Oh Dear.

It strikes me that I have been sort of negative of late.

I'm really not sure what to say about it- snarkiness is just in my nature. Love it or leave it. I have tried to trancend it, and it doesn't work.

Character illustration:

Dad: (tiling countertops) This is all screwed up!!!! (assorted profanity)

Me: No! It'll be fine!

Dad: Uh-huh.

Me: Think sunshine and puppies! Keebler Elves! Lollipops! Incense and peppermints!

Dad: You have no idea how close you are to death at this moment.

See? It's hereditary.
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When life gives you lemons-

The Man was not exactly on my good list today. I woke up around 9AM to find that he was playing video games in his underwear. I decided that if he could spend his morning in his Calvins, I should definitely spend mine reading Diana Gabaldon instead of say, washing the dishes. (Forget a dance-off! Let's have...a slack-off!)

Around 11AM, I lost the slack-off, and wandered in to check on him. He promptly closed the computer screen, and said something sweet about how he was thinking, he should make me a meal one of these days, and how about lunch today? He will let me know when lunch is served.

This was a turn-up for the books! Pacified, I went back to A Breath of Snow and Ashes.

I looked up at the clock at noon, and again at one. My stomach started to rumble. At two, I cruised past the computer room. No sign of movement, no sign of lunch. Rather than make it an issue, I nuked myself some soup and sulked in silence.

He emerged from the office at three, just in time for both of us to get ready for work. No mention of lunch, no apology. This has been happening a lot, and I am getting sick of it.

I took the passive aggressive approach of changing into a cute new outfit with my sexiest heels and my red red lipstick, complete with a glare that evidently seared the gizzard out of him, because he was suspiciously silent when he left.

Meanwhile, I re-did a few buttons on my black satin blouse and went out to tutor an eight-year-old boy, who would be completely unappreciative. His mom was impressed, and I had to make up a lie about going out for dinner later so as not to look like a dork.

The Man did call later to say "I'm sorry for being a jerk. My co-worker, Justin wants to say something to you." Um, okay.

Justin: "Your husband said you were mad, and he told me what he did, and I told him he was being a stupid puto!"

Me: "Well...um, thanks!"

Justin: "No prob. Bye!!!"

The Man: "See? I'm really sorry."

Me: "Apology accepted. Tell Justin I give him mad props."
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I went to Trader Joe's today, at 5PM.

If you are having issues with wanting kids and kids aren't happening?

Well, there is no good time to go to Trader Joe's, unless it's like an hour before closing time. But 5PM would have to be the worst, because the place is literally filthy with harried moms and their kids. I am not exaggerating, there were three brand new poppin' fresh babies in there, and a few more around the 6-9 month mark.

Those are actually the worst, because they are interactive, and goddamn it, they never fail to look at me with their big round eyes. Their downy little vulnerable heads swivel to watch me as I pass. They smile gummy grins, coo, peer at me, fascinated.

Maybe they do it to everyone, but I doubt it, because it seems to make their mothers nervous or jealous because THEIR BABY IS LOOKING AT SOMEONE ELSE. I have discussed the phenom with people I know, and they seem to feel that it's because I am sparkly and wearing red lipstick, whereas a newly delivered mother gnerally is happy if she got a chance to shower that week. I am sure that Laura Bennett's new baby wouldn't give me a second glance- he's seen it before.

Anyway. Having a nervous breakdown in the pasta aisle was not on my list of things to do today, but it was a struggle to avoid it. I choked it down, forced a smile onto my face, and forced myself to hold my head up. I was a woman on a mission! A mission for inner peace! And also, some Marinara sauce.

So I straightened up, threw on the most brilliant smile in the old arsenal, and somehow accidentally locked eyes with some guy. Evidently he decided that we had some kind of moment, because he started staring at me.

I am sure the thought process was, "She smiled and looked at me! Do I know her?" Either that, or, "Hehehe...She WANTS me." Either way, he looked completely flabbergasted, like I had given him a saucy wink and then flashed my bra at him.

I immediately averted my eyes and started loading brown rice and lentils into my cart. Evidently, he did not collect himself right away. I turned around to head out of the aisle, just in time to see his wife poke him viciously in the ribs.

Whoops.

Sorry East Coasters.

Damn, the Oscars just seem to get longer every year.

I leave you with ten thoughts:

1. YES!!! MARTY WINS IT!!!! Let's face it, as soon as we saw the Big Three out on stage it was basically inevitable. That is one happy little man with some seriously outrageous eyebrows. I bet they crawl off his face at night to feast on the blood of the living.

2. Reese Witherspoon: Girl. Please eat some ice cream. Are you doing a remake up Buffy The Vampire Slayer? The twist could be that you use your uber pointy chin to stab the bloodsuckers through the heart.

3. God, the new bald Jack Nicholson is shiny. Between the glare off the sunglasses and his head and his teeth, he could only be more blinding if he were wearing a tinfoil tuxedo.

4. Happy Feet beat out Cars? Who was smoking what illicit substances? Can you use the alleged "rolling papers" that Ellen found to spark up The Crack?

5. Re: Philip Seymour Hoffman. Dude. Someone needs to be soused in sheep dip and/or fumigated. My guess is that his only concession to personal hygeine was to duct-tape a roach motel into each of his festering armpits. Possibly.

Look, Philip, we know you're never going to look like Clooney, but you know...brush your hair. And maybe bathe, at least fortnightly. That's all we ask.

I did laugh out loud when they announced him as "America's Sexiest Man Alive who has ever played Truman Capote.

Frankly, if I were Toby Jones, that would seriously piss me off.

6. How did I not know that Altman died? What rock was I under? Alas, The Internets have failed me.

7. Speaking of The Internets, the erstwhile "inventor", Al Gore? Okay, was anyone surprised that he won? Yawn.

8. Eddie Murphy: No, you didn't win. Consider it a judgement on you for Norbit. Oh, and for Scary Spice. Dumping your pregnant girlfriend on Swedish TV has to be a big black mark against you in the 'ol karma department.

9. Jennifer Hudson won everything. Damn, that girl has pipes. I love that rrrrred dress. However, I'm worried that she has reached max sauration. People are getting sick of her already. Hmm...Beyonce's dress isn't bad, but her wig appears to be attacking her at intervals.

10. Bloody hell, how far over time limit has this thing gome? I'm yawning, and I'm on the West Coast!

It is clean!

My car!

It's seriously unbelievable.

This is an old pic...because I still have to get the car washed. I have been using the car for work for awhile now, and it has transformed my sassy 'vertible into...well, a dump truck. A filthy, dirty dump truck.

There are always big plastic bins stacked to the rafters in there, along with plastic kids toys and odd scientific paraphenalia. The last straw is that, for many of the classes that I do, sand is a requirement.

So of course, a few bags have broken open on me, but it's usually just a minor annoyance.

Then last week, I was turning left behind another car, and I guess they wanted to make an immediate right turn into a shopping center, and a pedestrian stepped out right in front of them. They slammed on the brakes. I slammed on the brakes. And the 5 lb. container of sand in my passenger seat exploded and dumped all over the passenger side of my car.

Seriously. It filled the entire area at least two inches deep, even back underneath the seat. Crap.

I have been avoiding cleaning it, due to the fact that my car is always full of the plastic crap. However, my car needs desperately to be smogged, so today was the day.

All I can say is, thank heaven for my Dyson vaccuum cleaner. If you're on the fence re: getting one of these babies- look no further. It's worth the price.

That thing is amazing. All the sand got sucked up in short order, and I could even use the attachment to get under the seat, and to excavate the creases in the leather seats, too. The resulting desert got dumped back onto our patio via the amazing cannister system. It took three trips to get all of it, but it worked like a charm.



So we are taking a teensy road trip this weekend. Let's hear it for Carmel!! I am looking forward to sunshine. I don't know if I'll get it though.

We are taking Mom up with us on Saturday morning. The Man will be driving. It should be...uh, interesting. But we will be helping them get the kitchen done: mainly, tiling. And yes, I plan to make sure that The Man will employ his newfound knowledge in our home too...the tile in this kitchen has got to go.

still kicking

Well, sort of.

The cough is not going away. And it has managed to squirm its nefarious way into the throat of The Man, which means that there is now coughing in stereo. Hmph.

In other news, I am supposed to clean the house. And I don't want to.

I did try to get back on the treadmill, but it was a fiasco. I guess I better wait to haul out the running shoes again until I can, you know, like, breathe and stuff.

*sigh*

The best Valentine's Day EVER

YES!!! It's a Valentine's Day MIRACLE!!!!

Since I weighed myself yesterday, and the last time I weighed 111.2 lbs was in the seventh grade....

Well, the reality is, it would take me some dramatic bingeing and purging and possibly also amputation of limbs to get me down to this weight.

This didn't stop me from announcing to my sleepy husband, "Dude. That must have been some seriously good lovin' last night."

Possible explanations as to how I lost over 100 lbs.:

1. Too busy coughing to eat peanut butter cookies.

2. Really efficient tapeworm

3. Alien abduction

4. I've got the rockin' pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu

5. See above, re: Valentine's Day Miracle!!!

6. Chills and fever = the new Pilates.

7. Atmospheric phenomena

8. Pixie dust

9. Woke up in an alternate universe

10. Need to change the batteries in the goddamn scale.

I've got chills...they're multiplyin'

What the fresh hell is this?

I got to bed last night, and snuggled under my down comforter, and I was freezing. The Man had to bring in three more blankets, and we had the heat on in the house.

Yes, kids...I officially have the flu, and it looks like it's in tandem with a sinus infection.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to bust out the trashy novels and the hot tea with lemon.

The Man, The Myth, The Laptop

Hey there....

Yes, you. The guy in the glasses. Yes, you...with the monobrow, and the flourescent pallor. The guy who probably lives in his momma's basement. The guy who is surfing the free internet at Starbucks, not typing, possibly playing WOW or browsing porn sites, and listening to every word we are saying?

You are staring. I am trying not to look back at you, which is hard because your eyes are glued. Hence the waving around of the wedding ring, in a fruitless attempt to discourage you. Your desperation is palpable from three tables away. Even when my friend and I start a conversation about how we loathe being stared at, you do not take the hint.

When I get up and go to the bathroom, you lean over and say, "Hi there", to my friend. She says "Hi" back, because she is polite. A creepy silence ensues until I get back. She does not introduce us.

We are finally so skeeved out that we leave. You follow right behind us. To be safe, we hang around outside the 'Bucks and wait for you to get into your car. You are watching us so intently, you back out in the wrong direction, and end up having to do a 32 point turn because you are facing a dead end instead of the parking lot exit.

EW! Ew ew ew ew ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

We then start quoting lines from Silence Of the Lambs at each other.

For example, "Are you about a size 14?" *heavy breathing*

"It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again!!"

Yeah, we are twisted like that.

Seriously, I am not sure if I looked hot today, or I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe. In addition to Leering Larry, I had two different groups of men abruptly stop talking when I waked past them today, which always makes me a little paranoid.

*sniffle*

The creeping crud? It is back.

Crap. I got cocky and eased up on my hand sanitizer and vitamin C cocktails. Since I work with children, bless their little germ laden hearts, this was like the kiss of death.

So I am freebasing Airborne, in order to (please, please, please!) nip this in the bud.

In other news, I managed to pry The Man's video-game addicted butt out of his chair yesterday, and we cleaned out the garage.

Yes, I am still amazed. I am celebrating by doing the 15 loads of laundry that have backed up since the garage got crammed with all the camping equipment that my Dad "loaned" us. And by loaned, I mean "sent home with The Man so he no longer had to store it himself."

Gah! Crankiness!

In more upbeat news, The Running? Starting again. This time, inside on my treadmill without dogs. No excuses.

Hell has frozen over

More good news re: The Man

He is (very unexpectedly!)getting weekends off. REAL weekends, not the Tuesday/Wednesday thing we have been doing.

The guy who had Saturday Sundays off on his flight quit yesterday, and the guy who was next in line didn't want them. So The Man and I are now relishing the idea of being able to go out of town and spend time together...without the planets having to be aligned.

Don't get me wrong, we've worked around it for the last seven years. It's just when anyone has any kind of family function- parties, weddings, barbecues, clambakes, what-have-you- it is always on a weekend. Even when he gets time off, it can be revoked at a moment's notice. For example, we had the nnightmare scenario where he had to leave my brother's out-of-town wedding, right after the ceremony, to fill in for someone who called in sick. He was a groomsman. It was awful.

I am just thrilled that I get to prove to people who haven't seen The Man since our wedding, 5 years ago, that I actually HAVE a husband. Woo!

woohoo!

I got my Fratellis CD.

Evidently, I am easliy pleased.

Let the head-banging commence!

Another thing to woohoo about:

The Man has decided to stop "phoning it in" at work. He is going to take his test to become an officer early next month. Because maybe...MAYBE...it's not the entire military that he's sick of. Maybe it's just the job that he's been doing for the last ten years?

So- potentially more money, which is nice, because I am still working part-time. Also, happier husband who likes his job, which I am hoping and praying will be a result. It's a win-win!

Speaking of no longer phoning it in...The Man also has finally, FINALLY cut up the dead Christmas tree that has been reclining in our backyard since...well, Christmas.

If that's not a reason to celebrate...I don't know what is!

Rapscallions, pull up your pants!

Maybe I just find this so incredibly hilarious because I can't sleep?

We now interrupt this commercial...

1. I just finished watching the finale of Top Chef. Yawn.

While Marcel is a pain in the ass and says "Like" for every other word and has ridiculous hair that makes him look like the illegitimate son of Wolverine, at least he was up front about being a competitive jerk. I sort of wanted him to win.

Also...Sam? Quite possibly the love child of Clive Owen and Jason Bateman. And there can be no higher praise from me. I love how Padma started to cry when she had to send him home, thus no longer being able to preen in his hot prescence.

2. I love the dog food commecial that has all the people with their 14-15 year old pooches on there. My fave is the individual who has the shitzus named....wait for it.....Judy and Liza. Now, that's fabulous.

3. The song in the new iPod commercial has been haunting me. It makes me alternately headbang and flip my hair around wildly, which is what I look for in most of my music. After trawling the Internets to figure out the elusive band, I found The Music Slut, who informs us all that the song is "Flathead", by the Fratellis.

The Man is already heartily sick of me playing it. Don't tell him I just ordered the whole damn thing from Amazon. Because I am adding it to my exercise mix.

4. If you want to be a snarky beeyotch, by all means, find some ballroom dancing on TV. Mystic Tans, sequins, marabou, fake eyelashes, body glitter, plastic wigs, delusions of grandeur, sequins, enough rhinestones to bedazzle Graceland, guys with scary perma-grins and grandiose hand-stylings who occasionally accidentally bitch-slap their partners in their enthusiasm...

Seriously. It's like MST3K on crack. It's almost too easy.

jsq: How old is that girl?!!

secret_sqrl: Dude, she is twelve. Do you think her mom knows?

jsq: No twelve year old should legally be able to shake her ass like that.

secret_sqrl: It just looks wrong. Is she wearing marabou? Where is Harvey Keitel?

jsq: Next, on America's Smooth Dance Ultra Sequined Latin Dance Finals! Five year olds dry-humping!

__________________

secret_sqrl: That man is wearing butt-enhancing briefs.

jsq: Really?

secret_sqrl: Look- I see the line.

jsq: No, I am pretty sure that all him.

secret_sqrl: How is that possible?!

jsq: I think it's the result of jumping up and down on his tiptoes for hours a day.

secret_sqrl: I don't think it ends there.

jsq: Well, he's Polish...and he's 20. Maybe one of those things is a factor.

secret_sqrl: We should look him up online. What's his name?

jsq: I dunno. We should Google "bootylicious." I'm sure he'd be in there somewhere.
______________________

OK, this is sad. I totally need to do something other than watch TV.