" We laughed uproariously at that, because we are losers who find ourselves entirely too amusing for our own good. And then we went drinking. And oh my, did we drink.

Now, I'm not usually a drinker. One glass of wine is usually enough to get me to start taking clothes off, and much more than that, and you'll find me passed out in a corner, drooling on your nice carpet. But considering my life lately, a night of drunken debauchery seemed in order, so drunkenly debauch we did.

So let me start by saying that the disadvantage to going to bars where Hotass is well known was that all the regulars came over to talk to and flirt with Hotass, leaving her loser friend (that would be me) twiddling her thumbs and wondering what it was going to take to get a cute boy to flirt with her. After all, I was already showing my cleavage off to its best advantage and I was wearing the do-me heels. Has the bar scene really degenerated to the point that I have to flash my perfectly shaved private bits before I can get someone to talk to me? Methinks I'm too old for this crap....

On the other hand, going to bars where Hotass is well known did mean that we had our drinks poured strong and some of those boys who came over to talk to and flirt with Hotass were also buying. Which I guess was an advantage, considering the whole "drunken debauchery" goal. So. We drank a lot. A LOT. And for someone who is not used to drinking (that would be me), it meant a lot of wobbly trips to the bathroom and a lot of the world swaying while I tried desperately to stand still. And copious giggling. And then more wobbly trips to the bathroom because they aren't kidding about alcohol being a diuretic.

So of course, the next day, I paid for my night of excess in that it felt like my whole body was made of cotton. I managed to avoid a massively debilitating hangover by alternating my Reeses Peanut Butter shots with glasses of ice water, but I'm not going to lie and tell you that I remained unaffected. Instead I will just say that wow, they aren't kidding about alcohol being a depressant, either. I was extraordinarily unmotivated the day after. Which just made me wonder how people do this on a regular basis. Not that I'm looking to make a habit of it, myself, but it would be nice if anyone had tips they could give me about how to drink like a fish without feeling a half a step behind the rest of the universe the next day. Unless the tip is "don't drink so much, dumbass," in which case, I figured that part out, thanks.

But all in all, it was a really fun night and I'm glad Hotass and I had a chance to connect and do something like that, because breaking into her social calendar often takes an act of God. In whom I don't really believe, so you can imagine how well that turns out. Looks like that sacrificial goat was worth it, after all.

Blah Blah Blah Get Over It Already

Well, I started a post this afternoon, but got about halfway through before I realized it read something like this:

Blah blah blah Flagstaff. Blah blah blah shopping. Blah blah blah trying on swim suits. Blah blah blah eating bad foods. Blah blah blah poor self image. Blah blah blah guy asking Hotass about her "hot friend" (and not meaning me.) Blah blah blah PMS. Blah blah blah WHYYYYYYYYYYY, GOD, WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY? Blah blah blah want to face plant into a pile of greasy food with a sugar chaser. Blah blah blah I suck.

But I decided that wouldn't really be fair to you. So I erased it all and am now going to take a shower so I can accompany Hotass to the 20th anniversary screening of Dirty Dancing at our local movie theater. I will be wearing The Shoes. If all goes well, I will come back with an improved attitude (and maybe some phone numbers, as I intend to strut to the Bee Gees soundtrack in my mind.) And maybe tomorrow I will have some fun stories to tell instead of more whining. We can only hope.