i am elevating procrastination to a new level. i have class in 24 hours and haven't even looked at my assignment for class tomorrow. eh? it's only grad school, right?
wrong! i have been this way my entire life. for all my martha-tendencies, i am damn sure the marvelous ms. stewart doesn't wait until the 11th hour to pull a souffle out of her ass. no, dammit, her assistants were working on it since last tuesday.
tonight, in order to avoid homework, i have: done the dishes, went to the store to return a christmas present only to be thwarted by an evil customer service rep, went bra shopping to finally release these elastically-challenged bras i wear now back into the wild, and played with the mighty monkey dogs to tucker them out before sitting down at the computer. and now, my blog gets a few posts in the meantime.
really, when can i get my own assistants to pull a souffle out of my ass?
Monday, January 30, 2006
a simple time suck
watch out, this game will drive you crazy. it's sooo addictive. the object of the game is to move the red block around without getting hit by the blue blocks or touching the black walls.
seems simple enough, right? crash and burn, baby. crash and burn.
seems simple enough, right? crash and burn, baby. crash and burn.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
shoe monster
january -- being the resolution-filled month that it is -- is often a month of sheer joy to us "martha"-wannabes.
after the mess that spells christmas is put away (and organized in tupperware plastic totes. contents labeled, of course.) the ads and magazines are again flowing with ways to combat clutter, organize your life, organize your eating habits, organize your spending habits. really, for control freaks like myself, this is pure heaven.
in drooling over the latest wall systems and baskets to tame the clutter, i read some interesting tips to help combat the "drop it like its hot" behavior that leads to mounds of clutter accumulating in the first place.
the one suggestion that struck me was the suggestion to have a silent butler, a basket that would collect anything left lying where it didn't belong. after being collected, its owner would need to negotiate its release with extra chores, vacations, diamonds, etc. the silent butler as terrorist captor, i'm guessing.
i laughed as i read the suggestion, because while the idea sounds simple, sometimes there needs to be the threat of actual harm before the threat can be taken seriously.
take, for instance, the shoe monster who lives in my house. my husband grew up in a house where clean underwear and socks were routinely washed, dried, folded and then simply left on the living room sofa for its owner to claim. and the laundry didn't get put away if company came over. the underwear just got moved aside so the guest could sit down NEXT to the piles of laundry. (sometimes i swear we grew up on different planets.)
in my husband's case, years of training and conditioning drills are slowly sinking in. i still find the occassional dress shirt and tie left in the garage, or tie in the crisper bin of the refrigerator, but overall i think the success of his training can only be attributed to the shoe monster.
the shoe monster is similar to the silent butler. but unlike the silent butler, the shoe monster doesn't negotiate, he only takes prisoners. and he certainly doesn't take bribes.
shoe monster moved into our first house shortly after we got married. the shoe monster understood my frustration at picking up pairs of my husband's shoes that quickly colonized our living room. under the sofa. under the chair. each night another pair left behind until it got to the point where he didn't look for shoes in his closet. he just went to the living room. that's when shoe monster heard my cry.
each night after my husband went to bed and his shoes left unguarded, the shoe monster crept in and stole the unsuspecting shoes left under the sofa and behind the lamp.
"help us," they cried but the shoe monster shushed them. "you cry to the same owner who abandoned you? stupid sneaker." and with that, the shoe monster wisked the abandoned shoes out of sight. and into the trunk of my car.
because my husband has roughly the same amount of shoes as carrie bradshaw did on "sex and the city", the shoe monster's impact wasn't immediate. it took many weeks before the missing shoes finally went, well, missing.
he'd walk out from the bedroom, half-dressed in his suit wondering wear his black dress shoes went. i'd casually reply, "the shoe monster must have them. if you didn't leave them out where they didn't belong, shoe monster wouldn't have had the chance to eat them."
silly silent butler, organization negotiations are for kids.
after the mess that spells christmas is put away (and organized in tupperware plastic totes. contents labeled, of course.) the ads and magazines are again flowing with ways to combat clutter, organize your life, organize your eating habits, organize your spending habits. really, for control freaks like myself, this is pure heaven.
in drooling over the latest wall systems and baskets to tame the clutter, i read some interesting tips to help combat the "drop it like its hot" behavior that leads to mounds of clutter accumulating in the first place.
the one suggestion that struck me was the suggestion to have a silent butler, a basket that would collect anything left lying where it didn't belong. after being collected, its owner would need to negotiate its release with extra chores, vacations, diamonds, etc. the silent butler as terrorist captor, i'm guessing.
i laughed as i read the suggestion, because while the idea sounds simple, sometimes there needs to be the threat of actual harm before the threat can be taken seriously.
take, for instance, the shoe monster who lives in my house. my husband grew up in a house where clean underwear and socks were routinely washed, dried, folded and then simply left on the living room sofa for its owner to claim. and the laundry didn't get put away if company came over. the underwear just got moved aside so the guest could sit down NEXT to the piles of laundry. (sometimes i swear we grew up on different planets.)
in my husband's case, years of training and conditioning drills are slowly sinking in. i still find the occassional dress shirt and tie left in the garage, or tie in the crisper bin of the refrigerator, but overall i think the success of his training can only be attributed to the shoe monster.
the shoe monster is similar to the silent butler. but unlike the silent butler, the shoe monster doesn't negotiate, he only takes prisoners. and he certainly doesn't take bribes.
shoe monster moved into our first house shortly after we got married. the shoe monster understood my frustration at picking up pairs of my husband's shoes that quickly colonized our living room. under the sofa. under the chair. each night another pair left behind until it got to the point where he didn't look for shoes in his closet. he just went to the living room. that's when shoe monster heard my cry.
each night after my husband went to bed and his shoes left unguarded, the shoe monster crept in and stole the unsuspecting shoes left under the sofa and behind the lamp.
"help us," they cried but the shoe monster shushed them. "you cry to the same owner who abandoned you? stupid sneaker." and with that, the shoe monster wisked the abandoned shoes out of sight. and into the trunk of my car.
because my husband has roughly the same amount of shoes as carrie bradshaw did on "sex and the city", the shoe monster's impact wasn't immediate. it took many weeks before the missing shoes finally went, well, missing.
he'd walk out from the bedroom, half-dressed in his suit wondering wear his black dress shoes went. i'd casually reply, "the shoe monster must have them. if you didn't leave them out where they didn't belong, shoe monster wouldn't have had the chance to eat them."
silly silent butler, organization negotiations are for kids.
Monday, January 16, 2006
accidental wisdom
i don't often expect to find bits of wisdom in a pop song. while i will admit certain artists lend themselves as pseudo-philosophers, the majority of them do not.
so i was surprised to have a moment of clarity when listening to kelly clarkson's "because of you" while folding laundry. it just doesn't happen that often and maybe i was keyed into that locked away segment of my mind because i would be seeing him tonight. my father, that is.
i try not to see him or speak with him if i can avoid it. our relationship is 30 wasted years of absences, rejections, misunderstandings and missed expectations. it is not healthy for me to continue it but at the same time i can't be the one to make the final break. he started this and he should end it. for my sake. but he continues to drag on and force my hand for that one day when i tell him i am done. i have had enough.
so where does kelly's wisdom fare in all this? as i listened to her drone on about how "because of you, she's unable to trust, she wakes up in the middle of the night, afraid, never stray to far from the sidewalk, so she won't get hurt", i realized that no matter how fcuked up my relationship was there were definite positives for me.
like kelly, i have a hard time trusting people, and once bitten, well, you're out the door before we test to see if and how shyness plays a part in that old saying.
unlike kelly, though, i am not afraid. because really i am much better off with having him leave me.
because of you
i am a stronger person because i had to be.
i am extremely self-sufficient i had to be. because no one was coming to my rescue to bail me out financially, or emotionally.
i am a more responsible adult now because i had plenty of practice at such a young age. (my later freak-out years i know now were a direct result of being forced to be the "parent" when i should have been allowed to be a child.)
i have my shit together now when i see so many others floundering around me looking for meaning in their lives, continually looking for happiness or just trying to find themselves, whatever. i don't know why. maybe because i have worked so hard up to this point this is my reward when others are only starting their journey of self-realization.
so because of you, i owe my success to no one but myself. please don't try to take credit for any of it. don't stand at my college graduation when they ask the parents to stand and receive their ovation for the years of loving support. my blood curdled when i saw you standing the crowd. for what honor did you deserve? you are a fraud who crashed a party you were not invited to.
because of you, i worked as a teenager to pay my child support payments when you refused to. because i you, i had to make ends meet somehow and learned the value of money and where it is best spent. because of you, i learned how to go without a lot of things. and today, everything i have is because i worked damn hard for it.
so you can sit there and tell me how proud you are of me. i can sit there and not breathe fire at you when you say it. but still, you miserable old fcuk, it's all because of you.
so i was surprised to have a moment of clarity when listening to kelly clarkson's "because of you" while folding laundry. it just doesn't happen that often and maybe i was keyed into that locked away segment of my mind because i would be seeing him tonight. my father, that is.
i try not to see him or speak with him if i can avoid it. our relationship is 30 wasted years of absences, rejections, misunderstandings and missed expectations. it is not healthy for me to continue it but at the same time i can't be the one to make the final break. he started this and he should end it. for my sake. but he continues to drag on and force my hand for that one day when i tell him i am done. i have had enough.
so where does kelly's wisdom fare in all this? as i listened to her drone on about how "because of you, she's unable to trust, she wakes up in the middle of the night, afraid, never stray to far from the sidewalk, so she won't get hurt", i realized that no matter how fcuked up my relationship was there were definite positives for me.
like kelly, i have a hard time trusting people, and once bitten, well, you're out the door before we test to see if and how shyness plays a part in that old saying.
unlike kelly, though, i am not afraid. because really i am much better off with having him leave me.
because of you
i am a stronger person because i had to be.
i am extremely self-sufficient i had to be. because no one was coming to my rescue to bail me out financially, or emotionally.
i am a more responsible adult now because i had plenty of practice at such a young age. (my later freak-out years i know now were a direct result of being forced to be the "parent" when i should have been allowed to be a child.)
i have my shit together now when i see so many others floundering around me looking for meaning in their lives, continually looking for happiness or just trying to find themselves, whatever. i don't know why. maybe because i have worked so hard up to this point this is my reward when others are only starting their journey of self-realization.
so because of you, i owe my success to no one but myself. please don't try to take credit for any of it. don't stand at my college graduation when they ask the parents to stand and receive their ovation for the years of loving support. my blood curdled when i saw you standing the crowd. for what honor did you deserve? you are a fraud who crashed a party you were not invited to.
because of you, i worked as a teenager to pay my child support payments when you refused to. because i you, i had to make ends meet somehow and learned the value of money and where it is best spent. because of you, i learned how to go without a lot of things. and today, everything i have is because i worked damn hard for it.
so you can sit there and tell me how proud you are of me. i can sit there and not breathe fire at you when you say it. but still, you miserable old fcuk, it's all because of you.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
to be or not to be
my word for the today... was fcuk. as in the transitive verb "to be".
no matter which way i turned, i got fcuked. surely i am tempting fate now by merely mentioning my fcuked-up-ed-ness today.
the "proverbial messenger" got shot. riddled with bullets really. so many times in fact that, the tink, tink sound heard was that of newer bullets ricocheting off the bullets from earlier wounds in the day. yes, that bad.
there is a reason they put in "suicide-proof" windows in buildings these days. but in all reality, more people are pushed -- rather than jump -- from those heights.
especially when those tried-and-true-you-can-count-on-me types, well, they can't be counted on.
you know you have hit a new low when inanimate objects begin to conspire against you. water bottles don't normally explode. except today.
today, 24 oz water bottles can empty into a work bag carrying 1000s of dollars worth of electronic gadgets, toys and paperwork.
"you're dripping!" my train buddy shrieked after we got yelled at for working late. again. as if we really had a say in the matter...
"i don't care anymore," i yelled back as i darted across the street on a red light, once more tempting the furies before heading underground to the train.
"if you want me so bad, do it," i dared fate. "fcuk me one last time today before i go home and crawl under the dark covers of my bed for protection from you. tomorrow is a new day. tomorrow is mine."
instead, the furies backed off from my challenge and i spent a very soggy hour determining the drying times of paperwork and how long it takes battery chargers to dry out before resuming use while waiting to go home so that i could recharge.
no matter which way i turned, i got fcuked. surely i am tempting fate now by merely mentioning my fcuked-up-ed-ness today.
the "proverbial messenger" got shot. riddled with bullets really. so many times in fact that, the tink, tink sound heard was that of newer bullets ricocheting off the bullets from earlier wounds in the day. yes, that bad.
there is a reason they put in "suicide-proof" windows in buildings these days. but in all reality, more people are pushed -- rather than jump -- from those heights.
especially when those tried-and-true-you-can-count-on-me types, well, they can't be counted on.
fcuk 1, fcuk 2, fcuk me, fcuk you.
you know you have hit a new low when inanimate objects begin to conspire against you. water bottles don't normally explode. except today.
today, 24 oz water bottles can empty into a work bag carrying 1000s of dollars worth of electronic gadgets, toys and paperwork.
jack sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean,
everything she touched today, just fcuked poor o' carleen.
everything she touched today, just fcuked poor o' carleen.
"you're dripping!" my train buddy shrieked after we got yelled at for working late. again. as if we really had a say in the matter...
"i don't care anymore," i yelled back as i darted across the street on a red light, once more tempting the furies before heading underground to the train.
"if you want me so bad, do it," i dared fate. "fcuk me one last time today before i go home and crawl under the dark covers of my bed for protection from you. tomorrow is a new day. tomorrow is mine."
instead, the furies backed off from my challenge and i spent a very soggy hour determining the drying times of paperwork and how long it takes battery chargers to dry out before resuming use while waiting to go home so that i could recharge.
Friday, January 06, 2006
when it snows inside
do you want to know how much money 15 minutes is worth?
$8.99.
that's exactly how long it took sadie my rockin' rottweiler to rip to shreds the shrieking stuffed monkey she got from santa paws. (for all you believers out there, stop reading. "santa paws" is really me. sorry to burst that bubble.)
for a toy at such a large price, i was hoping that it could last a day. i am nothing if not realistic. it seemed to have good stitching. no raised plastic eyes that will provide an easy access to the fuzz within. no long limbs for a tug-o-war with her sister chloe.
it's not like sadie's vicious or anything. she loves her toys and will carry them around the house with her from room to room, wherever she goes. and like her daddy, she will leave them in the oddest places. (which is why there is a camel leg on top of the stove as i write this.)
it's the squeaker, man. she did it all for the squeaker. she's got to have it. her big brown eyes get HUGE when she hears it. it's the puppy version of crack.
man, when she gets her mouth on it, look out. she'll shake it just to make it squeal. toss it in the air. whip it back and forth just to make it pay for her addiction to it. all the while her big butt is wiggling.
and if you happen to be near her, she'll share her toy by bringing it to your leg and saying, come on, man take a hit. but her eyes seriously say, "this shit is mine, man. remember the first hit is free. the second one, man, you gots to pay."
after politely declining her offer for a hit, she'll go back to swinging and tossing and wiggling. then she gets her high. she reaches the holy grail for puppies.
she's got fuzz.
yup, she picks a hole smaller than the size of donald rumsfeld's heart but it is big enough for what she needs.
sadie and chloe will then be quiet for hours. taking turns removing enough stuffing out of the toy to make a sofa. until inside my house is as snowy as outside. just to get to the squeaker.
she did it all for the squeaker.
$8.99.
that's exactly how long it took sadie my rockin' rottweiler to rip to shreds the shrieking stuffed monkey she got from santa paws. (for all you believers out there, stop reading. "santa paws" is really me. sorry to burst that bubble.)
for a toy at such a large price, i was hoping that it could last a day. i am nothing if not realistic. it seemed to have good stitching. no raised plastic eyes that will provide an easy access to the fuzz within. no long limbs for a tug-o-war with her sister chloe.
it's not like sadie's vicious or anything. she loves her toys and will carry them around the house with her from room to room, wherever she goes. and like her daddy, she will leave them in the oddest places. (which is why there is a camel leg on top of the stove as i write this.)
it's the squeaker, man. she did it all for the squeaker. she's got to have it. her big brown eyes get HUGE when she hears it. it's the puppy version of crack.
man, when she gets her mouth on it, look out. she'll shake it just to make it squeal. toss it in the air. whip it back and forth just to make it pay for her addiction to it. all the while her big butt is wiggling.
and if you happen to be near her, she'll share her toy by bringing it to your leg and saying, come on, man take a hit. but her eyes seriously say, "this shit is mine, man. remember the first hit is free. the second one, man, you gots to pay."
after politely declining her offer for a hit, she'll go back to swinging and tossing and wiggling. then she gets her high. she reaches the holy grail for puppies.
she's got fuzz.
yup, she picks a hole smaller than the size of donald rumsfeld's heart but it is big enough for what she needs.
sadie and chloe will then be quiet for hours. taking turns removing enough stuffing out of the toy to make a sofa. until inside my house is as snowy as outside. just to get to the squeaker.
she did it all for the squeaker.
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