Tuesday, September 30, 2003 :::
::Lessons In High Living
As my brother prepared to start 'Fireman School' he realized he does not have a social security card. Odd that he hasn't needed it up to now, perhaps he hasn't had a job since high school when he lost it. He has been leaving everyday to 'Go to work' as a mortgage banker when really he was sitting in his car at the end of the street sleeping. My nicer, funnier sister in law would think that was really funny.
Somehow it reassures me that the 'Firemen' require an actual paper card, you know they don't let just anyone be a fireman.
While at the Social Security office my brother overheard this conversation:
'I don't want no Kentucky Fried Chicken. I want a steak, and if I can't have a steak...I want Church's.'
Little known facts:
Kentucky Fried Chicken is for losers.
If you want quality fast food chicken...get to Church's.
Because this is obviously as good as this.
::: posted by Melissa at 11:41 PM
Do I need to stop my children from saying 'What the....'?
They never finish the statement...but is the kindergarten teacher silently judging my horrendous parenting skills?
Also, Pants and I like to say 'Hot!' (in a rather high pitched voice) at things that are either 'hot' or things that are unbelievably not 'hot'. The kindergarten child is now saying it also. We saw a runner at Pant's 10K this weekend, I named him Captain America. He was unbelievably not 'Hot!' dressed in his all stars and stripes gear (warm up suit, socks, shoes, sweatbands...everything).
I'm hoping 4 isn't too young to pick up on the subtle shades of sarcasm and she was saying 'Hot!' in an ironic sort of way. Because otherwise my daughter has horrendous taste in men.
::: posted by Melissa at 3:11 PM
Sunday, September 28, 2003 :::
How could anyone think something with the word 'Congealed' in the title could ever be good to eat?
When I typed 'Congealed' into the Google image search...this poor woman's picture came up. I think that is the saddest thing I've seen all week.
Speaking of gross things.
Why didn't anyone ever tell me cats shit this much? At least they're doing it in the litter box, however, I don't think I've ever known cats to smell this terrible. In fact I think they're trying to beat Pants in the race for the 'Stinkiest Living Thing In This House' title.
If the cats eat that Congealed Chicken Loaf...I think they might be able to send out some big numbers in the talent competition.
::: posted by Melissa at 10:25 PM
Wednesday, September 24, 2003 :::
::When i said
I was taking up knitting, this is what Pants pictured.
It hasn't worked out like that at all.
::: posted by Melissa at 11:52 PM
::I Think I'm In Love, Or I've Watched Too Much VH1
The 'I Love The (fill in the blank here)' series has become the source of my current love affairs...
Michael Ian Black
They all make me laugh...everytime I watch an 'I Love The (fill in the blank)' show. Sometimes I've seen the show 43 times and still I laugh. At this point they could say simply 'What's up with that?", over and over and I'd giggle like a schoolgirl.
It's not normal.
::: posted by Melissa at 8:47 PM
Tuesday, September 23, 2003 :::
Is there any reason a beer bottle is missing a twist off cap? I realize there are a lot more important issues in this world. But really, couldn't we start with this one? It'd be so easy to solve.
I'm a very busy person, I don't have time for bottle openers.
Damn it, I am one lazy bitch.
::: posted by Melissa at 11:34 PM
::Who's Ass Do I Have To Kiss?
Can someone help me please. It seems Yahoo Webhosting is not only fairly pricey, it is also totally ineffectual for anything I would like to use it for.
Moveable Type can not be loaded because there is some issue with Yahoo's Perl.
Where should I park my domain and get my webhosting?
::: posted by Melissa at 12:59 PM
Monday, September 22, 2003 :::
Something More Absurd
More absurd than me belting out 'Crazy In Love' as though it touches some deep spot in my soul, is watching Oprah learn how to shake her ass like Beyonce. Watching Oprah shake it....wrong.
The drive...by the numbers:
Hours in the drive: 4.5
Number of hours I listened to the radio on scan= 4.5 hours
In Which Time I heard:
'Crazy In Love'= 4 times
Late 60's early 70's rock, that I stopped scanning for= 14 times, I never knew I had a Led Zeppelin streak in me.
Number of times I....
imagined Oprah shaking her ass: Too many.
scanned past religious radio: 16.4
thought gouging my eyeballs out was a better option than driving any further: 39
heard a high school football broadcast: 35, there's not a lot to do in Indiana.
feared I would fall asleep: 3
thought The Drive Couldn't Possibly Go On Much Longer: 47
stopped to pee: 1, I was afraid of stopping in the dark.
::: posted by Melissa at 2:28 PM
Friday, September 19, 2003 :::
::Things I Don't Like
I do not like shades of gray. Gray belongs in a hospital ward, not coloring my life.
I do not like vague answers about things that are anything but vague.
I do not like feeling unsettled.
I do not like feeling afraid of what comes next...
Since I'm leaving for Indianapolis in a few hours, I'll know what comes next, and then, and then some more....a long straight and boring road. Hopefully the boring drive will help me make sense of things.
Quite honestly, I am mainly hoping I won't fall asleep somewhere between Ft Wayne and Indy.
::: posted by Melissa at 3:04 PM
Thursday, September 18, 2003 :::
::Hi, is this Movable Type.org?
No, I did not intend to post the same thing 40 times. Thank you Blogger!
::: posted by Melissa at 5:40 PM
::Headline: Banner Ads Force Couple To Make Up
My banner ads have become that meddling friend who stirs the pot and tries to create friction. This meddling friend has taken Pants' Jackassery and started questioning my children's paternity. This meddling friend has mentioned 'Divorce' across the top of my little web space.
The final straw came one moment ago when my banner ad was for 'Hot Russian Females Looking For Homes' Unless she's going to keep house, I don't see what use we have for her.
I've avoided pointing out all the great things about my usually loving, usually helpful, usually anything but an asshole spouse. I have avoided because I think it comes off as a little contrived and a little braggy. However, now that my meddling friend has implied my husband needs a mail order bride....I feel the need to be nice.
Sometimes I listen to women talk about their spouses and all the wonderful things they do. I think I've become so spoiled, I don't even think of those things as anything spectacular about my husband. He does bathtime, he cooks more than half the time, he does most of the laundry, he irons, he pays the bills, he bakes all the birthday cakes...and does it quite well. He cleans, he does dishes, he unloads the dishwasher.
Somehow though those seem like silly things to pat him on the back about. I'm really glad he does these things, but in all honesty...I'd never have married someone who wouldn't do all those things without thinking twice.
So then when I think about the things I love about my husband and I cross off all the things he does and I focus more on who he is, I come up with these things.
He is always honest with himself and he knows his strengths and his weaknesses. He knows me, baggage and all and accepts me and loves me because it's all a part of the package.
When we had our first child, he took to fatherhood with far more ease than I transitioned into motherhood. I remember watching him and marveling at how fast he fell madly and passionately in love with our child. I always knew that was the type of man he was, but seeing it actually happen was amazing.
He once saw a young boy riding a bike, attempting to carry a bunch of sandwiches from Subway. While crossing a busy street, the boy fell...dropping his sandwiches and then frantically tried to pick them up so he could get out of the road. Pants got out of the car and helped him, while other impatient drivers simply honked their horns at the now crying boy.
Since I know he'll read this, I hesitate to say one more thing. Pants has been ever shrinking...he keeps losing weight and building muscle and to be entirely honest...I could care less. I've always been attracted to him, he's never been obese...I suppose I am not entirely a visually oriented person...though his hands drive me wild with passion.
What I do admire is his decision to lose weight and his ability to make it look so easy. I admire his decision to exercise regularly and then doing whatever it takes to do that. I admire his decision to become a runner and his tenacity in actually becoming a runner. He does things he doesn't want to do for a greater purpose, and that is a concept I have yet to grasp.
Of course if he attempts to show me his disgusting, about to fall off toenail again...I'll be the one calling a Russian Mail Order Bride for him.
Now, dear Internet, will you stop stirring the pot?
::: posted by Melissa at 3:09 PM
Wednesday, September 17, 2003 :::
Please note my current banner ads.
At my last check there was a 'Who is the father?' Paternity testing link.
I may be pissed off at Pants, but that would be a tad bit over the top really.
Also, under 'Related Searches': "Relationship Trouble"
Which is true but makes me feel somehow indignant.
::: posted by Melissa at 9:51 PM
I don't think there is much in this world as absurd as me listening to and truly enjoying a Beyonce Knowles song titled 'Crazy In Love'.
I know how stupid it is, how stupid it looks and yet I am inexplicably drawn to make an ass of myself singing along.
::: posted by Melissa at 9:12 PM
Monday, September 15, 2003 :::
::What Not To Do
I've outlined before 'How To Have A Fabulous Labor Day Weekend'.
In contrast I would like to spend today outlining 'How Not To Spend Your 30th Birthday'
To begin with, don't stay up until 3 am arguing with your loving and usually perfect spouse.
Next, do not spend the day doing absolutely nothing different than any other day in your life. Including dealing with a constipated child and making sure your new kitten isn't urinating in all the hidden corners in your home.
Do not cancel a birthday dinner gathering with all your favorite people because you know you would be a catty bitch shooting barbs across the table at your normally wonderful and loving husband, making everyone at the dinner table nervous, awkward and uncomfortable.
Do not listen as your husband has a tantrum because you are entirely useless as a result of your temper tantrum over the previous evening's events.
Finally, do not attempt to make yourself feel better by eating sushi and drinking beer. Especially if the sushi is from the stupid grocery store and the beer is Michelob Ultra. As I have approached 30, I realized there is a time and a place for light beer.
Attempting to drown your sorrows is not the time or the place for light beer. The combination of grocery store sushi and light beer ruined my birthday as much as my husband's Jackassery the night prior.
I wasn't dreading my 30th birthday in anyway. I always thought I would have children in my 30's, so I thought at least now my age has caught up with my children. I thought everything would make more sense now.
Proof that I have matured? I cancelled my birthday rather than publically torture my husband. I did not give a detailed report of Pants' Jackassery....though dear God how I wanted to....sweet Jesus how I wanted to spill all to hear the collective release of shock and horror across the country.
But here I am Monday evening with my head still on, my husband still living and the urge to DePants Pants has passed.....
However, the bitterness at my horrid 30th birthday has not. He has a year to plan the big 31st celebration and I hope it does not involve Birthday Eve Hijinx.
::: posted by Melissa at 8:37 PM
Friday, September 12, 2003 :::
Thanks so much for the fabulous birthday. I really appreciate it.
Is this my welcome into 30? Because if it is. Damn, it sucks.
Thanks! Your loving wife.
::: posted by Melissa at 9:45 AM
Thursday, September 11, 2003 :::
::Fuck You, My Birthday Was Yesterday
My birthday is coming, tomorrow. But first we have to endure another anniversary of 9/11/01.
I could make this post very sad and very inspired...because all of that goes on in my head as we hit September each year. Each year I remember all that emotion, all that terror, all that uncertainty. I could go into that, but I assume that will be well covered elsewhere.
I will indulge in this trip down memory lane. My birthday on September 12, 2001...the day after the darkest day in America...was spent with bloodshot, swollen eyes watching CNN....watching those planes crash into the World Trade Center...over and over....and somehow I just could not get enough. It hurt to watch but made it somehow real.
Dearest Pants had arranged a birthday gathering for me a week before. A surprise gathering of our favorite people at Buca Di Beppo. He'd even arranged the Pope Table for all of us.
During the day I caught wind of the plan and the very last thing I wanted to do was celebrate.
But the sitter was arranged and Logan insisted...so we went.
Upon arrival I began my usual whining. About how I didn't feel good celebrating. About how my birthday was the worst day of the year to have a birthday...that was until my friend Liz brought up a very good point.
She said something like, 'Stop your whining. Did you even remember my birthday? If you want a shitty birthday....try 9/11 on for size.'
Oh, good point.
Though two years have past and a few friendships have gone by...I will never again forget Liz's birthday.
Happy Birthday Liz....Two Years Ago
::: posted by Melissa at 1:17 PM
Wednesday, September 10, 2003 :::
::Back To School
After a lifetime of dreaming and nearly a year of testing, interviewing and strutting his stuff, my brother is finally heading off to Fireman's School on September 22nd. On September 21st, my smarter, funnier sister in law is taking out a very large insurance policy on her dear husband.
Congratulations Big Brother. Oh, someone else wanted to say "Congrats and welcome to the club."
I don't know, it's totally crazy.
::: posted by Melissa at 1:34 PM
Tuesday, September 09, 2003 :::
The entire left side of my face has broken out in a itchy rash. I assume this has happened because the sweet, nice cat we picked out on Saturday has an affinity for either laying across my lap and laptop or laying on my shoulder with it's body against my face.
He's very sweet and quiet and he listens when I say 'no'. So I can live with my rash filled face. The non stop itching and burning.
We got two kittens thinking they would keep each other company and be best buddies. They seem a little indifferent to each other.
The second kitten appears to hate our house, either that or he believes the entire house resembles a litter box. So far he has ruined an entire box full of business supplies...this morning he climbed into a little cubby on my bookcase and right in front of me used the bookcase as a toilet.
WHAT THE FUCK?
It's been 3 years since the Winston debacle. Winston was the black cat who attacked us in our sleep, tried to disembowel my then 2 year old daughter's head, was drugged with valium to tame him and finally had to be put down.
Why can't I get a normal cat?
Suggestions? Currently (as per the shelter's suggestions) the pissing cat is locked in the bathroom, with food, water and a litter box. I've been into visit several times...however in between visits there is constant meowing.
If you don't think it's that big a deal, I would like to come to your office...piss in your cube, piss on your supplies and then sit in the cube next to you meowing for 30 straight minutes. I have a pretty fragile hold on my life and my house and my sanity. This is just not working for me.
Do all cats do this? Should I have a pet psychic come to the house and tell me why I am cursed with awful pets?
::: posted by Melissa at 1:57 PM
Monday, September 08, 2003 :::
My body would make so much more sense if I were pregnant. As a not pregnant person I am crossing over into the realm of fat middle aged mother. If I were still pregnant...I'd be a pretty hot pregnant lady.
But I'm not pregnant, I'm going to be 30 and I'm never going to be pregnant again....On top of that, I really hate to sweat, ever. So I'll never be 'Shrinking' like Pants.
Perhaps if I get a boob job I can keep adding to the top balancing out the pear shape issue. Of course I'll have to keep adding to the top to continue balancing and pretty soon I'll be a walking boob joke.
I've also decided that I'd make a much better father than I do a mother. One of the major things that makes me realize this is the fact that the 'Martyr' role fits me like a wool sweater on a hot July day.
I am selfish, needy, impatient....As a father all these things are so much less important than when you're the mother.
Yes, I picked the wrong job.
::: posted by Melissa at 2:19 PM
Friday, September 05, 2003 :::
::Colorectal Tour Arrives in Detroit
So Totally Gross
Though somehow terribly amusing watching adults crawl through colons on their hands and knees.
::: posted by Melissa at 7:55 PM
Wednesday, September 03, 2003 :::
Here's a surefire way to have a great Labor Day Weekend.
Go to your friend's mom's house for her big 50's party...to celebrate her new basement, totally remodeled by her son to look like a 50's diner, complete with a 'Soda Jerker' station as John calls it.
Drink a little, watch an Elvis impersonator perform. Wonder aloud if you've been roofied because the Elvis performance is so surreal.
Drink a little more, sit at the 'Soda Jerker' bar and have an ice cream drink.
Drink a little more, and watch your friends transform into Pink Ladies.
Drink even more and watch your friends try to make the moves on your other friend's aunts.
Drink a lot more and leave the party to do karaoke at the local dive bar.
Drink some more as you watch your husband drag down a perfectly nice girl into his ring of karaoke hell.
Drink some more and be floored when your unassuming eurasian friend does karaoke and totally sounds like Madonna.
When the waitress comes to the table to tell you it's last call, say with a straight face 'Well why the hell would it be last call?' Until you peek at the clock and realize your sitter's been at your house from 7pm until 2am.
The next morning wake up and cry because you are so sick and you want to die and you did it all to yourself.
Drag yourself from your bed, shower, attempt to vomit, give yourself a stern lecture in the bathroom mirror about moderation and interspersing soda into the night's events.
Get in the car, drive to Canada. At the customs checkpoint, secretly hope the customs man gives you a strip search.
Silently curse the country of Canada when he doesn't even want to see your liscense. Fuck you Canada...
The very best place to nurse a hangover is at Peggy's house on the lake. I forgive you Canada, for everything...even Caillou.
Lay on the sand and be happy your brother doesn't have kids but really likes kids so he'll play with yours.
Watch your son avoid stepping in the sand (lest he get dirty), furthering your theories about his sexuality.
Spend the day with your sister in law plotting how you can have this place for your very own. Damn yourself to hell with elaborate schemes to take the place over. The current top two involve suing her (I swear my son stubbed his toe and my sister in law's dog totally sprained his tail in her screen door), or hiring someone to take her out (because she promised my sister in law the house if she passes away). Once she reads this she's going to change her will though, so that idea's out.
Decide that maybe you could sell timeshares to your pals and market it as a Hangover Recovery Spot.
End the weekend with a shitty rainy day and a trip to the market.
In Suburbia you have to find the Bliss where you can.
Another downfall of my iBook is creating web sites. So Fuck It...Look At Them Here.
::: posted by Melissa at 10:16 PM