I see nothing wrong with eating gravy for every meal

Top five reasons why I am undateable:

1.  I am a non-discriminate hater of cats.  I hate all cats...your cats.  Kittens, even.  If you own one, I might feel inclined to kick it when you aren't looking, or stick tape to the bottom of it's grotesque paws.

2. I do not cuddle.  In fact, I have all the snugglability of a cold, wet sock.  I treat hugs like the human straightjackets that they are, and burst out of them TOWARDS FREEDOM AND PERSONAL SPACE.  If I have to elbow you furiously in the ribs, so help me, I will.

3.  Every once in a great while, I eat soup in the shower.  (All the time)

4. I'm married.  You can't date me anyway.

5. I hate the number five.

*Edit: I wouldn't actually do either of those things to a cat.  At worst, I would perhaps taunt it with a smelt.

I found a spot of time to read today, in between being HORRIBLY SICK and holding a baby.  When I took Landon to preschool this morning, I looked like a frazzled, pasty old bear.  I could hardly force myself out of bed, into a somewhat suitable outfit, and out  into the real world.  I'm not sure if any of the teachers were especially sure about who I was, as I was lacking usual makeup and sociability.  I don't remember what I said to anybody, but I do recall many "what in the hell is she talking about" facial expressions being shot in my direction.  I came home, fed Nora, took some cold pills, snuggled up with a book and fell asleep after only five pages.  I shall never get to the end of any book!  Not even the middle!  I WILL NEVER GET PAST THE PROLOGUE!  Damn it all.

Once home, Landon requested that we play Guess Who.  He said, "I don't need to guess actually, because I know all the things."

All the things, indeed. 

Nora is crawling/sweeping the floor with her tummy, and I'm upset about the amount of things I have to put away now.  Did I want to find a permanent residence for my immense collection of shoes, gathering by the door?  No, no I did not.  We have no storage, and but one closet.

I make poor choices

Today has been relatively unpleasant.  As I sat in my chair, glaring at the wall and brooding, Landon ran inside the house and said to me, "Mom!  I turned on the hose so I could water your flowers, and now I can't turn it off..!"

Being very sick, I am wearing a relatively ridiculous outfit comprised of Kevin's sweatpants, an old fleece pullover, and some fuzzy socks.  I ran outside, clomping around in Kevin's shoes, frantically maneuvering my way through giant puddles and spiderwebs in order to reach the hose.

In other news, I thoroughly HATE September, as it is spider month.  Spiders everywhere!  They gallop freely through the house, having shuffled in through the drains, under doorways, through open windows.. 
The presumptuous way they make webs in corners of rooms, without having received an invitation to do so, drives me batty.  It is rude.  They are creepy.  September is also "begin-denying-that-it-is-no-longer-summer" month.  You can find me, bikini-clad, freezing cold at the beach with an alcoholic beverage while it's pouring down rain, shouting, "Everything is fine!!  F&%$ Autumn!"

Actually, this is me:

Yesterday, I made an INSANE amount of fall themed baby food for Nora.  (Why did I have to specify that it was for Nora?  What other baby do I own?)
My favorite; roasted apple and steamed sweet potato with essence of chamomile.  You're welcome, Nora.  It tastes sublime. Also, it will put you to sleep!  See what I did there?  I'm actually very selfish and just want you to take long naps.




Also, I want all of you to make blogs of your own so I can leave lengthy comments of questionable content.  Get on it.  This is your assignment. 

This Saturday: Dancing!  I can't dance at all.  In fact, I am an embarrassment to humans everywhere.  People shun me, immediately after seeing how clumsy and oafish I am.  The worst part?  I don't care.  So sorry.  So many apologies will be issued on Sunday morning. 

INSERT WITTY TITLE HERE

Goals for the day:
1. Exercise right to wear OUTRAGEOUSLY unfashionable pants.  Check.
2. Make blog post, despite having absolutely nothing to write about. Nearly check.

Ultimate goals:
1. Write and publish a book full of horribly inappropriate short stories.  Vehemently deny books existence.
2. Stop talking about self.

Enough about me.  Landon threw a cup in the shower this morning (while I was in it), and said, "Mom, are you ready for your makeup-over?"
Let it be known that I am never ready for a makeup-anything, when it involves a three year old child of any gender. It was with the most vigourous fury that he applied eyeliner to my nose, and then declared, "Now I have to rub it in!"
My nose is red and black.  Help.

Nora continues to be indifferent towards anything, unless it involves ice cream.

Also: I am deeply annoyed by persons (who shall remain nameless) who continue to whine and complain about circumstances that they themselves have created.  Allow me to be quite serious here, for a brief moment.   I have VERY limited sympathy (in fact, none!) for anybody who puts themselves in horrid situations, then plays the victim and blames anyone and everyone around them.  It is annoying.  Yes, you were dealt some crap cards, but that was some 15 years ago or what-have-you.  It is time to pick up the pieces (or leave them where they are...hey, cleaning is for ninnies) and get over it.

Everyone deals with things differently, but you sir/ma'am, you are simply wallowing.  I do not like wallowers.  I do not like them in the rain, I do not like them on a train.  I do not like them here or there, I do not like them anywhere!  *Eats a bite of green ham*  Boxes, mice, however the rest of it goes..

Terrible, terrible.

Check in later, while I describe in disturbingly graphic detail the lengths I go to scrub the mold off of my bathroom ceiling. 

EDIT: I was in the shower, not in the cup. 

 

I need to dip into my title creativity...tomorrow

I hate fall.  I hate winter.

It is a season of wet socks.  A season of mold, mildew, stuffy noses and rust.

Around this time, I develop an overwhelming urge to put on my grumpy bear face, pack my bags, and disappear into a cave for hibernation, until spring has sprung.

Generally, I distract myself from seasonal depression hatred with school.  I will confess to you that my involvement in school has less to do with a desire to succeed, and more to do with distracting myself from the elements.  On a side note, I hate pumpkin pie.

This year, no school for me.  You see, I have this baby...and I don't sleep much these days.  Homework would be difficult.  I have given a few wayward thoughts to taking some sort of fitness class, we'll see if that pans out or not.  (Aqua aerobics, anyone?)

I will try to make this blog my distraction, this time around.  You see, I used to be an avid blogger of a very creepy nature, but now I can't seem to find the motivation needed to do it.  Sure, going through old notebooks and posting terribly odd short stories is fun and all, but I solemnly promise to make an effort to make actual posts. 

Now my daughter is screaming her head off.  That's my cue! 

Nostalgia! I write creepy stories.

I've become really, really horrible at this blogging thing.  In an old blog, I used to make, on occasion, 2-3 posts a day.  What happened?  Erhm..kids.  Right.

I was digging around through old boxes of stuff (or rather, boxes of old stuff.  The boxes themselves aren't too horribly ancient) and ran across four notebooks full of short stories.  Oh my.  Here's one from age 19:

He presented an engagement ring and exclaimed, "Think fast!"
In my bewilderment, I said yes.  Now I am unhappily married to a large vat of beans.
The wedding was an unpleasant affair that took place over a three day period of time.  None of my family made an appearance, though an undeniably attractive group of lentils showed up in time for cake.
The honeymoon was awful.  I vomited on at least five separate occasions. 
Sometime thereafter, I was arrested in Chicago for loitering at an elementary school, in the presence of an unhappy sunbear. 
When released, I went home to discover that my husband had shacked up with the local baker!  I was floored!  I made a quick visit to Los Angeles where I met with a well known divorce attorney .  The attorney and I were engaged by sunset, and we took turns shampooing each others hair.
Now I'm back in jail.  I'm not entirely sure why. 

The End, I suppose.

As for real life (because none of that actually happened), Landon has begun preschool and I feel an overwhelming urge to stay with him in his classroom all day.  I guess I can't do that?

Nora is learning to crawl, sort of.  She sees something in front of her, and attempts to get at it with a look of determination in her eyes - but crawls backwards instead.  It is with the saddest, most confused little infant face that she looks up at you, trying to figure out what to do next.

Tomorrow: I'm hoping for sunshine because Landon is desperately wanting to go adventuring!

I may as well share the URL for this.  No use writing things that only I'm going to read.  Right?  Write?  I'm tired.

Another post. What else?

Somebody should be put in charge of telling me when it's Veterans day.  I nominate all of you.  (And since I don't have any readers yet...I suppose I'm still in a pickle.)

My worst fears were realized around lunch time, when insane noises occurred in the sky.  I figured we were being bombed, so I abruptly stopped doing my math homework. 

AS IT TURNS OUT....some sort of air craft machine type whatnot was causing a great deal of commotion.  I would have gone outside to look, but the sky frightens me and I often opt out of acknowledging it's existence.   Stars, in particular, do nothing for my nerves.  Thank god for light pollution!  I don't have to look at you!

In other news, I have had the voracious appetite of a lint-roller in heat.  I don't know where it's coming from, but I'm not ruling out the possibility of tape-worms quite yet.

In closing, I have no respect for parachutes. 

I waste a lot of time, for any number of irritating reasons.

I just spent several hours looking for a post I made in an old blog that I needed to destroy.  It was probably the most disgusting, deplorable thing I had ever written.  The world didn't need it floating around in the cyber-universe.


Now it's 2 in the morning.  I half fell asleep a few times, and had odd half dreams.  On two separate occasions, I awoke from a dream about a large, tasty sandwich.  Finding that I did not actually have a sandwich, I became enraged.  All of a sudden, I was waking up from a different dream in which my skin was horrifying.  It can best be described as resembling lunch-meat that has been boiled for many hours.

Speaking of half things, I half wrote a short story, and then threw it away (I fully threw it away, thanks for asking.), because it seemed a lot like a bad eighties film. 

I apologize for this.  So here...I'll post another something from the past.  (Although now edited all Walmart style, because at some point I became a total prude.)

June 6th, 2003
Dear Miss Abigail Price,
We regret to inform you that your application to be in the "Little Miss Kentucky" pageant has been denied, for the following reasons:
1. You're 82.  The age bracket for this competition is 12-17.

2. The "artistic nudes" you voluntarily supplied with your application, were severely lacking in the "artistic" department, and were borderline pornographic.  The image in which you're shown doing degrading things to a raw ham put two of our best employees in the hospital.

3.  Under "experience", you boldly listed the names of 20 vaguely known, D-list actors, and one complete unknown, who you describe as "unstable and murderous".  We're not quite sure what you meant, but new security precautions have been installed.

4.  The paragraph you wrote describing the life and times of "Saint Hitler" was not amusing in the slightest.

Regrettably yours,
Betsy P. Broomstail


*Edit - Totally freaky!  It WAS two in the morning, but now it is only 1 am!   Thank you, time change!  Good night!