August 05, 2007

What I Did This Weekend

• Didn't blog.
  
• Knitted some socks that take me right back to The Wheel Thing Roller Rink, circa 1982. I love these socks more than I love my dogs.
  
• Drank beer at a local pub with a friend. There was live music, old couples dancing to Frank Sinatra covers, and absolutely no credit cards accepted. It was awesome! Upon leaving, I watched a few silent minutes of "The Simpsons Movie" from the drive-in theater next door to the bar. Reveled in how much I love living in this town.
  
• Celebrated Little Eddie's second birthday. Clara Jane celebrated Little Eddie's birthday the same way she celebrated Abby's birthday last week: by eating exactly two cupcakes-worth of icing and then going off to play with her father instead of the other kids.
  
• Worked on those major blog changes I've been threatening for ages. They're almost finished, I promise. Although I lied a bit; I worked on the major blog changes for about five minutes before I got completely befuddled by the complexities of the five-minute install and yelled for B. to help me.
  
• Sweated. Profusely. Just by sitting on my ass in my air conditioned house. I fucking hate August.
  
• Made arrangements to have the Monday playdate at my house, instead of going to the coffeehouse that's gonna feel the wrath of our motherly ire by the lack of our presence. Oh yeah.
  
• Went to Hawaii with Clara Jane. And by "Hawaii" I mean, "the basement". Imagination? Check!
  
• Made silly lists instead of engaging my brain enough to make a real blog entry.
  

Posted by Robin at 11:46 PM | Comments (5)

July 23, 2007

Dotty Monday

• My parents are coming to visit tomorrow. This will be their third visit in the not-quite-six weeks since we moved. I think they're gradually moving in.
• Guess who's going to see her favorite band in one of her favorite towns, maybe with one of her favorite people (or her spouse)? Yes, me. Thank you. I also might be seeing someone I've known damn near my whole life but haven't seen in at least a decade. And B. might actually go! He never goes to shows with me. It'll be a big night, indeed.
• I haven't spoke much of Wilco since the move. Odd, since you'd think my favorite band would be on my mind now that I live in the hometown of the band's core member. Not that that's why we moved here. It's just a perk that I can drive past his childhood home whenever I go through the drive-thru at Geo's for hot wings. Not that I've done that. But I can. Anyway, the past 24 hours have been Wilcoful. Yesterday, I bought concert tickets. This morning, Clara Jane and I listened to their new CD, which begins with one of my current favorite songs, "Either Way". First I was sad when she said, "Hey! We saw this song on TV!" And then I was verklempt when she sang it word-for-word. Without the VW pimping, even.
• Tonight I finally watched Sunken Treasure. Of course.
• My awesome pal Summer, who takes gorgeous photos, today sent the ones she took at the Boob-Ha-Ha. Wanna see 'em? Have at it.
• That's pretty much it. Really. Basement sequestering. Neighbor stalking. Sock-knitting. Towel-folding. Coffee-drinking. That's about it.

  Posted by Robin at 10:20 PM | Comments (5)

  May 30, 2007

  Dots in Boxes

  Did you think I'd be making my regular long-winded posts in the next few weeks? Please.

  • Packing packing packing. So sick of packing. But damn if we're not way ahead of the game. I made my way to the dreaded basement yesterday. I wish I could say that I found something interesting in all my sorting and packing, but I didn't. Well, I think I found some new muscles in my ass that I'd never previously used.

  • My hair is about three inches shorter now than it was this morning.

  • I've realized something I'm going to miss about living here. I'm going to miss Snoopy, my neighbor dog. You know, the one who once had a weiner dog stuck on his weiner. In fact, I feel a little like I'm losing one of my pets. I've known him since he was a wee little puppy nearly six years ago. Tonight, while sitting in the backyard, I watched him running at approximately 83 MPH, in circles, barking his piddly little high-pitched girly bark. It's sort of like having my own teeny little gazelle in my backyard, and I'll miss that. I won't miss the racetrack he's made in my backyard, that's banked at the same angle as Talladega.
    
  • Speaking of dog-humping, I can't believe I forgot to mention this after the trip to my hometown. Clara Jane informed us that Rhonda, my parents' sweet Labrador who never did anything to hurt anyone and deserves nothing but peace and love in her life, had given a piggy-back ride to Chigger. Oh lord.

  • Speaking of Chigger, he has a thing for Hillary Duff.

  • Oh, and have I mentioned this?
    
    

  • The Cuz is coming to visit in July for a giant fundraiser extravaganza for her 3-Day team. I'll be pestering everyone for donations, so you've been warned. Also, so excited to be having company in the new house. My parents will be there the weekend after we move, but that doesn't quite count, for some reason. Probably because they won't be making Jello shot salad.

  • I'm fetching Clara Jane tomorrow. Did I get everything finished that I intended to finish in her absence? Of course not. But I got a lot done. So much so that we'll be hauling our asses to the coffeehouse on Friday and staying there all damn day long.

  • Oh, and I finished making my mom's Mother's Day socks, finally. They fit her hugely deformed feet. I think the right one is a size 3 an the left one is a 10. Still, cute socks.

  • B. just informed me that this is the 30th anniversary of the release of Smokey and the Bandit, the Citizen Kane of my people. Honestly, what do you think prompted me to own a Basset hound? My mom and I saw the movie in the theater with Grandpa Chuck, who was a trucker. We also took him to see Every Which Way but Loose. Ah, trucker movies. Why did they stop making trucker movies?

    Posted by Robin at 08:29 PM | Comments (6)

    May 10, 2007

    Dots of Grievance

    I'm to the point where this week is going to consist of me pissing and moaning and possibly putting my head through one of the Sugar Wafer walls. I've just flat-out had enough. I'm tired. I'm worried. I'm stressed. I'm feeling as if the universe is saying, "Hey, you got your house. Now shut the hell up and pay for it, Bitch."

    Just humor me. I'm venting.

    • Amtrak. Oh, Amtrak. Always struggling because they're at the mercy of the freight trains companies that own all the rails. Clara Jane and I should be preparing to board a train to my hometown right now, except all train service west of Jefferson City has been cancelled until Saturday. They're trying to get the freight through before the tracks flood. I understand, I do. I'm just not thrilled about making a three-hour drive in crowded truck with an air conditioner that's died for the second time in as many months.

    • B. called today to say we should drive to my hometown tonight. Guess he forgot that he'd waited until the last minute to go Mother's Day shopping and was going to do it tonight. Either that or he's just going to buy me something at one of the many Dollar General stores in my hometown.

    • Could someone please inform my husband that, when someone (namely, his wife), offers to pick him up at the train station, proper etiquette dictacts that he should inform her that he's leaving the office late as soon as he's aware. Not twenty minutes later, when she and their child have gone out of their way to pick his ass up. Not informing the person who offered the favor could lead to a chain of events that prevents you from getting home until 6:20, instead of 4:45. It could also mean that the person who offered to pick you up, went out of her way to do so only to turn around and drive home, who's now stuck making dinner because you're not here to do it as promised just might use her Neti pot to clean her sinuses over your bowl of gnocchi with gorgonzola, peas and ham while you're not looking.

    • I'm going to set fire to all my phones. They've done nothing but ring today and frankly, I don't feel like fucking talking right now.

    • There's a point just east of downtown St. Louis where several majors highways converge. It's always a bit congested. Today, I sat in traffic in this area for oer 20 minutes because they'd reduced traffic to one line. Why? Because they were changing the light in the "Welcome to Illinois" sign. Did I feel welcome, while I roasted in my car, watching my $3/gallon gas burn? Not even a little.
      
    • You know what else made me feel unwelcome? Going to Associated Foot Surgeons in Belleville, Illinois (full name listed for Google purposes) to purchase a pair of orthopedic Crocs for my mom's Mother's Day gift. Yeah, I know, but that's what she wants, and she found out that's one of the few places in the region that sells the ugly things. First, I stood in the office, all alone, knocking on the glass window for ten minutes before someone arrived. When she did arrive, she told me that the sizes on the orthopedic Crocs are wonky but no, I wouldn't be able to exchange them, even if they still had the tags on them, but would I care to "just risk it at buy the size sevens?" Way to fuck up peoples' feet and drum up business there, you ugly shoe-peddler. No thank you. Happy Mother's Day, Mom! You'll be getting ... um ... a free night and breakfast in the spare bedroom of our new house? Some Amtrak tickets for a train that's not running for an undetermined amount of time? No? Well, that's pretty much all I've got.

    • Despite the fact that we had large limb spear a hole in our roof a few months ago, along with damage from multiple storms, our insurance company stands by their policy that, although we haven't filed a claim with them in the eight years they've insured our house, they will not cover a new roof for us until we can see daylight through the ceiling. Which is a shame, considering that the people buying our house demanded a new roof today.

    • Clara Jane keeps kicking me off the couch.

    • Oh! And she made a Mother's Day card for me. This is what she dictated to her teacher for the inside:
      I love it when Mommy takes me to the coffeehouse.
      I love it when Mommy makes me peas.
      I love to run and play and look for ants with Mom.
      Daddy is my best friend.

      Frankly, I think her teacher could have left off that last part. I essentially got a Mother's Day card that says, "I love all the shit you do for me, but Dad's the one who's tops in my book."
      

    The truly amazing thing is, I've yet to cry today. But when I do - and oh, I'm sure I will - there's really going to be a flooding situation in Missouri because goddamn it, I'm about to explode.

    Posted by Robin at 04:20 PM | Comments (13)

    May 08, 2007

    These Dots in History

    Maybe this is just me and my freakishly sharp memory, but I look back at my life and I don't necessarily recall single moments. I recall phases when things change. I have a feeling this past week will be one of those, for in the past week I've ...

    • explained bisexuality to my mother.
    • sold my house.
    • lost a house I thought for sure was ours.
    • bought a house.
    • lost a friend, whose ashes will be scattered tomorrow.
    • learned one friend was making plans to end a marriage.
    • learned a second friend was making plans to end a marriage. Not the same marriage, mind you.
    • wished my dear Basset Chloe a happy 10th birthday, which makes me a little sad because even though she doesn't act it, she's getting up there.
    • possibly done permanent damage to my back by performing the oh-so-difficult task of sitting my ass down in my desk chair, which I accidentally kicked out from under my very own ass. You remember in the Roadrunner cartoons, when the coyote would go over the cliff and he'd land in such a manner that his body would turn into an accordian? Yeah, that happened to me.

    I think this might be the week where someday, I look back and say, "Yeah, that week in May, 2007, when I was 34 years old? That was when I officially hit adulthood." Because you don't fully hit adulthood until something happens that gives you the ability to predict the weather based on past injuries, right? I think I'm there.

    Posted by Robin at 10:17 PM | Comments (9)

    April 19, 2007

    Dots, for I am too Tired to Make Paragraphs

    • I guess I don't have to say how horrified and disgusted I am with the profilation of the VT killer's homemade snuffish videos and photos being plastered everywhere. I especially enjoyed opening cnn.com this morning, with my child by me, and being greeted by a large photo of that motherfucker pointing a gun at us. Good morning, Sunshine! You're now traumatized for life. The news won't show flag-draped caskets of our soldiers returning from Iraq, but they'll show this bullshit. I tell ya, I'm so glad I made the decision 15 years ago to not go into news journalism as I'd planned for most of my life.
    • Aside from Andrew Bird and being horrified, I've spent the entire week cleaning and packing. The new agent started showing our house today. We had two lookers. They stayed awhile, according to the neighbor. No one received parking tickets or summonses. They left business cards, which none of the past agents have done. I hope that means something. And by "something" I mean "we'll be getting an offer because the 7-11 up the street that closed last summer is being converted into a sleazy-looking liquor store, and the awesome donut place across the street is for sale and I can't live here anymore!
    • I've learned that I can drown a miserable week by buying sock yarn, which I think means I have an official problem, especially since I'm too tired to knit.
    • I have acquired two Andrew Bird CDs this week and yet, I was in such a foul mood today that they made me sad. So instead I've been listening to London Calling in its entirity on constant loop all day. Has there ever been a better album made? I think not. This is, without doubt, the worst album ever made.
    • I want to spend all day tomorrow at Hartford Coffee. And maybe buy a new desk chair.
    • I have to make a seperate list that entails the multitude of weirdness Clara Jane has exhibited this week.
    • We have a new inhabitant at our house. Her name is Baby Emily. She was three for her birthday. She has just a little bit of hair. Her hair's green. At least, that's what I'm told. I haven't actually met Baby Emily, for she exists solely in Clara Jane's imagination.

      As a big fan of imaginary friends - mine hung around until my age was in the double-digits - I'm thrilled by this. And yet, a bit creeped out. I don't know why. I know it's normal. I wasn't normal, but everything worked out mostly okay for me. I can't tell if Baby Emily is a seperate entity from Clara Jane, or if Baby Emily is an alter-ego she's created for herself. There's a girl named Emily in her daycare class. Is she the inspiration for Baby Emily? I don't think so, because Daycare Emily doesn't have green hair. I just don't know. There is so much going on it that little blonde head of Clara Jane's, stuff I have no control over, and it makes me want to take a Xanax.

    • Tonight, she was sitting in the backseat, laughing hysterically at what? I have no idea. So I asked her, "Clara Jane, what's so funny?" She snorted and said, "Me," then resumed her hysterics.

    • Speaking of hysterics, Clara Jane is no longer allowed to watch "American Idol". I mean, I try to keep her away from commercial adult television, but she always seems to catch a performance or two on "AI".

      Yes, I watch "American Idol". Shut up.

      Anyway, I was watching Tuesday's "Idol" last night on the Tivo. Clara Jane heard Melinda Doolittle singing Trouble is a Woman and, because my kid has good sense, she came running, overcome by excitment, and danced like I've never seen her dance before. We had to watch the performance eight times. We had to dance with her. Life was joyful again! And then she said it.

      "I need to see the boy with the curls."

      Not thinking it was any big deal I flippantly said, "He's not on the show anymore. They sent him home."

      My child face crumpled like I'd just told her our dogs had eaten our cat. "That ... makes ... me ... so ... sad!" she said before completely falling the fuck apart. She wailed and sobbed to the point of hiccups. To the point where I was pretty sure she was going to vomit. B. held her tight while she bawled and screamed into his shoulder. The only thing that calmed her was Chris' mediocre, losing performance of "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic".

    • Clara Jane has started writing lyrics. Remember the falling-down pizza dance from nearly a year ago? Well, not only does she still do the dance in a manner that reflects the progress of her coordination, but she has started singing lyrics to the tune. They change every time, and I'm lucky if I can understand half of what she's singing. She always sings about falling down, which makes me think that perhaps she's composing a song about a dance step, like "The Twist", "Mashed Potato Time" or Walk it Out. But then the lyrics vary, depending on what she's done recently. She's also been adding lyrics to Pachelbel's Canon in D, which is also programmed into her $5 pink piano. Today's version was about flowers and what a beautiful day it was.

    • Is it any wonder I'm so very, very tired?
      

    Posted by Robin at 09:00 PM | Comments (8)

    April 03, 2007

    Disgracefully Dull Dots

    What can I say? It's been a slow few days. Dreadfully slow.

    • In the spirit of both getting back on the horse and laying claim to our turf, Clara Jane, Beqi, her family, and I returned to the coffeehouse yesterday, where more smack-talk about Savior Dad went down. This guy really should watch his actions, as he's really not well-liked. Not even a little, it seems.
    • For the second time this spring, Clara Jane and I were going to the botanical gardens today. And for the second time, we had to cancel. This time due to weather and possible plague. The kid's got a bug, or she's a really good faker. Either way, being cooped up in the house isn't good for either of us. Especially when one of us refuses to nap. I'm not pointing fingers, but I will say that my bed has looked so good today.
    • I cleaned like a crazy lady today.
    • Have I mentioned how irritated I am with our real estate agent? I don't even want to get into it. The fact that, after nearly three months, our house still isn't listed on his website. And that after being sent interior photos of our house twice, they're still not on our realtor.com page. B. flat-out asked him today if he's ever shown our house, because it seems it's only been shown by agents from other agencies. He replied that he'd driven people by, but they didn't want to look because of the brush at our curb.

    Okay, screw it. I'm getting into it. For starters, we told him upfront three months ago that the house wasn't ready to be listed, mainly because of the massive storm damage in our backyard. We let him persuade us into listing anyway.

    Now, as our agent, isn't it his fucking job to perhaps tell people, "Oh, that brushpile is a temporary situation. The city's working on it. In the meantime you should see awesome interior. Let's go inside!"

    Nevermind the fact that I don't believe for a second that he's driven anyone by our house, since every appointment to look at the house has been made by other agencies.

    The good news: I thought we were under contract with this loser agent until May 1st. B. looked at our contract, and we're actually less than two weeks from the end of the contract. Will we be signing on for another three months of this? No fucking way. St. Louisans, send your selling agent recommendations my way.

    Please learn from my mistakes. If a real estate agent is working as a hotel desk clerk because he's not selling enough houses to make ends meet, HE'S NOT A GOOD AGENT!

    We ordered Chinese for dinner tonight, something that has sadly become at least a once-a-week habit. I've sucked at cooking lately, and have no desire to partake. Anyway, my fortune cookie had two fortunes. Does that mean something, like when you get an egg with two yolks? I'm not sure. I just thought they were interesting:

    Fortune #1: Good news of a long-awaited event will soon arrive.

    Fortune #2: Your air of confidence naturally draws others to you.

    Now, I try not to put much stock in things like newspaper horoscopes, fortune cookies, and such, but when fortune #2 is obviously true, and since I got a freakish double-fortune, surely fortune #1 pertains to selling the crapshack, right? Come on and humor me; it's been a bumpy day.

    It's probably just referring to this weekend's family Easter wienie and Peeps roast, though. That'll be cool, too. Not selling-the-crapshack cool, but I'm really looking forward to celebrating the resurrection of the lord and savior by jamming sticks loaded with cured meat products and sugar-encrusted marshmallows into fire.

    Posted by Robin at 09:03 PM | Comments (8)

    March 14, 2007

    Just the Dots. The Cranky, Crabby Dots

    I was delighted to learn that my post from Sunday was mentioned in Jenn Satterwhite's Tuesday post on BlogHer. Go read her piece; it's good stuff.

    Even though she talks about some pretty heavy issues in the "bad day" realm, mine, of course, dealt with me bitching about petty things that don't mean much in the long run. I'm going to stick with that theme today, only with some dots.

    • We found out why yesterday's house-viewing appointment didn't show. The potential buyers had a sick kid. Please come back when your child's well. Please?
    • It's raining. We have a giant hole in our roof with an insurance-company-issued patch on it while we continue to battle them on how much roof they're going to replace. It's going to rain inside tonight. I can feel it.
    • You know what you want to hear first thing in the morning? An airhorn, being blown repeatedly. Seems the folks up at the old dunebuggy-building homestead had their 284 vehicles parked on the street in such a manner that the garbage truck couldn't turn down our street. Thus, the airhorn, which was utilized to, what? Blow the cars out of the way? Turns out, three-year-olds like early-morning airhorns even less than 34-yeara-olds.
    • If you've read for anything length of time, you know that I have anxiety and panic issues. Well, not so much issues as disorders. As in, medical and psychiatric intervention are required to keep me from wigging out on an hourly basis. What wigs me out more than anything? The thought that something might be wrong with my oldest pet. It used to be Whiney, the cat who finally succumbed at age 17. Now it's Chloe the Basset, but thanks to the medical and psychiatric intervention, things are usually fine. She had me a bit on edge today, though. Rather, I was a bit on edge and, as I do when I'm on edge for whatever reason (like being blown out of bed by an airhorn, for example), I projected my anxiety onto her.
    Does this look a dog on death's door?

    

    Granted, she does have a bit of a roadkill quality about her, but she always does when she's content.

    A few hours later ... Clara Jane and Chloe were in the living room while I was getting dressed in my bedroom. My bottom half was covered, but I wore not a stitch from the waist up.

    That's when I heard Chloe making a noise that I could only translate as meaning, "Oh dear God! I'm dying! I'm keeling rightnowthisverysecond!!!"

    I did the logical thing. I went running through the dining room to the living room to see what was going on. Did I mention the six windows with open curtains? My little peepshow probably lowered our property value another $2000 dollars.

    Chloe and Clara Jane sat next to each other on the floor, both looking embarrassed. Chloe's black fur covered Clara Jane's pale yellow shirt, and neither of them were talking, probably because they were both fine.

    As I left the room, I turned to take one last look just in time to see my daughter attempt to hang a purse from my senior citizen dog's tail. Now, I know Bassets have a reputation for being rather furniture-like, but Jesus.

    An hour later, Clara Jane confessed that Chloe had made that horrible noise because she had pulled Chloe's tail.

    What the hell is it with my family and animal tails?

    • I think I'm developing a urinary tract infection. I'll spare the details, because I'm sure most of you are familiar. It did make me feel somewhat better this morning, when, upon hearing me urinate, Clara Jane ran into the bathroom, gave me a round of applause, and squealed, "Hooray! I'm so proud of you!" I was proud of me, too.
    • I bought that that damn dress today, despite the fact that my nearly 6-foot-tall, tan, blonde friend PKB owns the same one. If she ever shows up wearing that dress when she knows I'm wearing it I swear, I love her but I'll snatch her head bald. I feel comfortable saying that because yesterday she threatened to do something that would require me to have extensive orthodontia, simply because I've never had a cavity or braces. Seems fair.
    • Clara Jane and I are going on a little adventure on Friday. She's going to spend a few days with my parents, but I decided to shake it up a bit. The two of us are going to take Amtrak to my parents'. I'm going to spend the night and part of Saturday with them, and then I'm going to get back on that train for several hours of knitting and iPod time all by myself. Mama's getting a break! Yeehaw!

    Posted by Robin at 09:57 PM | Comments (6)

    February 25, 2007

    Sunday Dots

    • Yes, the blog was down for a bit today. I've got a nasty habit of ignoring the warning emails I get, warning me that I'm on the verge of exceeding my bandwidth, until things go poof. The Cuz did some stuff to ensure there will be less poof-going.
    • Nearly three months after The Giant Weather Dong of Doom whallopped St. Louis, my rinky-dink little redneck township is finally going to start picking up storm debris. B. has been diligently working to haul all the tree crap from the backyard to the curb. As of this afternoon, our house, which sits on a hill, is no longer visible from the street. I'm trying to find a good way to spin this in our real estate listing. "Lot with dense wooded view" sounds pleasing, no?
    • Yeah, I'm still obsessively knitting socks. But I might be moving on. Why? Because Friday, after nearly two months of waiting, I finally received the first issue of my Craft subscription. Fuck sock knitting; I'm off to make my own shoes!
    • In all seriousness, it's a pretty inspiring little piece of periodical work. I love this blurb from an editorial by Jean Railla: In the age of hyper-materialism, Paris Hilton, and thousand-dollar "It" bags, perhaps making stuff is the ultimate form of rebellion.
    • If you're wondering why I haven't mentioned Hartford in awhile, it's because we haven't been for awhile, what with the birthday festivities, trip to the hometown, illness, goat-sacrificing and whatnot. We went today for live Sunday bluegrass, bottomless cups, and time with friends. Ah, bliss. We'll be there again tomorrow.
    • Know what else I'm enjoying, aside from making rebel socks and reading nerd magazines? I'm enjoying Hooked: Illegal Drugs and How They Got That Way, which was on one of the many history networks this weekend. I'm not going to start a big discussion about it, since the series is nearly seven years old and mostly forgotten. But if you get a chance to watch it, do so. I learned a lot about the squirrely ways laws get made. I also learned how much it used to cost to buy your smack and needles from the Sears catalog in 1909. That's knowledge we all need.
    • Real estate news? If our agent doesn't get on the stick and start showing our damn house, I'm going to go to his office and re-enact something I saw a meth head do on that drug special I've been watching. I want to move into our new house that has a closing date looming. And I can't do that until he sells this house, which ain't going to happen by people magically envisioning what it looks like on the inside.
    • Clara Jane continues drawing 15 portraits a day of yours truly. Yesterday, she started including the mole on my forehead in her artwork. Then she started putting polka-dots on my cheeks to represent the lovely red blotches that have recently sprouted. I've always been pretty lax in the makeup department, but because of the brutal honesty of a child, I think I'm going to start wearing a thick layer of movie studio-quality pancake foundation at all times.
    • Yeah, it's pretty much come to this. Nothing of note has happened this weekend. I'm reaching, as I'm in the mood to write but really? Nothing to write about and I'm too lazy to come up with anything.

    Posted by Robin at 09:38 PM | Comments (2)

    January 24, 2007

    Mistakey Doits

    • Yep, I know there's an "i" in "dots" that's not supposed to be there. It's a typo, and it's appropriate.

    • I think the latest adjustment to my brain drugs is having an ill effect on my energy levels. I mentioned last week that I had a day where I kept falling asleep, cumulating in 15 hours of sleep in a 24-hour period. Yesterday, Clara Jane fought her nap (her new favorite hobby). Once I put her down for the 13th time, I went to my bedroom to eavesdrop via baby monitor, and promptly zonked out for 90 minutes. Today, I've been fighting the urge to do the same. The irony: depression makes some people want to sleep all the time, but not me. And yet, the antidepressants make me unable to stay awake.

    • I finally managed to write a non-smartassed paragraph about my house and send it to my real estate agent. He left a voice mail for me to call him back. I did, but missed him. I have this odd fear that he's calling to edit me.

    • Remember that sock I started knitting a few days ago? Yeah, that's not going very well, either. At the end of last night's meeting of my knitting group (the Dirrrrty Knitterrrrrs?), I realized as I turned the heel that I'd made a goofy little mistake. Today I ripped it out to the point of the mistake, knitted a few more inches, and realized I'd made a different, equally goofy mistake. This time, when I ripped, I really screwed it up. The whole thing's been ripped out and I'm starting over. Later. In a few days, after I knit a drop-stitch scarf (since I've realized I'm a wiz at stitch-dropping) on giganormous needles. Remedial knitting, if you will, with really pretty green ribbony yarn.

    • Speaking of my knitting group, we got together early last night for dinner at a lovely vegetarian Indian buffet. Paneer tikka masala? New favorite food and I may never eat anything else again. I'll at least complain about any meal that doesn't contain all-I-can-eat paneer tikka masala. I meant to mention this to the group last night, but forgot, so I'll just mention it here. In this obviously very devout Hindu restaurant, we partook in three basic topics of conversation: 1) meat, and how delicious it is with Dijon sauce, 2) last Friday's sex toystravaganza, and 3) ways in which we used to party when we were young. I hope we're allowed back.

    • I don't write nearly enough about poop.
      

    Clara Jane and I spent yet another day at Hartford, because it's January and what the hell is there to do? Well, we went to the library, too. Not the branch where they're wicked to me. So, we can hang out at home, go to the library, or hang out at the coffeehouse. We both prefer the latter two options.

    Just this morning, before we left, I was telling my mom how Clara Jane's making progress in the potty training. "I can't remember the last time she pooped in public," I told her. Instead, exactly fifteen minutes after we get home, she poops.

    Yeah, I know. I'm walking into perilous mommmy-blog territory. Bear with me. There's a digression from poop.

    Nearly-three is a weird age. She's making the transition from playing in the presence of other kids to actively trying to engage with them. She swings wildly between her father's bone-crushing shyness and her mother's overpowering gregariousness. I've caught myself worrying about this, even though it's not something I want to worry about. I never, ever want to pressure her in this area. I just want her to be comfortable with who she is. And yet, I can't tell you how relieved I was a few weeks ago when she started talking about one of the girls in her daycare class. "I play with L. She talks to me. L. is my friend!"

    L.'s mom shared my relief, as I learned in the parking lot after we dropped off our girls a few weeks ago. She'd been equally nervous that L. wasn't engaging with the other kids. Turns out, our kids already have active social lives we know absolutely nothing about. Yeah, we're off to a great start. I bet we'll be surprised with they knock over their first liquor store in 13 years.

    Anyway, poop.

    Today, at the coffeehouse, Clara Jane hooked up with another little girl. We've seen her before, but the girls never paid much attention to each other. Today, though, they hit it off in a big way. Much noise, and much shared little girl giggling. I didn't get involved, and neither did the other girl's father. He seems to dump her into the play area and go about his business without paying her much mind. The girls simply took it upon themselves to engage, and it was a lovely thing to watch, as a mom, this first venture into society without my direct guidance.

    When both girls ran past, I caught a wiff of two seperate varieties of poop. As my mom told me later, "You know how women who are around each other get their cycles synched? Well..." Apparently with three-years-old, their poop schedules do the same.

    Since she never poops in public, of course I didn't have a diaper/Pull-Up/pair of training pants with me. I figured I'd take her to the bathroom, dump the contents of the diaper, clean her up and we'd make do.

    My lord. Did Clara Jane's new friend pour a quart of chocolate pudding into my kid's diaper when I wasn't looking? What the hell just happened in your pants, Child?

    Next time we go to the coffeehouse - assuming they let us back in - I'm leaving a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar to compensate for the nightmare we left in the diaper pail.

    Not only has Clara Jane ventured into the world of making her own social life, she's also ventured into the world of going commando. The entire diaper, not just the contents, were left behind, and Clara Jane learned the free and breezy feeling of the cool January breeze blowing through her chinos.

    I'm going to carry diapers until she and L. and her new friend J. wind up in poopy juvie together.

    Posted by Robin at 08:52 PM | Comments (4)

    January 15, 2007

    Questionable Dots

    • I can't unglue myself from coverage of the Missouri Miracle, as it's been called. However, if one more reporter ponders, "Well, why didn't Shawn Hornbeck just escape?", I'm going to put my foot through my television or computer monitor, depending on which screen repeats that asinine question. Why didn't he escape? Because he was a child, you dimwits! A child who probably didn't have a whole hell of a lot of faith in adults, and rightfully so. Let's drop any of these reporters into a hostage situation and see how willing they are to simply walk away without fearing for their lives.
    • I'm pleased to report, despite the latest visit from The Winter Weather Dong of Doom, all of our trees managed to remain upright. Despite that, we were without power for the bulk of Sunday.
    • I, too, was mostly without power on Sunday. I slept nearly 15 hours in three shifts. My body's fighting some sort of mystery bug. While I don't feel ill beyond some sinus congestion, yesterday my ability to remain upright was about as good as that of the power grid in St. Louis.
    • Today I stayed awake by mainling coffee at Hartford Coffee. $3 for a bottomless cup of coffee may sound like a lot, but not when you consume three gallons.
    • That might be a slight overstatement. Or maybe not. I lost track somewhere through the course of the day.

    After one too many visits to Hartford Coffee in which I became irritated by my fellow parents, I hadn't frequented them very often, aside from the occasional playdate.

    While I don't do resolutions, at the beginning of this year I decided that I needed to take Clara Jane to Hartford more often. It's fun for her, since they have a play area that's usually populated with kids her age. And it's fun for me, because I can sit two feet away from her with three gallons of coffee and a book. Everyone wins!

    We went last Monday, and it was perfect, aside from the fact that I forgot to bring a book. I read all the local free newspapers while she played, and had a lovely conversation with one of my favorite animals - a stay-at-home dad. I love spotting them in the wild. They're always fun to talk to. For some reason I tend to take on quicker with them than with other moms of my ilk, simply because conversations with dads aren't nearly as likely to be loaded with Mommy War fodder.

    This week, things were different. The coffeehouse was more like a prison for very, very short offenders who'd organized a very disorganized riot. The place was crawling with toddlers who were flinging toys, screaming, and falling directly in my path.

    Have we walked in on a Junior Espresso Drinkers of St. Louis meeting? And if so, can I get my three gallons of coffee to go, please?

    No such luck, as Clara Jane clambored over the piles and piles of babies on her way to the train table. I got my coffee, climbed over the baby heaps, and took a seat on the couch in the play area.

    Now, this struck me as being not right. Despite the army of children in the play area and the ample, comfy seating, the play area was nearly devoid of parents. Two women sat at the closest table, visiting over lunch, while one of their sons repeatedly climbed onto the train table, jumped on it, and launched himself through the air to the couch. This boy was easily a year or two older than Clara Jane.

    I caught myself thinking horrible things about this child, hoping that he might inflict a slight injury upon himself. Nothing serious or disfiguring, of course. And not because I was upset with the kid. Kids do what kids do. I just wanted to see what it would take for his mother to shut the fuck up and manage her kids.

    As for the rest of the kids, they appeared to belong to a gaggle of moms who were sitting at a large table, completely out of sight from the play area.

    I don't get this. I really, really don't get this. Perhaps this is an artifact of being an only child and having an only child. Most of these moms seemed to have two and three kids each. I can't fathom how hard it is to parent that many kids, how exhausting it must be, and, if I had that many kids, how desperately I would cling to any opportunity to forget the kids and partake in some adult interaction. I'm trying really hard to not judge because parenting is so, so, so hard and I can't know what motivates any other parent. Hell, there are plenty of times when I'm not 100% sure what's motivating me as a parent.

    But dammit, after the fifth time I had to tell someone else's kid to stop snatching toys away from my kid, I started feeling like these other parents flat-out didn't give a shit. As hard I was trying to not judge, I kept thinking, "Selfish parents, selfish kids." But as soon as I'd think that, I'd want to slap myself for being one of those moms, the judgemental, mean ones who act like her parenting methods are the only correct ones and everyone else is neglectful and terrible.

    It just seemed like a lot of those kids really, really wanted some attention.

    Luckily, the craziness began to end quickly. The stay-at-home dad and his wife came in with their little girl, so the rest of the afternoon was filled with fun, intelligent conversation while the kids played in relative peace. It restored my faith a bit that maybe I'm not just a hardass as a parent, or a bitchy, competitive mom. It also verified something I knew deep-down: the episode of "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" featuring Danzig, while it's an accurate depiction of selling a home, isn't appropriate for toddlers.

    Posted by Robin at 09:13 PM | Comments (3)

    December 26, 2006

    Post-Holiday Dots

    • We're home.
    • Christmas is fun, but exhausting.
    • My ability to write anything interesting is currently unavailable. Please leave your number. If my ability to write anything interesting returns, I might give you a call.
    • "I don't want to open presents. I just want to be a doctor." Guess who said that.
    • Do you know what a baby pterydactl sounds like?
    • I keep getting messages that I'm about to exceed my monthly bandwidth. I'm not sure how this is possible. If you're reading this, that means I haven't exceeded.
    • Hot Pockets.
    • Turns out, dingos really do enjoy baby-eating.
    • I'll explain it all later, maybe.

    Posted by Robin at 10:25 PM | Comments (3)

    December 21, 2006

    I'm Dreaming of a Dotty Christmas

    • My karma for making fun of my dad's vomiting style arrived today. Who knew karma had access to FedEx 2-Day? It arrived in the form of a puking Basset hound. It's all puke, all the time this week at poppymom.com! This was truly delightful. She was standing on the top step in the backyard - luckily - and horked over the side to the sidewalk one story below. It was very Keith Richards on the balcony at the The Riot House, circa 1974.
    • Unfortunately, puking is the sure-fire thing to set off a panic attack. I have no idea why. I've never known anyone - animal or human - who's died from vomitting. And yet, it freaks me out. I'm always weepy after an attack. While I tried to covertly cry in the car, Clara Jane looked in my direction and said, "Mommy, I just want you to be happy," and I completely died inside. I can live with a disease that sometimes makes me miserable, but I'm furious that it's doing this to my child. The fact that she hugged and kissed me as soon as I got her out of her carseat produced a guilt in me so crippling it felt like repeated crushing blows to my knees. Anyway...
    • On a happier note, I pulled my shit together and we continued Holiday Mania Week 2006 with a visit to the Gardenland Express at the Missouri Botanical Gardens. Clara Jane chose to view the exhibit of poinsettas and elaborate model trains like this:
      Obviously, the strain of taking care of her mentally ill mother has led her into Girls Gone Wild territory already. Sad, really. But funny.

  • She lost interest in the trains pretty quick and kept asking, "When are we going to the Tobanitacal Gardens to see the roses and the glass and the hot jungle? She was a bit disappointed that the roses were gone and we didn't have time or tickets to catch the last of the Chihuly exhibit inside the Climatron, but she was content to run through the gutted rose garden under Chihuly's brilliant yellow sunbursts, which were perfect for a cold, gray panic day.
    
  • I'm better now. Really. I recovered from the panic attack by mid-afternoon. Even though the attacks occasionally come back, I do take heart in knowing that they're not even slightly as bad as they were two years ago. Two years ago, a day like today would have left me sick for a week. Now, I'm just a little tired and I know tomorrow will be fine.
    
  • I bought shoes today:
    
    
    Rubber nerd shoes. I don't care. I love them. I've resisted the allure of the Crocs for the same reasons why I refuse to wear sweat pants in public. However, I have flat, wide feet. Ridiculously flat feet. The idea of obtaining, say, an arch has never occured to my poor, stupid peds. How flat, you ask?
    
    
    With feet like that, it's really stupid that I've resisted the draw of the Crocs for so long. But now I've succumb, since they've introduced a style that comes close to suiting me. And my word, they're comfortable. I want a pair of Crocs underwear, and maybe a Crocs bra.
    
  • Just to redeem a shred of my podiatrial dignity, here's proof that I haven't completely gone over to The Orthopedic Side:
    
    
  • You might notice that there's a pine needle in my cute Mary Jane, just waiting to jab me in the tender webbing between my toes. The same type of needle that caused the dog-barfing this morning, which is also the same type of needle that caused a rather disturbing cat poop incident on Monday. No more live trees. Ever. They just fall in the yard and disrupt all bodily functions. From here on out, we're a pink aluminum tree family.
    
  • I had to buy an $8 ball of yarn today just to knit the thumbs on a pair of Fetching I'm making for my granny's Christmas. I'm sure you can guess just how thrilled I was to drop $8 on a ball of yarn in which roughly a yard will be used. Maybe I'll use the rest to knit a slingshot.
    
  • I've had Uncle Tupelo moments at two different restaurants this week. Monday night, while dining at Fletcher's Kitchen & Tap, I spied every UT and Son Volt album covered framed and hanging on a wall. Today, while lunching at Iron Barley, I heard UT's live cover of CCR's "Suzy Q". Little things like that bring an astounding degree of giddiness to my everyday life.
    
  • I have so much damn Christmas shit to do. I have thumbs to knit, for Christ's sake. Literally.
    
  • I am completely, totally obsessed with the weird Brazillian song Let's Make Love and Listen to Death From Above, which cracks me up. Unless you're one of the 15 other people familiar with the defunct band Death From Above 1979, you probably won't get why I find this to be the funniest song ever in the history of the world. And that's fine. You're probably more mentally stable than me. But if you are one of those 15 people, just wait for what happens at 1:53 into the video. Riotous!
    
  
  

  Posted by Robin at 09:45 PM | Comments (12)

  December 05, 2006

  Warming Dots

  At last, the ice is giving way. Not that it's warm. And not that it's like like we've suffered through months and months of permafrost. It's just been nice to have a day that hasn't revolved around the weather situation.

  Really, I probably should have stayed home today, since I didn't get any sleep last night. I had a rough night on Sunday and was completely overtired all day Monday. But I stayed up too late, and I didn't have a book to read before bed, having finally finished Heat by Bill Buford. Excellent read, by the way, especially for food nerds like me. Not having my nightly book time threw me all out of whack. I couldn't fall asleep because I had the overwhelming feeling that I had forgotten something. But there's no rest for the weary, so today's catch-up day, both on ye olde blog and in my "real" life.

  • I finished Fetching on Saturday.

    

    

  • We also finished our salt dough ornaments and trimmed the tree:

    

    One wee problem with salt dough ornaments - really stupid dogs think it's a tree filled with delicious dog biscuits. The bottom of our tree is empty, and the hounds are dehydrating quite nicely. We're thinking about using their newly-tanned hides to make Christmas stockings.

  • Speaking of stupid dogs, they found something dead and delicious buried under the snow. Every time they went outside, B. would have to physically remove them from the scene of the crime. Finally on Sunday night, he got fed up and went out to remove the sweet, sweet carcass. There was nothing there. Nada. No sign that anything had ever been in this spot that they can't remove their noses from. I think they've adopted my dad's idiot dog's habit of eating dirt.
  • Clara Jane's been busy with her freelance choreography work. Watch for the finally three little butt-bounces at the end.
  • "I'm going to dream about Christmas," she tells us before naps and bedtime, which might explain why she woke up screaming at 3:30 this morning.
  • Despite our sleep deprivation, Clara Jane and I headed to Prettytown today for some Christmas shopping in their lovely downtown. Holy smokes, People, they pipe Christmas music into the streets in Prettytown! Santa, please bring me a house in Prettytown and some sucker aspiring arborist to purchase my current abode.
  • My computer fan is making a sound not dissimilar from a cat horking a hairball. Which reminds me, I can't remember if I've seen Romi since the last time B. had my computer case open.
  • Watching Al Gore on Oprah today makes me wish we had a smart president.

  Posted by Robin at 04:42 PM | Comments (7)

  November 27, 2006

  Day Twenty-Seven - Phoning in Some Dots

  Yeah, I know the content has been sketchy at best. Busy weekend, busy day, and not a lot of energy. I've managed to catch my 8th (or thereabout) coldish-type malady of the season. Nothing bad, just enough to make me want to lie on the couch and do nothing. But I'll be damned if I give up on NaBloPoMo with less than a week to go.

  • I faced a bit of my own latant racism today, and I didn't like it. We're having some cable problems that needed to be fixed this morning. The tech called beforehand, and when I heard his accent and Middle Eastern name, I had a bit of a start. Then I promptly flogged myself with a bungee cord for being such an asshole. Of course he was a nice guy who didn't attempt to blow up my house with a cable van full of fertilizer. I've been bothered all day about my snap judgement, even though I just as quickly snapped back to rational reality.
  • If I regularly comment on your blog and haven't lately, there's a good chance I haven't been getting your RSS feeds. It seems that Bloglines, my usual RSS reader, has crapped out on me. I'm in the process to switching to Google Reader, but I doubt I'll be able to catch up on the mountains of posting I've missed. Likewise, Gmail has been eating the occasional email, particularly comments on my blog. So, if it seems like I'm ignoring you, I'm probably not. I'm just at the mercy of cranky technology.
  • Speaking of cranky, Clara Jane's been a pill today, which is making me cranky.
  • Despite phoning it in for the past three days, I've enjoyed posting every day of NaBloPoMo. When November ends, I'm going to make an effort to post more often than I was before. Proabably not every day, but definitely more than I was.
  • I'm too tired/lazy to unpack from the weekend away or empty the shopping bags I brought home today.
  • I totally forgot to post a shuffle on Friday, probably because I had my days confused throughout the Thanksgiving holiday.
  • I made a mix CD last night. I haven't made a mix in months. I guess I had gotten bored with making them. Itunes has made it entirely too easy, and I found that I was making mediocre mixes and not really enjoying the process. Last night's mix was fairly spontaneous and completely enjoyable. In light of forgetting to post a shuffle on Friday, here's the tracklist of the new mix.

  1. Storm Coming - Gnarls Barkley
  2. Glad Girls - Guided by Voices
  3. Hot Dog (Watch Me Eat) - Detroit Cobras
  4. Car Carrier Blues - Leo Kottke and Mike Gordon
  5. Your Little Hoodrat Friend - The Hold Steady (who are quickly becoming one of my favorite groups)
  6. Bad Reputation - Joan Jett
  7. Kick Me to the Curb - The Dollyrots
  8. Harder to Ignore - The Features
  9. Adventure - Be Your Own Pet
  10. This Sentence Will Ruin/Save Your Life - Born Ruffians
  11. Fire Sign - The Gossip
  12. London's Burning - The Clash
  13. Don't Speak (I Came to Make a Bang!) - Eagles of Death Metal
  14. If You Have to Ask - Red Hot Chili Peppers
  15. The New Seeker - Clinic
  16. That Teenage Feeling - Neko Case
  17. Fired - Ben Folds
  18. Is That the Thanks I Get? - Jeff Tweedy
  19. Why Drunky? - The Blacks
  20. They're Blind - Kelly Willis
  21. Glitter in Their Eyes - Patti Smith

  Posted by Robin at 03:04 PM | Comments (2)

  November 23, 2006

  Day Twenty-Three? Four? The Things to Remember for Later

  I'm far too triptophaned out to do any justice to ... what was I saying? Right. So here's a list of things I'm going to try to tell you tomorrow:

  • Cleaning the kitchen. With photos! It was that exciting. Really.
  • Two-Finger Bill and the harmonica player.
  • Circuit penis.
  • Paper plates in the dishwasher.
  • Downtown in the hometown.
  • Horse shit.
  • High blood pressure diagnosed by one of the "Trading Spaces" designers who was scarfing down pizza with her family at the time.

  Yep, that's pretty much Thanksgiving in these parts.

  Posted by Robin at 08:26 PM | Comments (4)

  November 15, 2006

  Day Fifteen - Schlemiel-Schlamazel

  It's a crap day around here. From the hours of 3 AM until 7:15ish AM, my eyes remained open. The wee bit of sleep I eeked out afterwards barely counts for anything. I've got a massive knot in the middle of my back from three nights of trying to sleep on the couch, since conditions in my bed have been less than optimal for sleeping of late. To top it off, once again it rained all day. Normally I love chilly, rainy fall days, but we've had several in a row. Quite frankly, it's making my dogs stir-crazy, which in turn is making me a little nuts. Trust me, there are few things as pitisome as a Basset hound with cabin fever. But we've got one. At one point, she was so bored that she crammed her head under the couch cushions to do a little crumb-surfing. She and Murphy both sat at rapt attention, listening intently while I read Biscuit books to Clara Jane. When dogs take an interest in literature, you know they're mere inches away from the dreaded Death by Boredom.

  I totally phoned it in today. Clara Jane and I stayed in our jammies. We ordered pizza for lunch and ate in on the couch while watching "Sesame Street". Since her sleep patterns are a bit wonky right now, too, there was no napping. We read and played, watched way too much TV, and snuggled. No new things were learned. No new experiences were had. We ate bad food and watched bad TV, but we'll get to that in a bit.

  I don't know if this happens to everyone, but if I see parts of day which I normally sleep through, it really screws with my perception of time through the rest of the day. Luckily, most of the time, it makes the day fly by. That's what happened today. If feels like it should be about 3:00 and it's nearly 6:00, which means sweet, sweet sleep in the spare bedroom is just around the corner.

  We watched a lot of "Laverne & Shirley" today. I know I've mentioned my lifelong adoration of Laverne & Shirley. It was my favorite show when I was a kid, and in the past few months I've rediscovered it via digital cable upper-tier reruns. You know, on the cable channels no one ever watches. As far as I can tell, this particular channel, a spin-off of Lifetime, shows nothing but reruns of decade-old made-for-Lifetime shows and Laverne & Shirley. Every afternoon from 2-4 (which is Clara Jane's naptime), it's time to go to Milwaukee and hang out with those girls.

  I'm always amazed that when I'm having a bad day, this channel has a knack for showing episodes I absolutely adored back in the day that still crack me up. Maybe that's because I adored just about every episode. Today was no exception. There was a talent show episode, and let me tell you, if I was allowed only one sub-sub-sub-sub-sub genre of TV for the rest of my life, I would chose the Laverne & Shirley talent show episode sub-sub-sub-sub-sub genre, as that's just about the best TV ever made. There was also the hilarious episode where Laverne breaks a tooth and Shirley's dental student cousin offers to fix it for free. There's a scene where the girls are in the exam room, stoned on laughing gas, that I find just as funny now as I did when I was ten. "Reach for the sky!" "You wouldn't dare!"

  Which means I really haven't matured much over the past 24 years.

  As an adult, one who happened to be bored and exhausted while entertaining these thoughts, I've noticed that a lot of decisions in my adult life led to Laverne & Shirleyesque situations and scenarios. To whit:

  • I fully believe that my obsession with all things 1950s and 1960s stems from this show. To this day I can't watch an episode without coveting an item of clothing, accessory, hairdo, or decorative object. Those chenille bathrobes? To die for, still.
  • The first five years I lived away from home, I lived in basement apartments.
  • My horrible taste in really stupid comedy, from "Beavis & Butthead" to "Jackass" is little more than a lifelong search for a surrogate Lenny & Squiggy.
  • In my roommate days, I always longed for that L&S-style friendship, and I sort of had it with one roomie. In fact, the day we moved into our basement bedrooms in a house we shared with two others, she declared, "We're best friends in a basement! We're 'Laverne & Shirley'!" At that moment, I sort of felt like I had made all of my dreams come true. For me and you.
  • Independence. Are there any women on TV right now who exhibit that kind of independence? Of two single, working-class women getting by with what they have at a time in history when most women were expected to marry young and stay home? When I was young, my dreams didn't really involve falling in love, getting married, and having babies. They involved living in a city, working, supporting myself, having friends, and perhaps keeping a convenience-boyfriend a la The Big Ragoo.

  In this time-wonky "Laverne & Shirley"-filled afternoon, I caught myself thinking back to being ten years old, and how that seems to be the year that formed my personality. The things I liked when I was ten are pretty much the things I love now: "Laverne & Shirley" reruns in the afternoon, books (I read the better part of an encyclopedia set that year), writing (thanks to an encouraging third-grade teacher), music (I got my first radio that year), cooking (I learned about clipping and organizing recipes that summer. It was a decade before I set foot in a kitchen, but it was ingrained.). It was all there when I was 10.

  I was obsessed with baseball when I was ten, something that's fallen by the wayside. And yet, when our power and cable were knocked out the night of the final game of the World Series, you know what I did as soon as the lights were back on? I sprinted to the nearest radio to see if the Cardinals were winning. And when they did, you better believe I cried like a little kid. The baseball thing might not be front and center anymore, but damn if it's not still lurking.

  Immature sense of humor aside, maybe this is the sign of adulthood: getting past the trial and error of youth and realizing that what you liked when you were a kid, before your brain was bombarded with choices and options, is the core of who you really are.

  If that's the case, pass the milk & Pepsi and smack an oversized L on my left boob.

  Posted by Robin at 05:49 PM | Comments (3)

  November 14, 2006

  Day Fourteen - Phhhhhhhhhhhhht

  I'm so not down with posting today.

  Only one thing of interest has happened this week, and while I could blog about it, I won't because it would be unfair for reasons I can't divulge.

  Don't you hate it when bloggers get all cryptic and shit? I know I do.

  Granted, I'll take boring over last week's emotional near-trainwreck and pukefest. It makes for dull writing, though. Yeah, I could go into the archives of my brain like I did yesterday, but I was just there and don't feel like going back just yet. Instead, I'm going to blatantly copy my pal Dixie and give you fourteen dots.

  • Clara Jane is having trouble accepting that Halloween is over. Today she led me to my bedroom to show me a pumpkin patch, and then to the living room to show me a coven of witches, led by stupid little Murphy.

  • I've become addicted to reruns of Scrubs.

  • Oh God. I'm only on my third dot and I'm out of stuff interesting enough to write about. Not because I write for my audience, but because if I'm really this boring I'm going to make myself cry.

  • I finished book #26 of 2006 last night - Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. Go read it. Now.

  • So, um, yeah. Thanksgiving's next week. What's that all about?

  • Maybe I should buy that damn Maggie Mason book of blog prompts. I'm dying here.

  • I looked into a volunteer opportunity today with a group that works with new moms suffering from post-partum depression.

  • I miss being able to see the top of my desk.

  • Pogo, the only dog in the world stupider than Stupid Little Murphy, has been spending a lot of time in my yard. While she's pitifully stupid, she did figure out how to scale the downed tree that's still on my fucking fence. You know what's fun? Opening the back door and saying hi to the stupidest dog in the world and watching her run as fast as any animal has ever run to escape.

  • Yeah, the damn tree's still on my fence. The bottom half, anyway. We had the great idea of advertising that we have free firewood, but it's BYOC - bring your own chainsaw, since the first 25 feet of the tree has already killed one chainsaw. Cut and haul yourself. Hey! Free heat! We thought we'd be beating people back with one of the many sticks in our yard. Not the case. Of course, some people view this as little more than a minor inconvenience. Spending three weeks trying to get the power, cable, and phone companies to get their shit together and fix all of the downed lines already! is a minor inconvenience, too. Replacing the chunk of the neighbor's house removed by the tree? Also, minor inconvenience, as is magically bringing the neighbor's slide back to life. And all that brush? Why, it'll just put itself through the woodchipper! It's all a cinch, really. We're just chosing to leave the tree down because we enjoy Pogo's company so.

  • Also courtesy of Dixie, I just watched a video of a guy trying to remove his pubic hair with a Bic lighter. I can safely say that I haven't lost my ability to laugh my ass off at dumbasses. I've just lost my ability to say anything pithy about them.

  • I just got an email from someone who's coming to town for a wedding this weekend. They gave me their schedule, about umpteen zillion phone numbers, and I'm supposed to help with flowers. Problem is, when I say "coming to town", I mean they're coming to Portland. I'm in St. Louis. And I have no idea who Mark and Cari are. Am I supposed to buy them a gift? And if so, what's the most appropriate gift for someone you first heard of five days before the nuptuals? Would a gift card be tacky? How do I go about finding their registry if I don't know their last names?

    This is the most interesting thing that's happened to me all day.

  • B. and Clara Jane are at their monthly nighttime storytime at the library. I love nighttime storytime at the library, mainly because I never go.

  • This has taken me exactly half an hour to write, half the time it took Dix. Boo-ya!
    

  Posted by Robin at 06:28 PM | Comments (2)

  November 12, 2006

  Day Twelve - Lazy Day Dots

  This is the first day of NaBloPoMo that I haven't been chomping at the bit to post. Why? Laziness. I didn't have the best night's sleep last night, and I've wanted nothing more than to have a lazy, do-nothing day. But I committed to post, and post I must. But what's there to say on a lazy, do-nothing day?

  • Did you know that I almost always respond to comments in the comment section? So, if you leave a comment, come back in a day or two and there might be a reply.

  • I'm a thumb away from finishing my first Fetching fingerless glove.

  • I have acquired a used bread machine. I've become everything I loathe. All those years in culinary school, kneading my own dough, and it's come to this. I feel dirty. Want a slice of oatmeal-whole wheat?

  • I spent a chunk of the day reorganizing my music in iTunes. This included editing a bunch of really bad mix CDs and trying to recall the tracklists for the entire Indigo Girls discography through 1999. My head hurts.

  • I have a date on December 2 to see the Black Keys with my 17-year-old boyfriend. Okay, that's not true. I don't have a 17-year-old boyfriend. He's only 16, but he'll be 17 in time for the show. And he's not really my boyfriend; he's my pal PKB's oldest son, The Big One, as opposed to his 7-year-old brother, The Little One. Trust me, it's all legal.

  • If the world was perfect, I'd spend New Year's Eve in Chicago, catching The Features opening for The Raconteurs. In this perfect world, I'd also have an IQ of 195, a photographic memory, and an ass that just won't quit.

  • Eating salsa mixed with light cream cheese at midnight? Not smart. It will interfere with sleeping and lead to lazy, do-nothing blog entries like this.
  
  

  Posted by Robin at 05:21 PM | Comments (10)

  October 23, 2006

  34 Dots

  Okay, not really. I'm just being lazy and dotty.

  
  

• Hey Robin. Whatcha doin' with that gun over on the right? As a reaction to National Novel Writing Month, Mrs. Kennedy has organized National Blog Posting Month. Pretty simple - post a blog entry a day, everyday, during the month of November. If you don't want to go for that craziness, she's encouraging you to at least delurk and comment like crazy. I mean, come on! It's the least you can do while the rest of us are blogging away, left with nothing but fleshless bones at the tips of our cold, cold fingers by the time the Thanksgiving leftovers are gone.

  I had intended to try NaNoWriMo this year, as I've got a novel idea, and an idea for a book, floating around my head. But I'm lazy, and blogging's easier than making shit up, so NaBloPoMo it is.

  Oh, and there are prizes and shit.

• That asshole at Noodles and Company today, who angled his chair in such a way that I couldn't reach my child when she blew into the Temper Tantrum of the Century, and who ignored me when I asked him not once, but twice to move? I hope his mushroom stroganoff gave him the shits. He deserves them. He also deserved it when I pushed him out of the way with my ass. I know that having a big ass doesn't fit into what is considered asthetically pleasing in an American woman, but damn if it doesn't come in handy when I go off and forget my battering ram at home.

• My friend Kim in Arizona makes the best cookies in the world. Seriously. There was a big box of them waiting for me when I got home from the noodle/tantrum/asshole fiasco. Thank you, Kim! I don't know what you do to make your cookies so wonderful, and that bugs the hell out of me. But I love them (and you) nonetheless.

• I have to make a tutu with spiderwebs on it tomorrow.

• Ipods turned five years old today. I've written a response to that Salon article in my head, but I'm too lazy to fish it out. Doesn't matter, because most of it involved me, yelling, "Preach it, Mr. Manjoo!". Maybe tomorrow.

• The two best searches that lead people to my blog today? "Delicious ass" and "tomato like an ass". There's nothing like a delicious ass with some fresh basil and a few slabs of buffalo mozzerella, that's for sure.
  

  Posted by Robin at 09:41 PM | Comments (6)

  October 12, 2006

  Dots with Frost

  • It's damn cold and I love it!

  • You know what's unpleasant? Getting the skin of a bean stuck on the veryvery back of the tongue. There's enough suction that it's hard to just suck it out, but trying to fish it out with a finger is 1) not socially acceptable, and 2) a good way to throw up. The only way to losen it is to take a lesson from your feline friends and hack it up like a furball.

  • I made a ton of applesauce yesterday and I'm selling it as part of a spiced applesauce muffin mix on Etsy.

  • You know what's bad for blood pressure, aside from partaking in the salt lick in the living room? Going to the doctor and having the nurse freak the hell out because my blood pressure's off the damn chart. And I know my blood pressure's not off the damn chart, because I have a vein in the palm of my hand that pops up to alert me when my blood pressure's off the damn chart. It's sort of like those built-in timers on frozen turkeys. Anyway, when the nurse gets the astronomical reading three times in a row and goes to get the senior nurse, you'd think that would really cause a blood pressure incident. Instead, my pulse and blood pressure reading came back very, very low, I think because I had accepted that I was dying and had started the process.

  • If you're a Wilco fan, go read Michelle's account of their Huntsville show. It's got me entirely geeked that I'll be seeing them a week from tomorrow.
    

  • God, I hate that I have two airplane flights in my near future. Flying doesn't scare me; I just don't like it. Means to an end ... means to an end.

  • I've been listening to the Dorcus Collection this week. Of course you've never heard of it. Only a few people have. It's a collection - and I use that word in the loosest way possible - of mix CDs I made 3-4 years ago. I made the first one around this time of year in 2002. They were all inspired by the Dorcus Menswear Collection. I haven't made a mix CD in months, mainly because I think I've run my course with them. You can only make so many mix CDs before the same songs start showing up over and over, or you start putting every crappy pop song that comes along on the mixes as filler. And what's the fun in that? Anyway, I'm reliving the Dorcus Collection, and I'm amazed at how well these CDs have stood the test of time for me. Would you like a sample of the wonderful songs I've listened to this week?

    I'll Be You - The Replacements
    Cruel to be Kind - Nick Lowe
    Black Coffee in Bed - Squeeze
    Electric Super Sex - Morphine
    I Can't Stand Up - Elvis Costello
    Desire - U2
    Good Fortune - PJ Harvey
    California Stars - Billy Bragg and Wilco
    Come as You Are - Peter Wolf
    One Man Guy - Rufus Wainwright
    Loves Me Like a Rock - Paul Simon
    Head On - Jesus & Mary Chain
    Gorilla, You're a Desperado - Warren Zevon
    Seed 2.0 - The Roots w/ Cody Chestnutt
    Near Wild Heaven - REM
    Heart of Saturday Night - Tom Waits
    Let it Bleed - Rolling Stones
    The Passenger - Iggy Pop
    The Whole World - Outkast
    A Little Respect - Erasure
    Rudy Can't Fail - The Clash
    No Sleep Til Brooklyn - Beastie Boys
    Sheena is a Punk Rocker - The Ramones
    Dig for Fire - The Pixies
    Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine - White Stripes
    Pumping on Your Stereo - Supergrass

    And that's just the tip of the 10-CD iceberg. While this set might not do it for everyone else, I think I managed to nail not only who I was from October, 2002 - September, 2003 - a very interesting time, as it included a chunk of my pregnancy - I think I managed to nail who I am, overall. How cool is that?

  • At dinner the other night, Angie and I tried to remember what we did with our free time before kids and knitting. Obviously, I spent all of my free time thinking about music. I miss that a little. Yeah, the things that take up my time now are much more fulfilling, but sometimes ...

  • Clara Jane's back home. All is right in the world.

  • I try not to get too political here, but ... I'm really concerned about the vast number of No on 2 signs I keep seeing. These signs are from a group that is against the stem cell initiative that's on the November ballot. Despite the fact that the initiative has very clear language prohibiting human cloning, the "No on 2" people have billboards all over the city, screaming, "No cloning! The gub'ment's gonna make new people! Run! Gub'ment zombies! Gub'ment zombies!" Okay, maybe that's not exactly what they say, but you get the drift. There's a lot of these signs in people's yards, and it worries me. Today I saw one of their bumper stickers on a car with handicapped plates that was making an illegal turn across several lanes of traffic. Dude. You drive like that, all the king's horses and all the king's men won't be the ones to put your bad-driving ass back together again.

    It just pisses me off that so many people are buying into hype without reading and understand the actual legislation at hand. On the selfish plus side, if the gub'ment zombies get voted down, it'll make it a little easier to leave good ol' Missouri when moving time rolls around.

  Posted by Robin at 12:16 PM | Comments (7)

  September 26, 2006

  More Dots? Yes! But No Periods

  I still can't string together any coherant thoughts. I've come to the realization that I probably never will again.

  • The switch to WordPress continues. I know, all looks calm here on the surface, but underneath, duck-paddling, my friends. Duck-paddling.
  • That thing about not stringing thoughts together? I'm getting fed up with it. I used to have an amazing memory, but I got pregnant and Fetal Clara Jane ate that part of my brain about two weeks after conception.
  • Case in point: I was recently writing an intro for myself, and I gave the wrong age. I wrote that I'm 34. I won't be 34 until the end of next month. I've hit the age where I no longer know how old I am unless I do the math.
  • You know what's really good? Homemade spiced apple cider jelly. Easy, too. I've made a dozen 12-ounce jars of it this week. I'd link to a recipe, but it's not online and I'm too lazy to transcribe it from the book. Her version is unspiced. Adding cinammon, ginger and nutmeg was my idea. Putting a year and a half of culinary school to work, I am!
  • That jelly is really, really, really good with white chocolate peanut butter. But what isn't?
  • Well, I know one thing that's not improved by white chocolate peanut butter or spiced apple cider jelly. That's Wild & Mild Ranch Fritos, which are the most confusing food-type items I've ever eaten.
  • Yeah, I'm a little food obsessed right now, and I'll tell you why. Be warned: it involves my lady-parts.

  Two months ago my doc and I came to the conclusion that my anxiety and depression problems were symptoms of a severe case of premenstrual stress syndrome. From what I understand, PMS makes one an asshole, while PSS makes one a raving paranoid lunatic. I tend towards the latter. The solution? Why, the snazzy new birth control pill that stops periods dead!

  Years ago, I remember thinking, "Wouldn't it be fab if medical science could create a pill that would just stop periods?" And now they have!

  The first four weeks on this pill were grand. When the dreaded Week Four rolled around, the only crazy thing I did was decorate a maypole with a variety of brand new tampons that I would never, ever need because there is a magic period-ending pill and the world is fair and right!

  Then the second Week Four rolled around, and two things arrived: first The Crazy showed up, followed by Crazy Aunt Flo.

  I hate Aunt Flo. Not the physiological phenomenon of menstruation, but the euphemism "Aunt Flo". I never use it, but it seemed to fit here. I blame The Crazy.

  This morning, while my lower body wrecked with cramps while I scrounged the house for tampons that might have missed the maypole festivities, I did a little additional reading on my "magic" pill:

  From the Seasonale website: The one important difference between SEASONALE® and the traditional Pill is that SEASONALE® is an extended-regimen birth control pill. Instead of taking an active pill every day for 3 weeks, you take one every day for 3 months (84 days). Taking your pills for 84 days extends the time between your scheduled periods to 1 every 3 months — 4 per year. While taking SEASONALE®, your periods will be about the same as with a traditional birth control pill — they shouldn’t be any longer or heavier. However, during the first year, you are also more likely to have spotting and breakthrough bleeding (which varies from slight spotting to a flow much like a regular period) than with a traditional birth control pill. This is common and should decrease over time. During the first year, total bleeding days are similar to a traditional Pill.

  Whoa whoa whoa ... back that truck up for a sec, Flo. How does this pill stop periods, and yet I can still expect to bleed for the same number of days as I did on other birth control pills? I'm not very good at math, but something here doesn't add up. In the meantime, my uterus doesn't know whether to slam on the breaks or put it in reverse, and I think it just crashed into my tailbone.

  • Shall we talk about the one thing my uterus has gotten right in my lifetime? My child? She has taught herself to write the number ten, and to draw smiley-faces all by herself.
  • Today, she uttered the words no mother ever wants to hear. She was listening to The goddamn Wiggles singing cowboy songs while she bounced on her spring horse. I think she got a little confused because she told me, "Mama, I just love to bounce on a cowboy!" Well, what red-blooded American girl doesn't?
  • I forgot what I was going to say.

  Posted by Robin at 02:46 PM | Comments (12)

  September 20, 2006

  Humiliation Dots

  • Yet another reason to move: a Hosie Cow has moved in down the block. This is what's going to destroy my property value.
  • In searching for the Hosie Cow photo, I found the most disturbing photo I have ever seen on the internet. Disturbing, yet safe for work. Not safe for you mental health, though.
  • While shopping this morning, I overheard a woman loudly saying this into her cell phone: "I'm getting some feminine wash." Pause. "I said I'm getting feminine wash!" Pause. "It wash that makes you smell feminine!" Of course, "wash" was pronounced "warsh", as is the way in these parts.
  • It amazes me that very smart people have invented amazing pieces of technology, like tiny little telephones whose signals glide through the air from tower to tower without wires, and they're cheap enough that just about anyone can own one. And this is how we use them. I wonder if this makes the inventors cry, and if it does, do they wipe their tears with fifty-dollar bills.
  • Could be worse. That woman could have been having that phone conversation while sitting on the pot in a public bathroom. How many times have you been in a stall, minding your own business, not pooping in the trash can, when you hear, "Hello?" coming from the stall next to you? When you return the salutation, you realize that it wasn't aimed at you, because the person in the stall beside you is conducting phone calls while taking a crap in a public bathroom.
  • If you have to conduct your social life during public bathroom potty breaks, you have a time management problem.
  • As for those bones in my backyard that I mentioned yesterday, I don't actually think they belong to a human being. We have a pack of three scent hounds that run the yard everyday. Most likely they ganged up on some wild creature - we've got a lot of squirrels and bunnies, along with the occasional possum in our neighborhood - murdered it, and buried it to rot in time for a lovely harvest feast.
  • When I was 15 my family moved into an old farmhouse. There was a dilapidated chicken coop with a pallet floor. When my dad was pulling up the pallets, he found an old, crumpled white dress buried in the dirt. My mom told me that it probably belonged to the original owner's young daughter, who disgraced the family by being a dirty whore. Since she'd never be able to wear white again, they must have buried the dress. I think she made that up to scare me into keeping my virginity.
  • Speaking of chicken coops, B.'s officemate has a yardfull of chickens. He's selling fresh, free-range eggs from grain and grass-fed chickens, and this makes me terribly happy. While I'm not a big egg-eater, I love having naturally multicolored eggs in my fridge. So much so that I even made an omelet today and boy, was it good.
  • I'm saving the green eggs to have with ham.
  • I trimmed my bangs today and got carried away. And uneven. I'm sporting the hairdo favored by the developmentally disabled.
  • I'm finally admitting defeat and mailing all my sock yarn to Dixie, who has promised to wrangle them into socks and send them back. How shameful is that?
  • Dammit. I meant to send her all of my bamboo sock-knitting needles and forgot.
  • Speaking of craftiness, have I told you the umpteen bazillion projects I'm trying to finish? There's a baby blanket, a Halloween costume, a quilt for a big-girl bed, my quilt, another pile of charity quilts, and apple-canning season is upon us. So why am I sitting here, telling you people all my mundane shit. I should be working.
  • The Halloween costume might not be necessary, as all the Halloween stuff in the stores is scaring the crap out of Clara Jane. We had to leave the first store we went to today because she was so distraught over one of those stupid giant inflatable yard property-value-bringer-downers. At the second store, I tried to avoid the stupid giant inflatable crap, only to run into a life-sized talking skeleton. In her fear, Clara Jane grabbed the neck of my V-neck t-shirt and yanked it down past my boobs. And of course, we were right in front of another shopper when this happened. A male shopper. At least he had the good sense to look impressed.
  • I'm having the most humiliating week ever! I might as well get naked, get into my bathtub, summon my dogs and the neighbor's dog, take a photo, and post it on the internet. When I do, I promise I'll call y'all while I'm peeing at the Wal-Mart to let you know.

  Posted by Robin at 02:32 PM | Comments (11)

  September 14, 2006

  You'll Get Dots and You'll Like Them

  • Yes, there is now an ad on this page. Shut up. You'll see the ad and you'll like it because I need shoes.
  • Number of meals I ate with grown-up friends today: 2
  • Number of children present at said meals: 0
  • Do you hear me shrieking with well-fed, well-conversed glee? Because I am.
  • Number of pumpkin spice lattes consumed today: 2
  • Number of kidneys that are ready to claw their way out of my body and hit me in my face for drinking all that coffee: 2
  • "Mommy, I'm a-gonna drive a big ol' red truck. And you're a-gonna ride in my beautiful red truck. Can I listen to the banjos?" So said the hillbilly that came from my loins.
  • The fact that my child says "I'm a-gonna" concerns me. I've been paying attention to where she might have picked up such a thing.
  • Yep, she got it from me. I'm a-gonna start paying better attention to talkin gud.
  
  
  • I need to get excited about some new music but I'm at a loss. Recommend something to me. Something without banjos, please.
    
  • Neighbors we don't know have started dropping by our house to get tech advice from my husband. Yet another reason to get the hell out of this neighborhood. Take your 28.8 modem and go home, Loser.
    
  • I want to learn to play bunco and have all of my girlfriends come over and play. I have no idea why.
    
  • So tonight, I had my iPod on shuffle, and it kept shuffling up crap. I switched over to a playlist I made a few months ago. About three songs in I thought, "Wow! This shuffle is amazing! It's like it was tailor-made for me! Oh, wait..."
    
  • B. actually said this while watching an ad for the movie "Jackass Number Two": "I'm excited about the movie and all, but I really hope it doesn't feel forced." Because it would be bad for a Jackass movie to feel anything but 100% natural, Baby.
    
  • Oddly, that's not the funniest thing that's been said about a Jackass movie in my home. Four years ago, when the first Jackass movie was released, my pal PKB's 13-year-old son looked at me with the most innocent eyes and said, "I don't understand why my mom won't let me go see it. It's just good, clean American fun." He went on to kick the asses of a bunch of grown-up drunk men at Jenga.
    
  • I really need to lay off the espresso. And the quarts of sweet tea.

  Posted by Robin at 09:36 PM | Comments (9)

  September 09, 2006

  A Saturday of Dots

  That's right. It's the weekend, and yet, I'm posting. This almost never happens! I must have something incredibly important to broadcast to the world!

  Well, I don't.

  • Do you like quilt shows? Sure, we all do. And do you like to put on leather chaps and feel the rumbling of 100% American-made hog between your legs? Of course! Which is why you should envy Allison and me. We spent the afternoon walking the quaint cobblestone streets of lovely historic downtown St. Charles, Missouri, admiring displays of beautiful quilts both old and new, while the streets swarmed with Harleys.

    At one point, when a police car chirped its siren and made its way down the brick street, Allison said, "There must be a biker brawl." To which I replied, "Or a quilter rumble. Can you guess which one I'd pay to watch?" I like to think that one of the quilters guilds decided to get mean and nasty with a gang of Bikers for Babies.

  • When you were a kid, did you ever get really, really hopped up on frozen lemonade and try to play "Ring Around the Rosie" in your underpants? Did it look anything like this?

  • You know what annoys me? The gross overuse of phrases regarding spit-takes. Actually, the gross overuse of just about any phrase annoys me, but lately, things like "you made me spew coffee all over my keyboard!" irritate me. I don't hold anything against the people who say such things; I know I can fall into cliches just as easily as the next guy. See? I did it right there.

    But last night, oh, something really did make me laugh so hard I had to fight a valiant battle to contain the liquids within my mouth. While drinking a pumpkin spice latte - again - B. chose the exact moment after I took a giant swig to tell me this story, reenacted here.

    I fully admit that I find this far funnier than it really is. That happens a lot. Weird things strike me as funny, and I'll spend days busting up every time I thing about it or see even the slightest reference to it. I spent the entirity of my first semester of college howling with laughter every time I passed the big auditorium on campus where I saw Paula Poundstone do a routine about her cats vomiting rubber bands. Hell, I still laugh about that.

    Considering how completely irritating I am when I howl with laughter, it's probably advisable to tell me funny things when my mouth is full. Sure, I may choke to death, but think of all the people whose hearing would be spared.

• Did you think I could go a whole week without showing you some crafty shit? When Clara Jane was born, my pal PKB gave her a darling little dress that looked like it was made from a chenille bedspread. The kiddo finally grew into it last spring, and since it had a bunny, she wore it for Easter:
  

  I've saved a lot of Clara Jane's baby clothes to eventually turn into a quilt, but I couldn't bear to cut this dress. But what to do with an outgrown bunny dress? Let it hang in the closet and collect dust until Clara Jane's grown up and can throw it away when she sends me to that old folks home she saw on "Sixty Minutes" because I once posted a video of her singing "Ring Around the Rosie" in her plastic underpants? No! I'll just sew up all the openings on the dress, unbutton the back, stuff it with polyfil, button it, and call it a pillow!

  

  Seams I'm onto something good.
  

  Get it? "Seams"? Hehehehehe. Like "seems"? Yeah, well, what was Murphy chewing?

• Chloe got groomed today. Or broomed, depending on how you look at it.
  

• No, we still haven't finished installing our new flooring. Shut up. If you've got something smart to say about that, just shut your mouth, get your ass over here, and finish the job your damn self.

• Last night, while I was choking to death on my latte, Clara Jane was playing with another little girl name Clara who had a sister named Chloe. That Chloe smelled a lot better than ours.

• See why I don't post on the weekends? It never goes anyplace good.

Posted by Robin at 10:11 PM | Comments (4)

August 10, 2006

Dots of Weirdness

There is weird business afloat around here these days. Well, not really that weird, but it beats the whole lotta nothing that's also going on around here.

• Would whoever vomited a massive pile of blackened blades of grass on my couch please stand up? That is, if you're able to stand up. Considering what that grass looks like, I'm assuming you're not in the greatest health. Or, you're Murphy and you're simply too stupid to hold your grass.
• There's a house down my block that's had one redneck after another living in it over the years. First there was the biker with the angry German shepard. Then there was the guy who used a Confederate flag as a curtain in his front window. Next came the firecracker idiot from two years ago. He was also the guy who once got a beer bottle cracked over his head by another neighbor. The most recent resident of this house? He has a chain saw. He loves his chainsaw. A lot. He has no love for the large, formerly lush tree in his front yard. About once a week, usually on Wednesday, he spends the day lobbing off branches. But he doesn't lob them all the way off. He leaves about a foot of leafless stump from each branch jutting from the trunk. The first time he did it, B. commented on the look of glee on the neighbor's face while he hacked away at his tree. "I know that look," he said. "That look says, 'Heh heh. I'm changin' shit!'" My husband, he understands the male mind.
• My parents made their local paper this morning. I'd post the photo, but I don't want to get the animal rights extremists on my case again. It was bad enough when they got all worked up because I thought this sign was funny. Now, I know there's nothing funny at all about dead baby chicks and ducks. I thought the wording of the sign was humorous. I didn't think that merited some loon telling me that she hoped my child would get carried away by an eagle. But I digress. My dad's training his colts, Cash and Sid, to lead. Sid would much rather stay where he is, thankyouverymuch. In the picture that made the paper, my dad's in one of his little horse-drawn carts. Bubba, one of the adult horses, is pulling the cart. Cash is blithely looking on. And Sid - sweet, delicate Sid - is rared back in a full buck as he jerks away from the rope. He jerked hard enough to bend the axle on the cart. Sid wasn't hurt, not in the slightest. But damn, that picture looks horrible. My mom expressed some fear that she'd wind up with PETA picketing on her front lawn. "I should just send them over to Aunt Helen's," she said. "She gave mouth-to-mouth to a dead dove yesterday. Probably gave her the bird flu."

• This is an example of the weirdness I live with every day. A translation of what she's saying in the video: "Are you ready? Great! Let's practice our falls, Mama!" We have no idea where she came up with this. One day a few weeks ago, we were playing on the bed and she announced, "Are you ready? Great! It's time to practice our falls!" Then she goes board-stiff and free-falls backwards. I'd be worried, but so far she limits this activity to the bed. Here's hoping she doesn't move it to the hardwood floors.
• Not really weird, but I thought this article about old people like me not knowing what's in the top 40 was interesting. According to this, the average 16-year-old knows every song on the top 40. Subtract one song for each additional year. By this formula, I should know 23 songs in the top 40. I think. Math's not my strong point. So, I took a gander at the Billboard Magazine's Hot 100. Out of the top 40, I should know 23 songs. I know ... six. I own one ("Dani California" by Red Hot Chili Peppers). One of them, I sort of know but probably wouldn't recognize right off the bat ("I Write Sins, Not Tragedies" by Panic! At the Disco). Two of them I know from "American Idol". The others are simply earwigs I've had the misfortune to stumble across in other places. The fact that I've heard that awful Nelly Furtado/Timaland song twice, ever, and can recite the lyrics saddens me. At first knowing so few songs made me feel a tad old and crusty. But now I'm feeling rather proud of the fact that I know so little of it. It's the same kind of pride I have because I've never let myself listen to "My Humps" in its entirity, and hopefully never will. When it comes on, I react the same way Sid reacts to his leading lessons, and that's just fine with me.

Posted by Robin at 01:30 PM | Comments (5)

August 02, 2006

Cure for Verbosity

Since I've been both verbose and curmudgeonly of late, here are some dots.

• I've got a muscle in my back that's so fiercely knotted that I'd thank anyone who punched me there.
• Who's crazy enough to have a mini quilting bee on one of the hottest days of the year? Why, Allison and me. It was fun. Next time the temp nears 100, we're gonna do some canning.
• Allison brought me a bunch of basil so large I think it might actually be an oak tree sapling. Yes, I'll be making pesto tomorrow.
• Clara Jane is in the midst of potty training. If I owe you an email or a phone call, it's because I don't have a laptop to take to the bathroom, and the kid gets cranky if I try to talk on the phone while she's perched on the pot. Considering that she wants to spend 13 hours a day in there, I will most certainly be delayed in my correspondences.
• My lord, but these are some damn good nachos.
• Why am I not at the Ryan Adams concert right now? Because I've officially entered middle age and just don't care that much anymore. Next up: listening to old Dinah Shore LPs while I do my quilting and canning.
• "Intrauterine cannibalism" was a term I could have lived my entire life without knowing.
• Hey! I knit! Sometimes I knit things other than boobs! Sometimes I knit mismatched sweaters and hats for infants.

• B. and Clara Jane have been in the bathroom for nearly half an hour. I'm so glad that it's not me being held Prisoner of the Potty this time 'round.
• Clara Jane learned the four most wonderful words in the English language today: yogurt-in-a-tube. Her previous four most wonderful words in the English language? milk-in-a-box.
• No, the company that makes those products didn't give me any loot in exchange for free advertising.
• At the library last night, a woman who teaches gifted fifth graders got her socks blown off by Clara Jane. Why? Because she's a smartypants.
• Seriously. If you hit me in the back hard enough to loosen this muscle, I'll share my nachos with you.

Posted by Robin at 07:09 PM | Comments (11)

June 05, 2006

Notes From a Lazy Summer Morning

Today feels different. The Detroit trip and worry about traveling with the tot have passed. We have no commitments or obligations. The day's going to be warm and lovely, perfect for a little post-grocery-shopping picnic. Remember the contentedness from a few weeks ago? It's back. Mellowness abounds. Life is good at Chez Poppymom.

Want to have morning coffee with me? I feel the need to share a blurry photo of my coffee mug:


I found this mug about five or six years ago when I was scrounging thrift and antique shops for mid-century basset hound paraphenalia. It was love at first sight with this mug. I paid an exorbatant amount of money for it. Don't regret it, though, because I truly love this mug.

For years it sat on top of our espresso machine, rarely used. I was afraid I'd break it. But last fall, I got B. a Senseo coffee maker for his birthday. I used the hound mug when we were in the machine experimental phase, where I discovered that it's the perfect size for a double cup of coffee with a splash of milk and a bit of sugar. I use the mug almost-daily now. On the days when it mistakeningly doesn't make it into the dishwasher and I have to use another mug, I get a little shaky.

Want to see how I'm going to be taking my tea?

This is the only souvenir I got for myself during last week's trip. We got carryout sushi from Noble Fish for lunch on Wednesday. It's a little sushi counter tucked into the back of a Japanese grocer. I came away with a set of kiddie chopsticks adorned with monkeys for Clara Jane, some sour orange gum, and my new tea mug. By next week I predict that drinking tea from any other mug will give me the shakes.

And yes, the mug lacks a handle, like most Asian tea mugs. You know why? Because they know something us impatient Americans don't: if the mug's so hot that you require a handle to hold it, that means the tea within is too hot to drink and you're going to burn your tongue, you dumbass. As one who has a perpetually burned tongue, I think this was a wise purchase for me to make.

B., Clara Jane and I went to the Rock & Roll Craft Show on Saturday, which was awesome. Clara Jane got a cool new doll:

The doll's a female Robin Hood with an anime-style face, clad in purple felt. Clara Jane thinks she's the bee's knees, and she's right. I wish the gal who made her had a website, because every little kid needs one of these awesome dolls.

I'd like to take a moment to profess my love for my pal PKB. You all know I adore her. She's having a rough day. Considering that she made dinner for my family last night - she never cooks, but you wouldn't know from the yumminess of last night - she shouldn't be allowed to have a rough day. C'mon and give her a hug! She might give you some kick-ass sangria in return.

There's one thing that's a little irritating today, other than the unfairness PKB is experiencing. It's minor, though. Clara Jane was on the wait list to take a toddler's bug class at the butterfly house. The class is at 10 AM today. I got a call at 9 AM, informing me that there was an opening available for her. That's all well and good, except we live 30 minutes away and had just rolled out of bed. No bug class for us. To vent our frustrations, maybe I'll teach my own bug class. It will involve a lesson on what happens when Mr. Ant meets Mr. Magnifying Glass, which is exactly why I should make every effort to let others teach my child.

Despite that, I'm feeling generous. My Flickr link is back on the sidebar.

I'm reading the worst book ever. It's also listed on the sidebar. I could list it here, but I don't feel like giving such a piece of crap any more free publicity than I already have. In the past, if I found myself disliking a book, I had no qualms about ditching it. But this year, I've opted to make an an Amazon Listmania! list detailing every book I complete. It's changed my mindset, and not in a good way. I find myself yelling (inside my head, of course), "I hate this book! But my God! That's precious reading time I've wasted and if I quit, I'll have nothing to show for it on my list!" I spent hours yesterday with my nose in this book not because I love nothing more than curling up with a good book on a lazy Sunday, but because the sooner I muddle through this shitheap, the sooner I get to check it off my list and move on to Marley & Me, a book that guarantees a different kind of moaning and wailing. My dad couldn't finish it because it made him miss his dog, Mindy. You know, the yellow Lab hybrid who once ate a ride-on lawnmower.

And on that note, take a gander at the gorgeous, dearly departed lawnmower-nosher as she prepares to eat my dog:

Posted by Robin at 09:15 AM | Comments (5)

May 25, 2006

Late-Mid-Week-Videoless Dots

• I've given up on ever being 100% well again. Since the beginning of 2006, I've had one bug, virus, crud or the other. Blah.
• Why don't I make sure I've got my camera in my purse at all times? I should know by now that life in my neighborhood requires constant documentation. Last night, I missed the chance to share with you a photo of an elderly fellow underneath this neighborhood landmark, decked in head-to-toe St. Louis Cardinals regalia, waving at cars. This guy takes any excuse to bedeck himself in various regalia, often holiday or professional sports-related in nature, and stand under the old Airway Drive-In sign, waving at passing cars. Then today, I saw a preppy-looking young man, dining on a roast beef sandwich in a burgandy PT Cruiser completely covered in Elvis decals. He was taking care of some aus juice-related business.
• My keyboard's not doing too well.
• I had hoped to post this on my blog today:

  Today I sent my book proposal to three publishing houses. I've never felt more like vomiting.

  Alas, I'm not quite to that point yet. I finished writing the proposal, but I ran out of time before I could proofread it and print the 43 pages three times. I still sort of feeling like vomiting, though.
• Does this happen to everyone, or is it just me? Strangers are always telling me their life stories, gory details and all, often within minutes of meeting me. It happened today. After daycare, Clara Jane and I went to the coffeehouse for a cookie, like we always do. There was a woman there with her 8-year-old son. In a matter of 10 minutes, she was telling me about her move to the area from California six months ago, her health problems, the problems she's had getting used to being in the Midwest and her best friend's suicide last August. Then we compared our postpartum depression stories.
• I got a rather drastic haircut last night. It involves layers. And bangs. And a photo of postpartum Katie Holmes. I'm extremely happy with it, even though I looked like Mary Tyler Moore circa 1972 when I left the salon. Well, MTM72 with a thyroid condition, perhaps.
• Watching this week's Oprah episodes about the Holocaust and genocide survivors is breaking my heart. It amazes me that, as a society, we get our panties completely bunched over Britney Spears tripping while holding her son, when at any given time, there's a place in the world where children are being gassed, clubbed to death, hacked with machetes, gang raped, burned alive ... Get some fucking priorities, America. And that's all I'm going to say about that because, well, there's not much else to say about it. If you catch yourself spending too much time worried about Brit's parenting skills, drop that issue of Us Weekly and read this, this, this or this.
• And so this doesn't end on a completely angry, heartbroken note, here's a special Thursday shuffle!

I've got a playlist on my iPod that consists of the ten songs Clara Jane insists on hearing over and over and over. In thanking my lucky stars that I live in a world where the biggest worry I have regarding my child involves keeping my sanity after 45 minutes of listening to the same song, or the hissy fit that ensues when I turn it off, I present you with The Clara Jane Boogie:

1. City of Blinding Light - U2
2. Love Like a Truck - Bottle Rockets
3. Honky Tonk Hiccups - Neko Case
4. Woo Hoo - The 5.6.7.8's (This is the song from the Vonage TV ads. Yes, I purchased the song for her. Yes, I need to be beaten.)
5. Candyfloss - Wilco
6. Come Together - The Beatles
7. John Henry - Bruce Springsteen
8. Do You Want To - Franz Ferdinand
9. Mirror in the Bathroom - English Beat
10. War on War - Wilco

Posted by Robin at 05:13 PM | Comments (5)

May 03, 2006

Fighting Crime, One Dot at a Time

I love it when I don't have anything to blog about, because it means life's relatively even-killed. No big lows, no big highs. Bad for readers, good for me. Since I have nothing that merits deep explaination, here's some dots for you.

• I think I missed my true calling - crime fighting. I've been busting crime left and right all week. Monday afternoon I was driving down a busy street when I saw a Rodney King-syle beat-down. A green Ford Escort pulled over, four young men tumbled out and three of them proceeded to beat and kick the ever-living fuck out of the fourth. I called 911 and the first question they asked? Not the location of the beat-down. Not a description of the car, which I thought they might need because I'm guessing beat-downers aren't prone to lingering. Nope, the first question they asked, "Are they black or white?". I'm bugged by a lot about this entire situation.
• In more crime-fighting news, remember last week when I wrote about people who are too stupid to find porn on the internet? In the comments, Jack's Raging Mommy said that she'd turned some of her sicker Googlers in to the FBI. And oh, I crowed about how none of my searchers are ever that bad. Oh, no, not at all! Just people looking for attractive maternal figures sans clothes! Well, yesterday I had to turn one in. Fucking sicko moron. Hrmph.
• I have not partaken in any crime-fighting today, although I kept a keen eye on two fellow Target shoppers, wearing dark sunglasses, opening and shutting the doors of all the display microwaves. My keen crime-fighting sixth sense told me that they weren't criminals, just aliens looking for a means of returning home. Aliens aren't my jurisdiction.
• Did you know that I have a fascination with documentaries about doomsday and the book of revelations? I'm not fascinated enough to do anything time-consuming, like actually read the book of revelations. I just like to devote an occasional hour to seeing how the History and National Geographic Channels present the material. I watched one such documentary on Monday afternoon as a reward for my crime-fighting. As a burgeoning connesueir of this genre, I've noticed that the anti-christ? He's always an upstanding-looking young man with wavy brunette hair, wearing a good-quality navy blue suit. It's never the same upstanding-looking suit-clad brunette young man. I wonder what the want ads for these jobs looks like:

  Wanted: attractive young man with wavy brunette hair to portray well-known character. Must own navy blue suit. Applicants with the mark of the beast given priority. Pays scale + possible damnation.

• Boy came over today to show me his new shoes. Apparently, they've shaved 5.41 seconds off the time it takes him to run the length of our block. I think I'm going to enlist him to be my crime-fighting partner.
• My dad makes weird impulse purchases. For me, an impulse purchase usually consists of, say, a pair of shoes on clearance, or maybe a periodical. When Dad makes an impulse purchase, it usually has four legs and weighs as much as a small car.
  This is Henry. Henry was purchased on a whim last weekend. Henry, unbeknownst to my dad, was tranquilized when he was purchased. Henry came-to yesterday. Henry is not pleased with his new pasture. I hear they're thinking about auditioning him to play one of the four horses of the apocolypse in one of those documentaries I enjoy so much. It just goes to show you: never buy an equine who costs less than a 60 gig iPod. He is not a bargain.
• May 2006, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. There's my annual rummage sale where I shall regain my basement and a fistful of cash. There's Art on the Square, where I might part with some of that cash. There's Mother's Day, my new favorite holiday. At least, until Clara Jane's old enough to tell me she wishes I'd pull a Sylvia Plath. Oh! And I'm going to Detroit to see Sal! Go wish her a happy 10th wedding anniversary. Yep, May's looking good.
• Two-year molars, I hate you.

Posted by Robin at 05:52 PM | Comments (4)

March 27, 2006

Monday's Little Tiny Nuggets

It's taken me nearly an hour to post, and because of an gangly pinky fingernail I just deleted everything I've written. Fucking Windows keyboard.

• I rallied! By Saturday night I convinced myself that alcohol would destroy the germs in my body. I drank wine at the hotel with my friends, and then a little more at dinner. Just to be on the safe side, I indulged in some vodka-based goodness. While it didn't destory the germs, I sure didn't care as much about them by the end of the night.
• The wine and vodka also didn't create a prophylactic barrier between my internal germs and the rest of my family. Hence, we all have The Snot.
• I slept a lot on Sunday, to no one's surprise.
• After making a crazy amount of progress on boobie scarf #3 this weekend, I've decided to spend a little time quilting. You might recall The Great Quilting Frenzy of 2005, which was all Allison's fault. During the frenzy, I bought enough clearanced cotton fabric with pretty little flowers to make enough quilts to cozy up asmall, chilly commune. Approximately 83 hours into the frenzy, I lost interest and all my fabric has collecting dust in my back room. Between loveliness located in the new Crate & Barrel catalogue, and my strong desire to not be that person, who develops a sudden interest in an activity, buys a heap of crap to participate in new interest, and then spends the rest of her life hurdling the boxes of dust-collecting crap because she lost interest in said activiy in less than a week, I decided to drag out my 947-year-old sewing machine during Snotty McSnotsalot's naptime. Which is all well and good, except I'm still not done cutting squares. I think instead of quilting, cutting fabric in neat little squares, using the same tattered piece of a Newcastle Brown Ale case that Allison gave me as a template those many months ago is going to be my new hobby. It's fun. Want some squares?
• Boy howdy, I do enjoy the pungent tang of toasted cumin.
• One of the local suburbs is voting on whether to allow a church to build a 99-foot cross. Why 99 feet? Because 100 would be tacky.

Posted by Robin at 05:15 PM | Comments (6)

March 16, 2006

My Day, Chunky-Style

I'm too tired to string together real paragraphs, and don't have anything particularly paragraph-worthy. So you're getting dots. Dig in!

• I'm still not 100% over the flu that floored me two weeks ago. I'm still having head drainage issues, which means I'm also having gag reflex issues. You really don't want to know this, but sinus drainage tends to activate my over-sensitive gag reflex, which means I throw up a lot. Why yes, it sounds horrible. I prefer to think that it makes me cat-like, just like my stealthiness (not hardly) and my ability to vertical leap three times my height and catch flies in my mouth (not at all, and even if I could, I'd probably gag on the fly and throw it back up). Anyway, while throwing up this morning, I think I unhinged my my right jaw. Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to get braces to correct heave-induced TMJ. I wonder if they can put a special transmitter in the metal that will send signals to my brain and correct my neurosis.
• Clara Jane thinks there are only three songs in the world, and we must listen to them over and over at all times or the music will die: "Come Together" by the Beatles, "City of Blinding Lights" by U2, and "Love Like a Truck" by the Bottle Rockets.
• My in-laws are coming to town this weekend. If they're lucky my jaw will, indeed, be so damaged that it will have to be wired shut before their arrival tomorrow.

• Remember when I had some problems with Clara Jane shoving dried peas up her nose? And the time we had some issues involving great fistfuls of fried rice being jammed up her nostrils? Frankly, if I documented every item this child has crammed up her nose in the past seven months, I'd have to start an entirely new blog titled "Crap My Daughter Has Put Up Her Nose". I guess I could also start one called, "Guess What Made Me Throw Up Today", but I'm pretty sure readership for both sites would be low. And the people who would read them? *shudder* Anyway, it seems like there's either something going into or coming out of my kid's nose. It's like the automatic door at Target, except it's really unpleasant. If, say, this throw pillow or this fabulous clock happened to come out of her nose, I wouldn't be so appalled by the amount of nostril traffic in this child's life. However, I think her nose-cramming days might be over. Tonight, she shoved a large piece of crusty, pointy breading from a chicken tender up there and found that it doesn't provide the same amount of joy as six dehydrated peas. Turns out, chicken crust hurts. Let that be a lesson to us all.
  
• I wrote 11 pages today, and incorporated four previously-written pages that I thought I was going to have to throw out. Hello, track. I'm back on you.
  
• I'm so fucking sick of traffic that I'm thinking about setting fire to my truck.
  
• Know what else I hate? Liberty Tax Service. Not for tax reasons. I hate that they have people dressed like the Statue of Liberty and Uncle Sam dancing like ninnies thisclose to busy streets. Around here, they hire these people from some sort of job service centers, basically offering a degrading, miserable job to people who are desperate, and I feel really sorry for them.
  
• That being said, about two years ago Kristina and I were driving down a busy street and saw a jaunty fellow dressed like a smiling pizza slice outside a pizza place. He seemed so happy - he was doing cartwheels, for God's sake. Cartwheels! We stopped and asked if we could take his picture. He said yes, but it was the saddest voice I've ever heard. So sad I refrained from asking if he'd pose with my newborn. It's just him in the photo, a smile sewn into his costume, but I'm pretty sure he was weeping on the inside.
  
• If it'll get me out of all that quality in-law time, I'll gladly dress up in a green velvet Statue of Liberty costume and do cartwheels in traffic.
  
• Remember the boobie scarf auction? Take a look at the too-cute scarf recipient. Scarf #2 is nearing completion.
  
• I should probably cut it out with the dots and go make boobies, shouldn't I?

Posted by Robin at 08:50 PM | Comments (7)

March 06, 2006

Waiting for the Fairies to Show Up

We're going to leave the house today. Really. I know it's 10 a.m., and we're both still in our pajamas, and we have to be home no later than 12:30 so I can be the Nap Nazi. But really! We're going to leave the house! I'm just waiting for the magic fairies to show up, clothe us, bathe us, and fantastically transport us to a mall with a candle store. In the meantime ...

• Do you remember in the mid-90s, when David Letterman had these dice with different words on them? He'd roll them and would ponder if the word combinations would make good band names. My favorite? Stomach Monkeys. Anyway, since then I've been obsessed with coming up with bad band names. This weekend, I found what might be the absolute best one. In the spirit of Grand Funk Railroad, I present you ...

Monkey Steam Train!!
• You know how I have a problem with dates. Rather, I'm always looking for caldendar coincidences and such, and reading far too much meaning into them. You also might recall that I have some serious birthday issues. Bad things in my life seem to happen on our around October 22. Well, this weekend I was watching the History Channels two-part series on the Antichrist, I learned something that explained everything. October 22, 1844, was known as The Great Disappointment. Some loon calculated that as the day Jesus would return to Earth. Thousands of people believed him and became a bit bummed when his prophacy proved wrong. My revised list of bad birthdays: 19th - grandmother died, 15th - involved in car accident, -128th - Jesus ditched the party.
• The other night, Clara Jane was having a tender moment with her doll-baby, cradling it her arms and gazing into its eyes. She said, Oh my tiny little baby. Do you need a kiss? Gently, she brushed her lips on the doll's cheek, then stuck out her tongue and, with an audible slurp, licked the doll from chin to hairline.
• This is from The Cuz, courtesy of our hometown newspaper. You'd think the team from the Literary Council would place higher than third in a grown-up spelling bee.
• My child, the doll-licker, is about to be kicked out of daycare. Even though she enjoys 3-hour naps quite often at home, she has opted to spend her daycare naptime hollering, kicking the wall, and doing things I saw re-enacted in that Antichrist series last night. If she doesn't cut that shit out, I'm going to be required to pick her up before naptime, meaning I'll be paying for two hours of childcare they won't be providing, and losing two hours of my work time. I guess I missed the stipulation in their guidebook that they will provide the childcare I pay for, but only if it's super-simple and shit. Thus, my new status as Nap Nazi.
• I'm going to kill the stupid motherfucker who bought my child a train whistle. Oh, wait ... it was me. Nevermind. Earplugs, please, for the racket of Monkey Steam Train working out their signature sound is giving me a headache. The magic fairies have opted to form a drumline, and it's going to be a long day.

Posted by Robin at 09:54 AM | Comments (5)

February 19, 2006

The Abbreviated Version

A quick summary of some of this weekend's highlights before we hit the road home:

• To the organizers of the Daytona 500: Fergie, singing the national anthem? Are you sure about that? I mean, are you really, really sure? Well, okay then. It's your race and I can't make your decisions for you. My dad turned to me and said, "Remember when this used to be a redneck sport? I don't approve of these changes." And believe it or not, I agree. Homogenity, which probably isn't a world but should be, bores me.
• My child can eat her body weight in popcorn shrimp, and then chase it with a wagonful of canteloupe.
• Clara Jane has figured out this present-opening business. When she opened the first gift from her mimi and grandpa, she gave a dejected, "Oh. It's diapers," when she saw it was nothing but Pull-Ups and training pants. Next year, if she happens to get underpants or socks, I fully expecte her to add, "Where the hell are the goddamn toys?".
• I'm never eating chicken wings again, for two reasons. First, because I've eaten enough tequila-lime wings this weekend to cause me to ovulate grade A extra-large eggs. Second, I can't seem to eat wings without being attacked by domestic animals. Yesterday, while eating a wing, Chiggar lept from the floor to snatch the wing from my hand, which happened to be at my mouth. I was standing at the time, meaning he lept five feet for that wing, which he swallowed whole, bone and all. Sadly, this is not the first time I've had a chicken wing snatched from my mouth by an animal. The other time was far more humiliating, as thefive-foot vertical wing leap was made by a 12-year-old, 25-pound cat named Miss Muffin, and I screamed like a baby because Jesus, that cat scared the fuck out of me. So, no more wings for me, thanks.

• My child is made of 100% Missouri ham, evidenced by the fact that, upon finding herself in front of 40 people, she swirled her finger through the frosting on her birthday cake, dramatically licked it off, sighed and announced, "It's delicious!" I have a feeling that, in 31 years, we'll still be waiting for her to enter her shy phase, just like my parents are still doing with me.
• Chiggar things I rock. Me, I could do without the constant admiration and biting.
• I referred to a rather homophobic cowboy party guest as Ennis yesterday, but I don't think he heard me.
• I sure could use a nap while my pancreas gasps its last birthday-cake-mauled breath.

Posted by Robin at 02:13 PM | Comments (3)

February 08, 2006

I'm Worthy, Dammit

Clara Jane has returned home. My mom claims Clara Jane only cried three times during her visit, and each spell was brief and quite adorable in its darlingness. So why is it:

• she cried in the car on the way home when she woke up to find that she'd kicked her shoe off in her sleep?
  
• she cried when we wouldn't allow her to dangle from the dining room chair and fondle the light switch?
  
• she cried when we presented her with horrible, vile .... pizza?
  

And that's not all! I'm just stopping the list at three because my God! Why continue? She cried five times in her first six hours with me. I am. The mother. Supreme.

It's been an irritating day. I'm a firm believer that the universe isn't out to get me, that other people aren't out to get me. It's just the way things roll; some days I rock and some days I can't catch a break. Like everyone.

That being said, I wished horrible things on these people who annoyed me today:

• The guy who parked himself in my blind spot and refused to let me over so I could turn right on a short exit that dumped me into the left-turn lane. It would be wrong to hope that the next person he does this to just plows right over.
  
• The wench who cut me off in the Starbucks parking lot in order to get in front of me at the drive-thru, then stopped in the middle of the roadway after the drive-thru to fix her damn coffee. I hope you spilled your grande whatever down the front of your shirt.
  
• The woman at the yarn store who stood five feet away from me while I waited. And waited. And waited to pay for my two skeins of yarn. After five minutes I finally said, "Excuse me?", to which she replied, "What??" I'd like to give you some money, Dumbass. Maybe poke you with a #8 bamboo needle for a minute or two.
  
• The pack of old ladies at lunch today who were all seated 18 inches from the table, choosing instead to lean way forward. This way, they might enjoy their lunches and further the progress of their Dowager's humps. They left six inches of space between the backs of their chairs and the neighboring table. I swear, I heard those old bats snickering, "I'ma get get get get u drunk, get you love drunk off my hump, my hump my hump my hump my hump my hump my hump" as I squeezed past, apologizing to the neighboring table for dragging all that junk, all that junk inside my trunk through their broccoli pasta Alfredo.
  

But those are all minor. I'm sure today's snow had everyone in a snit. I know I was in one and I probably annoyed someone just as badly. At least, I hope I did. I'll bet the woman who found my assprint in her lunch probably wasn't thrilled with me.

There was one irritation that overshadowed all of these minor ones, though. We're talking a veer-off-the-road-in-shock level of irritation.

While driving down the interstate, I saw a church billboard that read, "Be worthy of love."

Be worthy of love?
Be worthy of love?!?!?!?!?!??!?!

I'm sorry, I thought that, by merit of being, oh, I don't know, human, we're all worthy of love. I know my religious education doesn't go much beyond a few summer of vacation bible school as a tot, but Jesus I mean God, um, goodness gracious sakes alive bless my heart shit fire to save matches*!

What was I saying? Right. I don't have much God-learning beyond "This Little Light of Mine" and "Jesus Loves the Little Children", but maybe it's an elementary lesson in Christianity that's needed in this case, all that business about all the little children being precious in His sight and such. But maybe that really only pertains to children children. Jesus loves you unconditionally until you're 18. Then you've gotta earn it, Bucko.

I'm worthy of love because I spent my evening making four dozen frosted, decorated cookies for my bawling child's Valentine's Day party, and I fucking hate making cookies, dammit.

*These are all phrases that my Pentecostal grandmother uses in place of taking the lord's name in vain. I'm thinking I should adopt some of them, as my usual motherfucker is becoming a tad trite.

Posted by Robin at 09:30 PM | Comments (16)

February 05, 2006

Sunday Nuggets

• Betty Friedan, thank you. Without your courage I would not be living the kind of life I'm living today. Because of you, I have been able to choose the path of my life instead of having it dictated for me. Because you were a radical, the women of my generation do not have to be ... at least not as much. I'm sorry that so many in my generation do not know what a debt of gratitude we owe you. I'm also sorry that the news sources seem to think that Grandpa Munster's passing and the breakup of Lance and Sheryl is more newsworthy than your passing.
  
  When I hug my child, conceived in love when my husband and I chose to do so; when I'm working on my book; when I'm compiling the taxes for my business tomorrow; when I look back fondly on my wild single days, I will think of you, and I will be grateful.

• In less serious news, I've had a change of heart regarding the Febreze thingie. Not only do I now like it, I adore it with a passion I usually reserve for gray-haired sexually ambiguous television journalists, Irish rock stars and the sweet heart flutter of espresso. Because there is a stink in the house, a stink that can only come from the last night's Gout Fest '06 dinner of fried chicken livers, fried portobellas and fried gorgonzola cheese. It sounded like a good idea at the time. But do you know what happens when little yummy blue cheese balls are dropped into hot oil when someone (former culinary professional who shall remain nameless, I'm looking at you) forgets to roll the balls in egg before rolling them in bread crumbs? And odor occurs. An odor unlike any I have ever smelled, for I have never vomited directly into a pot of 375-degree canola oil. But if I ever do, at least now I know what it will smell like.
  
  
  That's a smell that doesn't go away. It's a smell that kept me awake at night, tossing fitfully because, sweet Jesus, I feel like I have burnt blue cheese wedged in my nose.

• Since we will no longer be dining in our house - you try eating in a place that smells like the vomitorium at a greasy spoon - I'm glad we discovered House of Wong today. Yum. No hint of fried vomit.

• Heh. I just talked about balls and wong.

• Is there a football game tonight? Oh, right. I don't care.

• Four hours of sleep? Not exactly refreshing.

• I'm pondering sustainable fabricated communities, like New Town at St. Charles. It's a new development, and I normally abhor new housing and subdivisions. But this one ... It's one of those places where the houses are built to look like the local old houses. Everything's in walking distance. It's all pretty and community-y and loving thy neighbory and I really want to hate it.
  
  
  But I don't.
  
  
  I explored the neighborhood a bit on Thursday. It's still mostly under construction, but the first business has opened - a combo cafe/coffeehouse/bookstore. I fell in love a little. Or perhaps a lot. It's beautiful. It thumbs its nose at the suburban lifestyle I have no desire to live. It would keep out the riff-raff.
  
  
  But then again, when the neighborhood fills with the smell of gorgonzola cheese melting in hot oil, I'm pretty sure I would be dubbed the riff-raff and escorted out by the neighborhood association. I'll probably be charged for the rail they'll install to run me out on.
  
  
  There's also the issue of new neighborhoods and homes severely lacking in character.
  
  
  But then again, my current neighborhood has oodles of character. Frankly, I might be a little charactered out.
  
  
  B. and I paid New Town a visit tonight, and I only felt Stepfordy for a minute. It didn't feel bad. And it smelled good, which is currently my top real estate priority.
  

Posted by Robin at 07:02 PM | Comments (12)

January 30, 2006

Cordially Invited...

Do you read This is not a ham sandwich? If not, why? Are you simple-minded? Because you really should read it. Summer, the author, is funny, thought-provoking, and today she's discussing enormous sweaty sausages.

By far my favorite thing on Summer's blog is the sidebar section she calls "Cordially invited to lick my pits", in which she lists things that are bothering her. In the six months or so since I started reading her blog, I keep finding that phrase running through my head. I don't think I've ever said it outloud, but it's embedded there in my subconscious, just waiting for a party. So much so that when I used capers in not one, but two meals last week, I thought, "Hello capers. Licked Summer's pits lately?"

I love it when my mind is overtaken by other peoples' thoughts. I also love hijacking those thoughts when I'm too lazy/tired/braindead to come up with anything interesting on my own. So without further ado ... The following are cordially invited to lick my pits:

• Damn malaise/boredom/hostility moebius loop, taking over my damn life.
• The 20-Items-or-Less checkout clerk who shrieked, "This is 20 items or less!!!!!!" when she caught me glancing at her empty checkout lane, lest me and my 23 items interrupt her very crucial standing-around time.
• Dog hair dog hair everywhere dog hair.
• The non-express-lane checkout clerk who didn't utter one single word while checking my 23 items. She didn't even ask for the coupon in my hand, just held her hand out when she wanted it.
• Damn diced tomato additives, listed in fine print, sullying my recipes with fake canned onion crap.
• Puking felines (although I do enjoy watching her try to run away from the vomit)
• Toddler snot toddler snot everywhere toddler snot matting down the dog hair.
• Rachel Ray

Posted by Robin at 01:44 PM | Comments (9)