Archive | February, 2011

What day is it?

28 Feb

Last week is a blur.  The kids went back to school Tuesday after a four day weekend, had Wednesday and Thursday off for (mostly bogus) snow days, and then a half day of school Friday with Mr. T home sick and me helping out in BigHugs’ class from 9:20-1.*  What was I supposed to do with that?  Well, I’ll tell you what I did: mostly nothing.

(*Since this was a special kindergarteners stay for lunch half day, it was my special treat to watch the class in the lunch room.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to witness 23 random 5 year olds eating 23 random lunches, including the ice-cream scoop formed mass of spaghetti and canned peaches swimming in their own syrup on their hot lunch plates?  There should be some kind of medal for that.  Seriously.  *SHUD*DER*)

So here we are on the eve of March—March??—and I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing with myself, especially with Goose now home sick today.

Chuck’s birthday was yesterday.  Poor Chuck.  The highlight of his day was probably the Pillow Pet frog the girls insisted on getting him.  Also among his gifts, socks and chocolate bars.  Best wife ever.  However, I did make him the dinner he requested and baked him a cake that I don’t even enjoy myself, so if that doesn’t say love, I don’t know what does.

Today is my sister’s birthday–Happy birthday Foo4luv!  I hope your day is filled with wonderful delights.  I’m sure your husband will be baking you a cake that you enjoy (or some other equally delectable dessert).

Also today is Chuck’s sister’s birthday.  I’m not one for the mailing of the birthday cards much, and have resorted to the laziness of writing on the in-laws’ FB walls for my birthday greetings.  I know, it’s pretty pathetic, but I think we’ve all kind of reached this mutual agreement of patheticness, so I don’t feel too badly about it.  Unfortunately, Chuck’s sister defriended Chuck and I last month for some inexplicable reason.  Well, there’s maybe a vaguely explicable reason that we can imagine, but it’s stupid, so whatever.  But anyway, not only were we defriended, but also blocked, so we are dead to her on FB (or she is dead to us?), so now I’m wondering how I’m supposed to go about conveying my heartfelt birthday well-wishes.  Do I send an e-mail?  A text?  Forget the whole thing because we are dead to her now anyway??  What is the proper birthday etiquette when one is defriended by one’s relative on the FB?  Someone should write a book about these things.

Oh, I almost forgot!  The winners of the 1st Annual Fresh Step Street Name Challenge are:

1st runner up: Squoosh! aka Janelle—I felt like she was the first one to really take me seriously on this.  No offense to the rest of you slackers.  And I thoroughly enjoyed the daydream she inspired where I’m featured in a Step Up movie.  Thank you for that, Janelle.  She was narrowly beat out by…

Fun Size! aka Boquinha—I think it was the “Dayum!” and “da tropical bomb” that won me over.  Plus she seemed to have the popular vote as well.

Look for your fabulous surprise prizes in the near or distant future.  I promise to get them to you before I have another pre-Hawaii vacation shoe crisis.

Happy Monday.

Something to be preserved for posterity

21 Feb

Idle conversation.

DynaGirl: The other day Mr. T said to  me, “Do you know what would be weird? If our butts were on our stomachs ’cause then we’d have to lay down on the toilet to go to the bathroom.”


Yo, those kicks are streets ahead, Fresh Step

18 Feb

The other day as I was sitting in the hall of BigHugs’ dance studio (the dance studio where BigHugs takes dance, not her personally owned and operated by dance studio), one of the other moms complimented me on my shoes.  Actually, she said something like, “Every time I see you, you have the cutest shoes”, which I dismissed as an obvious hyperbole because I do not, in fact, have an abundance of fabulous footwear.  Perhaps every time she’s seen me I’m wearing that particular pair of shoes, which seems more likely since I am frequently complimented when wearing that particular pair of shoes.

It’s amusing to me that these shoes garner such a steady stream of compliments, considering that they’re actually a cheapy $10 pair of tennies I picked up a couple of summers ago at the Walmart on Maui.  When I was packing up for my long-awaited Hawaii trip, I became quite distressed that I didn’t have any footwear suitable for walking/hiking/exploring the island.  I had cute flips and multiple pairs of wedge sandals, but no stylish-yet-built-for-comfort walking type foot attire.  I searched high and low in the weeks preceding my trip, but came up empty.  It was really quite distressing to me.  So when we arrived on Maui and made a stop at the local Walmart for water and snacks and such (by the way, in case you were wondering, unfortunately a Walmart on Maui is no more fabulous than a mainland Walmart), I decided to take a quick browse through the shoe section just in case.  And I found them.  It was a Maui miracle!

Looking back at my trip pictures, I find it pretty hilarious that I was so concerned with having just the right footwear for my tropical island paradise adventures.

Obviously, this look would have been completely thrown off by the wrong pair of shoes.

Here I am on another day where you get a glimpse of the shoes:

Really, though, when it comes down to it, I’ll take whatever shoe-related compliments I can get because it has always been my dream to be the woman with the cute shoes—an as of yet unfulfilled dream except when wearing my $10 cheap tennies, but still.

You know what else I dream about?  I watch a lot of cop shows, and I’ve always wanted to have a cool street name.  You know, like Wishbone or Ice Bang or Funk Sister.  Well, the other night while I was tucking in Mr. T, I glanced up at his walls adorned with various incarnations of this ad, and it hit me.  Hello—it perfectly combines my dreams of wanting to be known for my fabulous footwear and having a super cool street name!  I can totally see it—I’m strolling through the hood and everywhere I go they’re checking out the shoes and giving me the nods of approval and admiration and some spunky/adorable kid who idolizes me calls out, “Yo, those kicks are streets ahead, Fresh Step!” and I’ll just flash him a smile and/or a double digit “pehce” or some other equally cool and appropriate acknowledgment of mad props.  Sigh.  Perfect.

Is it just me?  Have you ever wanted a cool street name?  What would it be?  Actually, I’m feeling a contest coming on.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had one, so whoever comes up with the coolest street name wins a prize.  Bonus points may be awarded for an explanation of origin or for devising a scenario in which my street name is used as well.  I’d like to see if it sounds as cool when somebody else says it or if it’s all in my head.

Day 1

16 Feb

I’ve made dental appointments.  It’s been over a year.  I know, I know.  I honestly don’t know how these things happen.  That’s a lie.  I do know.  Last year we went on a Saturday because that’s the only day they could get all  my kids in at once without me having to pull them all out of school.  I like to schedule them all at once because the dentist is a good 25-30 minutes away and in traffic it’s even worse and who wants to make five special trips to the dentist?  Not me.  So we went on a Saturday, and on Saturdays there is no reception staff.  No reception staff means no scheduling of the next appointment immediately after the just finished appointment.  And no scheduling of the next appointment immediately after the just finished appointment means no scheduled appointment at all until you notice that one of your children’s teeth are literally turning brown and if you wait much longer people will start to accuse you of neglect and not caring about your children’s oral wellness.  (Anyone else just not like the word “oral”?)

So I scheduled the appointments, and I’m first.  March 17.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day to me!  And I decided, as I do, that I would spend the next month flossing the living crap out of my teeth so as to keep up appearances.  Or put on appearances.  Or something.  Did you know that when you don’t regularly floss, that the first time out you’re likely to need a boxer’s bloody spit bucket?  Good frick.  I mean I brush regularly and I floss O-ccasionally, but man.  Oh, and to add insult to injury, as I was flossing I noticed the upper arm jiggle.  Now you might think I must have been flossing with undue vigor to have produced such a scene of unholy arm motion, but let me assure you, my friends, I can count on my big toes the number of activities I perform vigorously, and flossing is not one of them.  So if the most delicate of movements results in the violent to and fro tossing of my once upon a time tight and tidy upper arms, I can only conclude that next flossing session must be done under cover of bulky sweater or some such.  I bet you thought I was going to say that I can only conclude that I must cease and desist the flossing altogether, but I am committed this time.  Committed!  One day down, 29 to go.

It’s a half-empty kind of day

10 Feb

I’ve been staying up way too late lately.  I don’t even have a good excuse like a compelling book or finishing up my Buffy/Angel dvd’s.  I just don’t want to go to bed.  Last night as I was watching one of my third-string DVR’d shows, wondering why I was fighting to stay up at 12:45 am, it hit me: I don’t want to go to bed because then morning will come that much faster.  And do you know what happens in the morning?  Everything.  Everything I didn’t want to deal with the day before.  It’s all there, either waiting to be done or waiting to be done again.  The bogeyman is not under the bed waiting to pounce on you in your sleep, people.  He waits for a new day.  The bogeyman is in the dishes and the six loads of laundry and the school lunches to be made and the homework to be signed and the bickering children and the grocery shopping and the floors to be swept and the dinners to be cooked and the 24 kids in the classroom who can’t tell the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise no matter how many times you personally demonstrate it for them.  And you can battle the beast all day until you finally dust him, but he only ever gets an overnight stay in Tartarus before he’s reformed and you’re fighting him all over again.


So, it’s much safer to be up in the wee hours of the morning when the house is quiet and the lights are out so you can’t see the disaster or potential disaster that is your house and no one expects you to be doing anything productive anyway.  Right?

Double sigh.


8 Feb

I found this in my Valpak coupons last week.

Not even this changes my attitude towards sewing projects.

But this might:

Time Waster #483

3 Feb

Mr. T introduced me to a little game called QWOP.  You’re just a guy trying to run 100 meters.  The QWOP keys control your thigh and calf muscles.  I should have no interest in this game whatsoever, but I’ve become just a tad obsessed.  It looks so easy, so why can’t I do it??

My record is 12.6 meters.

Pausing for a little air guitar.


I dare you to beat it.  There may even be something in it for you.