Take a Picture, It'll Last Longer

This is my "what the fuck do you want" face.

When was the last time you looked, really looked, at the blogs in your feed reader (and painfully outdated blog roll)? Not at the feeds, but at the bloggers themselves. The people. My reader is small, relatively speaking, just 33 feeds. 33 sites. 33 people whom I have never met, and most of whom I know only by their cyber moniker. The people behind those witty names are so incredibly diverse, often polar opposites of one another. And yet, they all appeal to me, speak to me in some way; and to each other as well.

I wonder, would I be friends with these people "in real life"? If the Girl with the purple hair was not just an avatar, but a neighbor, would we even speak? Or would we pass each other on the sidewalk without a second glance? If the single mom dropped her toddler off at daycare the same time I did, would we chat? Would we laugh over coffee? If I shared the same doctor with the British man and his wife trying so desperately to conceive, would I even know it? Obviously, I don't know the answers for sure. But I would guess, sadly, no.

It's not that whole 'books and their covers' thing, not really. It's not about judging someone's appearance; it's more about knowing, right off the bat, if there is something about that person that would interest you in the slightest. Like online dating. You can't tell much about a person by their picture; but the way they speak (write), and what they speak (write) about speaks volumes. When a person passes you on the street, all you see is their, well, picture. You don't know what's going on in that teeny little brain of theirs. It could be very similar to what's going on in your teeny little brain at that precise moment. Then again it could also be about the upcoming bar exam. And let's face it, nobody cares about another lawyer up in here. But you don't know, so you just keep on walking.

I would guess, like in online dating, the online friendships can sometimes turn out to be awkward in real life. But I haven't met any of the bloggers I've been stalking, so I can't attest to that.

What do you think? Would we be friends in "real life"? Or would you kick my dog and take my lunch money?

Just FYI: you could kick the dog. But the lunch money? Your ass would be grass.

Sick Sickety Sick Sick

I am so frickin sick. I took a nap today and dreamed I was crying. I woke up; turns out it was just snot running from my nose. I blame it on those of you that are sick whose blogs I frequent. You know who you are. Ugh. 

America's Worst TV Show in the History of TV Shows Going Back to When Coat Hangers Were Required Hardware for Watching Television

Disclaimer: I only watched the show because when you work for FOX, this show is the news, and you actually have to write about it as such. I know, it makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit, too.

And I am ashamed to admit, when Hack Seacrest said "David Cook" instead of "Punky Brewster", I jumped out of my chair, both fists raised triumphantly over my head, with a huge "whoo!!". In the middle of the newsroom. Even worse, I was not the only one. The executive producer joined me in applause. I shit you not.

Aside: Then I immediately sat my happy ass down and cut a 1:45 NATVO so one of our two reporters in Hollywood could use it in the newscast. I'm sorry, news? What's that?

Meanwhile, back on the ranch: Never, in the show's 7 years of destroying the souls of young girls, have I actually cared who won. Until last night. Because the boy's actually got talent. And I don't think he was the more popular of the two, at least with the demographic. All the teeny-boppers were swooning over Punky Brewster over there. Or as Mr. Lady so eloquently and succinctly called him, founding father of Gay Christian Pop Rockers Kidz Bop. (I have such a crush on Mr. Lady -- how could you not?!)

Doesn't Archuleta look a little like Punky Brewster?!? Oh and David, I wouldn't mind being Mrs. American Idol, if you wanna give me a call. I'm sure it would be cool with My Husband The Saint. He is, after all, a Saint.

Seriously. Dave. Holla.

O! My God

So I just got back from Canada. Niagara Falls, to be exact. Bwahahahahahaha!! It was craptacular. Actually, I shouldn't say that. The Falls really are quite impressive. And beautiful. Especially at night. But all that was overshadowed by the 2 wax museums, 4 haunted houses, ferris wheel, and Ripley's Believe it or Not. Believe it or not. I could not believe how commercial it was! I took pictures. You've got to see it.

Just to be fair, I am not disparaging Niagara Falls or Canada (much). I had a wonderful time; it was a surprise trip from My Husband the Saint for our anniversary. Even included a B&B and a couple's day at the spa! But you have got to see the pictures. I'll get to it. I swear. Back off, bitches, I'll get to it!!

Seriously, this weekend I'll get a post together. It'll so be worth the wait. Or not. Whatever. Get off my back!! I can't work under these conditions!!

I Suck at This

I've come to the realization, I'm a bad blogger. (Late to the party, I know) I have no clue how you people post every day, every other day, hell, even twice a week! And by you people I mean you, you parent. I know you're a parent, you can't deny it, because I only roll with the Mommy & Daddy blogsters, so I got your number, aight? Back on point; I do not know how you do it. I can't seem to find the time, although somehow I can sneak time to read feeds. But not to write. I also have a motivation problem. And maybe writer's block. But I think it's really that I'm a lazy ass. Exhibit A:

But honestly, when you write for a living, and when you write horrible, depressing, terrifying things for a living, well, it's really taken all of the joy out of writing. I have seen things that no person should see; the horrible, gory, bloody reality of some peoples' lives in places other than America. The video you see on TV of bombing aftermath has been carefully screened so you don't see the blood on the sidewalks, and charred bodies in burned-out cars. Reuters and AP photogs have no qualms about shooting everything, death and all. A reporter in Jerusalem I was working with one day emailed me aftermath pictures from that seminary bombing in Israel she wanted to use in her shot -- but she wanted me to screen them and pick out usable photographs. It was horrifying. Of the 8 or so photos she sent, only 1 was usable. One. It was a close-up of a bullet hole in a window. Everything else was bloody and full of death. When I worked in Washington, we sent our chopper to check out a report of a body found in a bank parking lot. There was. I saw the guy's brain splattered all over the pavement. Now write about that. And write it so people don't gag over their breakfast. It takes the joy out of writing, it really does. So yea, I have a motivation problem.

But...I am also a lazy ass. I only have 1 child, and I still don't have time to post. She took a 2 hour nap yesterday. So what did I do? Sleep. (In my defense, I am an insomniac. A true insomniac) Then in the afternoon we went outside and I weeded for 10 minutes until she got bored and started eating the grass     

 

so that was that. And that was my day, people. 

So how do people like Iowa Mom do it? Seriously! How do you raise your children and work and blog? All in one day. I'd love to know.

Mama Said There'd be Days Like This

Actually, no, she didn't. And if she had, I would have laughed, because it's so ridiculous. It's like one of those slapstick comedies that you really have to be in the mood to watch, otherwise it's just painfully uncomfortable. Welcome to My Day!

We had a new refrigerator delivered this morning. Yay!! A beautiful stainless steel GE, french doors, bottom freezer, ice maker and internal water dispenser. Muah, love you! (Trust me, you're jealous) Delivery men arrive, right on time, and I'm ready. I've got all the coolers in the kitchen, and I've already taken out sodas and water bottles. Bring it on. I start shoveling things into the coolers. Meanwhile, the delivery guys are taking off my kitchen door, because the thing won't fit. They ease the fridge to the top step, and one of the guys actually says, "Aye carumba" under his breath. (A portent of things to come?) They wiggle the fridge back and forth in the frame, and miracle of miracles, it comes through. Woo hoo! At this point, I almost have the fridge emptied, although the coolers are full and I've resorted to scattering near-empty mustard bottles and ew, what is this, moldy olive tapenade? all over my counters. Suddenly I realize that I have a 9-month-old daughter, and she hasn't been crawling up my leg for a while. I look over, and she is sitting in a puddle of water. My darling has just tipped the dogs' water dish over. The guys are ready to put the fridge in. I have a soaked baby and floor. I grab some towels to mop up the mess, then charge upstairs to change the Bebe into dry clothes.

The new fridge is installed, running, and gorgeous. (Trust me, you're jealous) I put Bebe into her car, and begin putting the frozen items back into the freezer. I open the fridge door, and notice a cable sitting on the shelf. It's the water hookup that we had to buy because GE told us if we didn't, they couldn't be held responsible if "anything happened". Like what, like a leak? Well shit. I call my husband at work to get GE's number, then frantically call GE and ask what the hell this cable is doing in my hand and not in my fridge. I'm informed that they cannot attach the plastic cable to our existing copper water pipe. Oh ok. The copper pipe looks new enough to me, so that's good. And we can return the unused pipe to Home Depot for a refund. Cool.

Return to restocking the refrigerator. The Bebe is restless. I throw cereal puffs on her tray to buy some time. Making progress when suddenly HOLY SHIT IS THAT A LEAK IN THE WATER DISPENSER?!?!? Did I mention we got the new fridge because the old one was leaking? Motherf*#%&*..... This has gone from amusing me, to really pissing me off. I call our plumber. Yes, the plumber. (The girls at their office had the same response) I rationalize that if our old fridge was leaking, and my brand-friggin-new fridge is leaking, there's a problem with said copper pipe. How convenient that GE will have no liability in this, as they made clear that the aforementioned copper pipe ain't their problem. I try to calmly explain this to the woman on the phone, who keeps telling me I need appliance repair, not a plumber. After a few minutes of back and forth, she finally agrees to send a guy out.

I am seething. Bebe is fussing. Great combo. Really. I still have an entire kitchen full of perishable items to stuff into my brand-new-piece-of-shit refrigerator. The fussing turns into full-out crying. The cereal puffs are no longer working. I pick her up to keep her quiet. So now I'm down to one hand, as I have to balance Bebe on my hip. I slam a Chinese take-out container on one of the shelves, and manage to scrape skin off my hand on the upper shelf. Son of a %t(*$! So now I'm bleeding. I'm already doing this shit with one hand, and now that one hand is bleeding. Beyond pissed at this point.

So, with a fussy Bebe balanced on my right hip, and a bloody left hand, I try to put one of the drawers in. Well apparently, in my haste to remove my injured hand earlier, I inadvertently slid the container of Chinese food precariously close to the edge of the shelf. All that banging I'm doing while trying to fit the damn drawer in invites gravity to the party, and an entire container of spicy shrimp and fried rice falls off the shelf and into the drawer I am trying to install. And on the floor. Wow. I have run out of curses.

Crying or not, Bebe got her ass plopped right back into her little car while Mommy wished for a cigarette and began cleaning Chinese food slime out of the brand new crisper. Still bleeding, by the way. Bebe is now actually flailing her arms up and down in addition to wailing, which I am trying desperately to ignore because I have ice cream melting down the cabinets. I cannot, and I, (being a horrible, horrible mother) yell, "Would you stop!?". I immediately feel like a shit, she startles, winces, and screams. I pick her up and apologize profusely, cuddling her and stroking her hair. Now I feel really bad for yelling. I cradle my Bebe in my arms and whisper to her. She was asleep before I reached her room. I put the poor thing down and went back to my accursed kitchen.

I'm still bleeding, by the way. I finish putting things away, and the plumber shows up. I explain the problem, he checks out that wretched copper pipe that I am convinced is the bane of my existence -- turns out that's not it. He very kindly -- and patiently -- explains there's probably just air in the line. He fills a few cups with water, and whaddya know, no leak! It was only air. Air!!

I finally stopped bleeding.

Aw, Hell

I got tagged to do a meme. That's right, me. By my new friend Mary Kate over at BTB. It's my first one of these things, so I gotta admit I'm honored. But I hope it never happens again, because it took me like a week to figure out what to write. And this particular meme only requires 6 random things. Can you imagine if was 10!?

First, The Rules:

a. Link to the person who tagged you. b. Post the rules on your blog. c. Write six random things about yourself. d. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. e. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog. f. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

And now...6 Random Things About Me. Gawd. Read this to your child if he/she won't go to sleep. Droolville in no time.

1. I don't really like margaritas. Seriously. I'm not a fan of lime, so I'd rather have straight tequila than a margarita. I'll drink them, sure. But that whole, "Hey, let's hang out on the back deck and drink margaritas!" rally cry of working women everywhere kinda makes me go, "eh, what do you have on tap?"

2. I hate clowns. They totally creep me out. And I really only include this for MK, who actually admits! to being a clown in the Macy's Thanksgiving parade.

3. I collect coins. Or, I did, until I just got too busy to pay attention anymore. My prized coin is an 1889 silver dollar. Think about it. That piece of silver (back then a silver dollar was actually made of silver) has been around for 220 years. How many hands has it seen? How many lives was it a part of, what did it ultimately bring to the people who traded it? So cool! (I'm a loser, I know)

4. Running out of things already. I was once asked to pose nude. The artist takes polaroids and spreads out the emulsion to make interesting visual effects. I agreed, but ultimately chickened out. That's because he asked me to dinner, and a few days after I declined, casually said he had 2 tickets to the U.S. Open tomorrow, did I want to go? As much as women say they'd love to have a Sugar Daddy, when it comes down to it...no. Really, no.

5. I'm a home improvement junkie. Don't let me get started on a project. I'll never stop. I'll start another one -- or want to start another one -- until we run out of money. Or time. I have a gazillion half-finished projects, mostly outside, because it won't stop raining on the weekends. And my darling Bebe really doesn't like it when I try to do anything without including her. And there's not a whole lot a 9-month-old can help you with unless you need something soaked in drool. And mashed into a gooey pulp. She helped me deal with a piece of bark when I wasn't looking. So no more mommy and me projects until she's, I don't know, 3?

6. I love gardening. Not just flowers, but things you'd put on salads (if you eat salads). I have peppers, radishes, and about 60 tomato seedlings that need to be replanted. But that requires me completing the weeding of the side garden. Which has been impossible. Because nature sucks. See above.

So there you have it. Six random things about me. 5 and a half, really. I consider 5 & 6 to be variants of the same thing. But my husband has the TV on and I seriously can't concentrate when Steve Carell is screaming "Kelly Clarkson!". That's some funny shit.

So....who to annoy by tagging?

Cablegirl. She's a cool chic. And she's got tons of character.

Erica at Plain Jane Mom. She's anything but.

Cheryl at Red Pens and Diapers. Because she has a lovely way of looking at the world.

Amy and her Brat Pack. Because she calls her kids brats.

Kate at her Spot. Because we share the same name. And we're both NJMBloggers.

Shelli is also a NJMB. She also appreciates a good bag -- and honey, you can never have enough bags. Or shoes to match!