Archive for the ‘Brinkley + Sheldon’ Category
Thursday, October 27th, 2011
So, I’ve launched a plot, and I’ve been hatching schemes and other Scooby Doo-esque terms for making plans. I have to keep reminding myself, though, that this is something I can do. Not in the sense that it’s something I’m capable of doing, but more like something I’m allowed to do. Okay, and also a little bit reminding myself – or pep talking myself – that I’m capable.
You know the first time you realize you can do something that previously seemed like it was reserved for other people? Older people, or more adulty people, or just some other kind of people. Like when I bought a car on my own for the first time. It kind of blew my mind that I could walk into a dealership, pick a car, arrange the insurance and the financing and all of that, and drive away in a car. I knew that PLENTY of people bought cars, all the time. But it seemed like something other people did, not something I could do. Both in the sense of something I was ABLE to do and something I was ALLOWED to do. Some people let me walk into their place and drive away in a car. BLEW MY MIND.
So I’ve hatched this plot, because there was something I wanted and out of nowhere, it dawned on me that rather than wait around for one of the specifically ALLOWED people to arrange for this thing I wanted, I could just do it myself. And while I’m [pretty] sure I can pull it off, the fact that I can just DO IT is blowing my mind.
You know that feeling? Am I making sense? It’s like an assumption you have subconsciously, that you don’t really think about, that doing certain things is for OTHER PEOPLE.
OH, like taking a vacation. I’ve never taken a vacation that wasn’t with my parents OR wasn’t specifically to visit family. But Phil and I, someday, could decide to pack up our baby and go some place. ANY place. With no other family there, if we wanted. A non-family, non-visiting vacation. We could just DO that. Go to ANY PLACE. That’s ALLOWED.
But you have to know this feeling, right? I think it’s mostly attached to doing things that we probably consider to be “adult” things to do, for whatever reason, and I’m sure everyone has different things that they consider to be “adult” things. But my plot, it’s not even a specifically adulty thing to do. It’s just a thing that, for some reason, I kind of deep-in-my-mindly assumed was for specific, somehow designated people to handle. And I just suddenly realized that those people had the same, “Hey, I want this, I’m DOING IT” moment that I had a couple of days ago.
Aside from the big stuff – buying a house, bringing home a baby from the hospital, getting married – what kinds of things do you kind of subconsciously put in the “other people, not me” category?
*****
So, this happens now, FINALLY:
Honestly, I told Noemi a while ago that while the first weeks of babyhood seriously blow, blow to the point that you eventually start to insist that it absolutely CANNOT BE DONE and a MISTAKE HAS BEEN MADE, everything starts to slowly chug uphill, rollercoaster-style, once you see the first smile. Truly, it’s just steady improvement from that moment on.
So I have to say, I’m expecting NAPS and I’m expecting less VOMIT and I’m expecting less PUNCHING ME AWAKE now that we’ve got laughing on the regular.
*****
Me: So this cat lives at our house.
Phil: No, he’s not our cat.
Me: Yeah, he doesn’t live IN our house – he lives AT our house.
Phil: He doesn’t live here. He lives under your car.
Me: And you feed him.
Phil: Well, yeah. Not expensive food, though. I buy him the cheap stuff.
Me: And you make sure he has water.
Phil: It’s hot out there.
Me: I saw him sitting on the table out there, on the blankets, yesterday.
Phil: Yeah, I put them there for him.
Me: That cat lives at our house.
*****
If ever a moment of my life should have been video taped, it was just a couple of minutes ago. The dogs were all riled up, horsing around with each other, and the more they wrestle, the more wound up they get. Calming them is a huge pain in the butt. Sheldon leaps around like a deer, bounding around the house, and has NEVER had ANY concept of where any part of his body is in space at any given moment.
So a lot of times, I just pull Penny up onto the couch in my arms and let them wrestle around. I have to hold onto her tightly, because our couch is terrible and even with me and Penny on it, their insane self-flinging bumps the couch and sends it scooting across the living room.
Right when I thought they had settled down – they were somewhere behind me, at least, I don’t know where – I put Penny in a seat and leaned back to stretch, because this baby is turning into a LOAD.
I leaned back over the arm of the couch, kind of into a corner between the couch and the love seat where we have a small end table, arms up above my head, arching my back and getting WAY out there – you know, the kind of stretch where if you don’t stop, you KNOW you’re going to cramp up your entire back, but you don’t stop anyway because it’s too good of a stretch?
Anyway, yeah, I was doing that.
WHEN OUT OF NOWHERE – okay, not accurate – WHEN OUT OF FROM BEHIND THE COUCH, Sheldon, who was not as calmed as I assumed, BIT MY BUN.
Not my BUNS. They were and remain to this moment planted on the couch.
My BUN. In my HAIR.
And my NEVER NAPPING BABY had fallen asleep.
So I am trapped in a stretch, arched over the arm of my couch, and SHELDON HAS ME BY THE HAIR.
I started SCREAM-hissing, “Sheldon! Drop! Sheldon! Drop! SHEEE-HEEEELLL-DON! LET ME GO!”
Anyway, spoiler alert, he let me go.
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, daily BS, Penny | 51 Comments »
Wednesday, September 14th, 2011
You know what I hate? (“Everything!”) (That’s not true, Internet.) I hate when someone puts me in a position where I have to be confrontational, and not only that, a position where I am automatically the bad guy for saying anything. So my choice is either to sit and silently deal with something that is bothering me OR be the asshole, and neither of those is a good option FOR ME.
This usually happens when someone decides, of their own accord, that they’re going to do something nice for you. Except, you never asked them to do this nice thing for you. See, you already think I’m the asshole, but it’s not like it hasn’t happened to you.
Once is no big deal, but sometimes someone gets it in their head that they’re going to do an ongoing nice thing for you. Or they’ve set up some kind of… system or whatever… that will repeat the nice thing for you. I’m saying, maybe they do a nice thing one time, but maybe they do this nice thing OFTEN, either with effort or through some kind of set up that repeats the event without any maintenance, effort or money or anything on their side. I’m trying to give you a wide description here so that you can think of a situation in your own life that fits, so that I get a little sympathy over here on the asshole side of things. So take a second, and work yourself into this mindset.
Anyway, person is doing something nice for you – or something that they think is nice, if that makes sense. Something they have assumed you will appreciate or enjoy. And you didn’t ask for it – not because you didn’t want to impose, but because it’s not something you really appreciate or enjoy. It’s a basically harmless something, though, so maybe you can ignore it for a while, but eventually, it just GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN.
OKAY, MY SKIN. IT IS UNDER MY SKIN.
Why should I have to ignore it? Maybe I would like for it to stop, you know? But you basically HAVE TO IGNORE IT, because the person is being nice. If someone does something with the intention of being nice, you have absolutely no choice but to just accept it FOREVER, unless you want to be the asshole.
“I was just trying to be nice” is basically an inarguable defense. You hear that and you’re the asshole. No matter what.
So it can’t just be a simple matter of asking the person to stop, because they were trying to be nice. To indicate that their unrequested niceness is not 100% appreciated makes you the asshole, no matter what. And who wants to be the asshole? Either because you don’t want other people to think you’re an asshole, or because you don’t want to be perceived as an asshole by the person who was just trying to be nice to you, you know? I mean, you don’t want to HURT FEELINGS. You just want the thing to STOP.
And you know what ends up happening? Resentment gets all built up. Against the person who is just TRYING to be NICE. Because by being nice, they are forcing you to accept their niceness or be a total ASS PANDA, when you’re probably not an ass panda at ALL. By being nice, this person is forcing you to submit to something you DON’T WANT, or to be something that you don’t really think you are.
But you see, no matter what I say here, half the people reading are thinking, “You sound really ungrateful. Someone was just trying to do something nice for you.”
“Hey, do you mind not doing that anymore?”
“Well, I was just TRYING to be NICE.”
“You know, I’d really rather do that myself.”
“Well, I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE NICE.”
“Can you stop stabbing me in the eye?”
“BEING NICE.”
YOU CANNOT WIN when someone is “JUST TRYING TO BE NICE.”
*****
Sometimes I feel like my entire day is one of those problems where you’ve got a goose, and a goose eater, and a pile of whatever geese eat, and for some reason, you can only fit one at a time in your boat, and you want to take them across the river instead of just leaving the whole damn lot to fend for themselves because, come on, they don’t have geese or goose food on the other side of the river?
What I have, though, is not goose-related. I have Penny, I have two dogs, and I have laundry, and sometimes I also need to use the bathroom.
I have to wait until Penny is asleep or at least content someplace secure before I go hang the laundry, because I can’t hang the laundry and carry her, and I’m not strapping her into her wrap for a two minute trip. And I need both dogs to come with me while I hang the laundry, because while I have NO CONCERNS about my dogs and the baby, I don’t leave them alone together, ever, because that is just how it’s done here.
The trouble is, the clothesline is around the corner of the yard, and Sheldon jumps the fence when he feels like no one is looking. We have not yet purchased an electric fence, but it is on our list, so slow your scroll, there, comment jumper. I take the diapers to hang on the line, and I need to wait for Sheldon to do his business, and then somehow convince him to stand next to me while I hang diapers, without knocking me over or stealing any diapers or think that me hanging them out of reach on the line is a FUN CHALLENGE.
And I have to be fast, because as soon as Penny realizes that my eyeballs are not fixated on her, as they should be even as she slumbers, she will LOSE HER GODDAMNED MIND.
I’ve got using the bathroom down to a 36 second science, saving anything elaborate for when Phil comes home, because alone time in the bathroom is a luxury I do not want to squander by sharing it. If Penny is awake and feeling needy (often), I tuck her in the Bumbo and set her on the bathroom floor. If she’s asleep, I leave her where she is, which leaves me with the dogs. Sheldon can usually be convinced to stand in the bathtub, because he’s an idiot, while Brinkley will do anything for a scratch on the head. We need a bigger bathroom.
Construction of Pennysylvania begins next week, and will be a completely baby-proofed safe zone, gated off from the rest of the house, that will keep her and the dogs separate without me having to put her in a cabinet for safe keeping while I just try to go without an audience.
*****
You know what else I hate? (“Everything?”) (Let it rest, Internet.) I hate when something breaks, or doesn’t work the way it should, or is unnecessarily complicated, and you SAY as much, and someone tells you a workaround, as if you hadn’t thought of it. I mean, maybe sometime you HADN’T thought of it, but most times, you’re just saying, “Hey, it should work this way.”
It’s like if you walked into your office and said, “It’s so annoying that Big Main Road that leads to the office is still closed! It’s been forever, this is really an unreasonable amount of time for a road to be closed, especially a large highway such as that!”
And someone says, “Well, you can go the back way. It’s only 10 minutes more.”
And you’re like, “… I’m here. I got here, to the office, where you are speaking to me. I know there’s another way. I used it. TO GET HERE. I’m just saying, I shouldn’t HAVE to.”
Or an example on Twitter. If you don’t use Twitter, let me quickly explain that your timeline can be public, for all to see, or locked, so that only those you allow can see your timeline.
If you come across a locked account and you would like access to follow that person, you send a request for that person to approve or deny.
When someone follows me, I check out their timeline to see if they’re a real person and someone who looks enjoyable to me. If they are, I follow back. Well, that’s how I used to do things, and my new way presents even more problems, but ANYWAY.
When someone who has a private account follows me, I can’t check out their timeline without requesting to be allowed to follow them. You’re forced to follow someone to find out if you even want to follow them.
I understand why some people want to have locked accounts and I’m not going to argue with them. But I think that if YOU, with a locked account, follow ME, it SHOULD COUNT as approval for me to see your Tweets. I shouldn’t have to go through the approval process. You wanted to follow me, so it should be assumed that you’d like me to follow you back so we can talk.
If you mention this issue on Twitter, three things will happen:
1. Some people will agree, because THIS MAKE SENSE.
2. A bunch of people will get all huffy because they don’t read well and assume you’re campaigning against locked accounts in general.
3. Someone will say, “Well, you can just request to follow and then unfollow right away if you don’t like them.”
I KNOW I CAN DO THAT, THREES. I just SHOULDN’T HAVE TO.
I get tons of spam Twitter followers, just like everyone else, and some days are worse than others and my inbox is just flooded with “new follower” messages from Twitter. I’ve started to ignore them. When someone talks to me, I check to see if I’m following them, and if I’m not, I follow back. If I’m not following you back on Twitter, it’s probably because you followed me and then never spoke to me. Your perogative, but I’m just explaining.
Anyway, if you follow me from a locked account and then you talk to me, I can’t see it. Even if you @ me. Because your account is locked. That is why I think that if your account is locked and you follow me, your account should become visible to me. It just makes sense.
Shut up, threes!
“We were just trying to be helpful.”
I fucking hate you, threes.
*****
NOW HIRING: STYLIST
Must demonstrate concern for dignity of baby.
“What… what is going ON here?”
“Is she KIDDING me with this?”
“What the shit IS THIS? I don’t remember buying ANY of this.”
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, daily BS, Penny | 76 Comments »
Thursday, July 21st, 2011
I think that the next time I want to tell you how wrong Phil is, a la many of the Settle This posts, I am just going to sit us down in front of the computer and record the whole conversation. That way, he can tell you how wrong he is in his own words. When I write those posts, I feel like I need to cut him some slack and soften his wrongness a bit, because we’re married and that’s my job as a wife – to prove him wrong constantly, but gently. If he digs his OWN hole, I have no such obligation. And then you will see. You will see what I live with, when you’re all so busy heaping him with praise for dealing with me.
You two assclowns deserve each other.
*****
Speaking of times Phil is wrong, I want to recount the argument in rhyme Phil and I had last night, but I am pretty sure he won, so that has no place here on my blog. Also, I have a suspicion that you wouldn’t be so much awed by our verbal skills as you would be kind of repulsed.
Though, while he may technically have gotten the last word, I do think that rhyming “socks” with “fart box” was slightly more brilliant than his pairing of “face” with “cock mace.” Because a cock mace isn’t even a thing.
My first word is going to be “emancipation.”
*****
You know what’s terrible? When you get a new notebook (of course you not only have plenty of half-used notebooks and also don’t have a specific purpose in mind for a new notebook) and it gets ruined.
You take it home and decide on its specific purpose, and how it will only be used for that purpose. And how you will use the new pens you bought, because of course you got new pens for your brand new notebook. Nice pens.
And for a couple of days you use it for that purpose, and then you have to SCRIBBLE SOMETHING OUT, because of course you were writing in pen – you got NEW PENS. So you rip that page out and write the whole thing over, EVEN IF it was 3/4 of a page and only one tiny mistake.
And then you’re on the phone or something and accidentally jot something down on one of the pages, and you can’t rip it out, because there’s other stuff on the page, the stuff that is supposed to be in your new notebook. So you rip out that corner.
But then you have to write a shopping list, because there is suddenly NO OTHER PAPER IN THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE, and you flip to some random blank page in the notebook to write it. And then a couple of days later, you flip to some random blank page and write another list. Maybe a to do list.
And then you have another HALF USED, RUINED NOTEBOOK littering up your house, and they’re EVERYWHERE, except none of them will be anywhere close at hand when you need to jot something down while you’re on the phone or write a new shopping list, and you will ruin your NEXT brand new notebook.
Yep. That’s terrible.
Let’s be honest – a headband on me is like tits on a bull.
*****
I’m tapped out on content right now, because Sheldon is standing at the back door and YELLING, I am not even kidding you, and I can’t even think of any words that aren’t “Goddamnit Sheldon!,” but I do have one last picture of Penny and no unrelated block of text to pair it with, so here it is.
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, daily BS, Penny, TJ + Phil | 26 Comments »
Tuesday, July 19th, 2011
I repeat: Oh, SHELDON.
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon | 25 Comments »
Monday, July 18th, 2011
Let me tell you a little bit about what I did this weekend, but first, you should know this – AS I TYPE, Penny is having her first real nap. You know, the kind of nap where I deliberately PUT HER DOWN for a nap. Not in her little baby chair when she feels like sleeping, not in her swing because she’s been crying and crying and I don’t know what else to do. In her little Penny bed, swaddled up, at a time decided upon BY ME. For the first time.
EVIDENCE:
After taking, watermarking, and uploading that picture, I realize that you probably would have taken my word for it. I should have let you take my word for it, because I waited until two hours in to said nap to start writing this post. I spent the rest of the time tiptoeing down the hall and peering around the door frame. Baby naps are such an unproductive waste of my time.
Also, have I said enough times yet that Penny’s blanket was sent to her by Rhy?
Or that it has seen her through a lot? Or that Rhy has a yarn store right here? (Which I was just looking at and realized that we probably lived, like, 8 minutes apart before I came out here to AZ.) Or that we call it Special Blanket? As in, “Where’s Special Blanket? She needs Special Blanket.”
Anyway, all of those things.
So. This weekend.
*****
Decided to start the process of getting the dogs interviewed and approved to hang out at Camp Bow Wow.
Guess who apparently was not impressed with our plans?
Well, too bad, Sheldon, because you are going to the freaking camp and YOU WILL PLAY, because any weekend that sees me shrieking at the top of my lungs,
“STOP IT STOP IT STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT YOU GUYS HAVE GOTTEN SO RUDE I SWEAR I AM GOING TO CALL CESAR MILAN AND YOU ARE GOING TO GET WHISPERED YOU ARE GOING TO GET WHISPERED SO FUCKING HARD.“
is pretty much a come to Jesus moment about the dogs and their need for exercise or at least TIME AWAY FROM ME.
*****
Packed up to scale Everest.
I KID. Obviously. Because, HA.
That’s all the stuff we packed to take Penny to her first movie – Harry Potter at the drive in!
She clearly loved it, as you can tell. Do we count that as her first movie, or is her first “official” movie one where we take a small yet conscious child to sit in a seat for an hour and a half and shush her through a stupid movie we don’t even want to see in the first place?
Not important. What’s important? I loved it. It went so fast, though, didn’t it? I mean, I know there was a lot to cover in the last book, but man. It just blew by. Like any other fan, I would have been pleased as all hell for them to go into all kinds of crazy detail and gone to part 3, part 4, part one jillion. Seriously, I could happily watch Harry Potter for as long as they want to draw it out. Except, they aren’t drawing it out. So. It’s over.
BUT, back to the movie. Snape, you guys. Right? RIGHT?
*****
This is where Penny finally woke up, I went and got her, fed her, changed her, dressed her, put her in her baby chair, went to the kitchen, stood in front of the stove where a diet soda cake is hanging out, and ate some cake with a fork right out of the pan.
Like you’ve never.
Don’t worry, I’m cancelling it out with some frozen grapes.
That reminds me, though, of my first real experience with the SO SO SO SO SO HUNGRY phase of pregnancy, when one morning, AFTER I ate a granola bar and a banana, and WHILE my waffle was in the toaster, I stood in front of the same stove, where some brownies were hanging out, and ate some. By fist. I was so frantically, panic-ly hungry that I ate brownies by the fistful during the seemingly unending Eggo toasting process.
I don’t have pregnancy as an excuse right now, but I do have a serious case of don’t feel like getting a plate.
******
I did not buy another adorable pirate-themed fitted diaper this weekend.
But I did get the one I bought last weekend in the mail.
*****
Penny learned to stick out her tongue and hasn’t stopped since, which is adorable, until you are the one returning her pacifier to her mouth every 5 minutes between 10pm and 2am.
In case it wasn’t clear, I am the one. I am the one who is returning the pacifier to her mouth every 5 minutes between 10pm and 2am.
*****
Lastly, the toilet paper argument was once again rehashed.
The toilet paper issue, you see, is two-fold.
First, we can’t seem to agree who is at fault for the fact that we go through nearly an entire roll of toilet paper per day.
“Maybe if you didn’t need to roll a 3 inch thick catcher’s mitt of toilet paper around your hand every time you used the bathroom, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“First, I don’t make a poo-mitt. Second, YOU PEE FIFTY TIMES A DAY.”
Second, we can’t agree on when it is time to change the roll. I’m here alone, and I keep the toilet paper supply at an adequate level for my anticipated needs. Even if that means just leaving one or two rotations of paper on the roll until my next visit. (WHICH IS SO NOT FIFTY TIMES A DAY.) Phil doesn’t like this, though. He thinks that I should ANTICIPATE that he might arrive home sometime between the last time I went and the next time I’ll go. Therefore, since he MIGHT arrive, toilet paper levels should be keep adequate for HIS NEEDS at all times.
This has lead to a lot of him coming home, grabbing PC Gamer, heading into his lair, and huffing back out mere moments later to glower at me as he grabs a fresh roll. I inevitably bellow back at him, “THERE IS PLENTY OF TOILET PAPER IN THERE.”
I know what you’re thinking. Men and women have different toilet paper needs (Phil did not, at first, know that even if a diaper is only wet, areas must still be wiped down well, though who would really expect him to), and I should maybe go ahead and change the roll if there are only a few inches left, even if those few inches are adequate for me. You’re siding with Phil.
Except, no. Because this is what PHIL considers to be an inadequate amount of toilet paper left on the roll, necessitating a roll change as soon as I become aware, by all of the lights and sirens, that we have reached DEF CON LEVEL toilet paper emergency situations:
DOES THIS LOOK LIKE AN EMERGENCY TO YOU?
Anyway, we’ve made no progress on this argument since the last time I told you about it over a year ago, so there’s really no reason for me to include it here, except that I feel like you guys deserve updates on things you’ve taken the time to read. Just a service I like to provide.
So, to sum up:
Update – Phil still ridiculous about toilet paper.
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, cloth diapers, daily BS, Penny, shameless consumerism, TJ + Phil | 51 Comments »
Tuesday, July 12th, 2011
You know what’s the worst? When you have a dream where someone you know dies. I don’t necessarily mean a dream where some ridiculous chain of events that could only take place in a dream lead to someone dying, but like one of those dreams where someone says to you, “Steve died,” or you go to Steve’s funeral or something like that. I’m saying something like a realistic death, one that could happen in real life, and it’s one of those dreams where you wake up and have to take a second to sort out what was real and what was a dream.
Here’s why it’s the worst – because even if in your WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE you have never exhibited anything even slightly resembling a super power or special skill, you will suddenly become convinced that you have ESP or some kind of predictive power or the ability to make things HAPPEN.
So you have this dream and you wake up, and you (okay, me) are convinced – just CONVINCED – that one of three things is now true.
1. The person died for real and you were made aware of it in a dream. Because you have magical brain powers that let you know what’s happening on the other side of the country.
2. The person is ABOUT TO DIE and you can see the future. So you know it’s coming. And there’s nothing you can do. Because you suddenly developed a way to see the future by, I don’t know, standing too close to the microwave?
3. The person is about to die and it will be YOUR FAULT because you DREAMED IT INTO LIFE. Way to go.
Yeah. Those dreams are just the freaking worst.
*****
Can I show you some Etsy shops I found lately that I like? My PayPal account is empty at the moment, and I try to restrict certain kinds of purchases to PayPal funds only, because it’s basically pretend money, so I’m perfectly okay being a little frivolous with it. Because it’s pretend. Never mind that I usually get paid through PayPal and that money represents hours of work on some of the most mind-numbing things possible (in a boring way, or in a self-protective way, because I was once asked to write an article for a company and instructed to use a certain keyword repeatedly and I had to numb my brain to be able to do it with any sense of professionalism and seriousness. That keyword phrase was “the ropes.” I can’t bring myself to explain further than that. I wrote about “the ropes.” And then considered the money I earned to be “pretend.”)
Moving on, my PayPal account is empty of pretend funds at the moment, largely because of purchases like this:
Yes, it’s a pirate diaper, but I already TOLD YOU – pretend money.
Just because my PayPal account is empty, though, doesn’t mean I can’t encourage/enable you to spend some money on Etsy. And also to remind you that my birthday is in December. And I’m going to be 30. So it’s kind of a big deal.
First? This shop called seworiginal. I’m not super girly myself – I don’t mean that in the way that women say when they’re telling you how much better they get along with guys because they’re not the typical girl oh my god, we all started seeing through that shit by the end of high school – but I’m girly enough. I like to wear make up. I enjoy wearing pretty clothes. I am mostly lazy, though, and enjoy casual bum looks. However, I am ALL ABOUT girling up Penny. I always prefer to put her in a dress or something extra frilly. And this shop? FULL OF DRESSES.
(picture from seworiginal)
This dress is even CALLED the PENELOPE DRESS.
There’s a couple of different dress styles, all in different patterns. I could make Penny an entire wardrobe of Penelope dresses. Or, you know, you could make one for your kid.
Or? Or? How about some throw pillows? For your nerd house? You can get some at Craftsquatch.
CAN YOU STAND IT?
I’ve actually just found myself in the market for some throw pillows, because get this – I hate my couch SO GODDAMN HARD that I am throwing it away and replacing it with my bed.
Not me and Phil’s bed. I have my own bed. Not that I sleep in, but that belongs to me, because I existed before I moved in with Phil. It’s in the guest room, which is actually Penny’s room now. I need the bed gone so it can be Penny’s room, and I need the couch gone because it can go RIGHT TO HELL, so. Win-win. Bed-couch. Whatever. I’m putting my bed in the living room, don’t sit on it if it bothers you so damn much.
I know I first heard of this one through Miss Zoot’s blog – EvieTees. I can’t even pick a favorite to show you, but you should look at these things:
- I was going to make a list here, but found myself listing EVERYTHING IN THE STORE. Seriously. Next time I have some pretend money, I’m buying myself something from that store, which is SAYING SOMETHING, because I hardly ever buy myself things. I just carry them around stores for a while and eventually talk myself out of buying them. This is probably why I still own and wear t-shirts I got at Goodwill in the 10th grade and items that proudly proclaim me to be a member of the Class of 2000. If I didn’t, I’d be naked. Phil was blown away the first time we went to Carter’s and I marched to the counter with an armload of clothes for Penny, because I NEVER ACTUALLY BUY anything. But I will. From this shop.
It’s so funny to go back through my Etsy favorites. Mostly baby stuff, then a ton of wedding stuff, then a ton of super cute stuff I never bought back before I was even with Phil, back when I thought I was the type of person who could actually pull off adorable clothes and home decor, not the type of person in an “I EAT NOOBS” hoodie who is about to put a bed in her living room.
*****
There was going to be another thing here, but Sheldon jumped the fence (SEE? TOLD YOU HE DOES THAT.) and I had to get him from the neighbor’s yard and I’m wearing an “I EAT NOOBS” hoodie because it’s 68 degrees in here but it’s over 100 out there.
Even though I was about to say something unbelievably touching, insightful and brilliant, something that would stick with you all day and well into the rest of the week, something you’d find yourself reflecting on over and over throughout your life, long after you’ve stopped reading this blog because you’re just fucking sick of me, I’m too sweaty and pissed off and covered in leash burn to deal with it, so here’s a picture of Penny.
And then here’s a bonus picture of Penny, for your trouble:
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, cloth diapers, daily BS, links, Penny | 47 Comments »
Monday, July 11th, 2011
My mom sent Phil a chocolate Chewbacca on a stick for Easter and it’s sitting in a bowl on our kitchen counter.
I’ve been over and over it in my mind, and the only way I can think to demonstrate to Phil just how LONG I’ve refrained from eating HIS chocolate Chewbacca is to eat it and then, when he notices, demand credit for holding out as long as I did. I’m not getting any praise with it just sitting there.
You’re not getting any praise for this outfit, either.
*****
Last night, Penny and I went to bed, as we do, and waited for Phil to join us. It got later and later and eventually I realized that he was going to be REALLY annoyed in the morning if he didn’t come to bed soon, so I went to find him. He was sacked out on half of the couch (because baby stuff takes up the other half), and it took a ridiculous amount of convincing to get him up and moving to bed. He just kept looking at me and going, “I quit!” and falling back asleep. Totally out of it.
He did get up, though, and let the dogs out and came to bed. I said to him, “Did you remember to let the dogs in?” He said he did, just as Brinkley came lumbering into the room. I’m obviously including that detail for a reason.
Three or so hours later, Penny woke up to eat. I got up to go to the bathroom and realized I only stepped over Brinkley. I scanned the rest of the bedroom – no Sheldon. Came out to the living room, hoping he’d be asleep on the love seat – no Sheldon.
At that point, I immediately freaked out, because Sheldon is known to jump our fence and he’s a black dog and it was night time – a combination for awful disaster. I saw that the back light was still on and ran towards the back door. I spotted a big black lump leaning against the sliding door and was so relieved. I opened the door and was hit in the face with the still almost 100 degree heat and let him in. He almost knocked me over getting to the dog water fountain (yes) and completely drained it, then flopped down on his stomach on the floor while I refilled it for him to drain again.
I stormed into the bedroom and starting railing at Phil, because COME ON. You KNOW he escapes. You KNOW it’s hot out there. He was too asleep to respond in a way that I felt was appropriate, though, so I waited until this morning to demand that he apologize to Sheldon and check on him.
Phil says, “It was an accident. Oops.”
And I say, “It was hot! He could have escaped! He was SO THIRSTY.”
Phil says, “He seems fine.”
And I say, “He was almost dehydrated! He could have gotten VERY SICK. Or? Escaped and gotten hit by a car! There was a TERRIBLE thunderstorm after I let him in.”
Phil says, “Accidents happen, and he’s fine.”
I get that he’s fine and I get that accidents happen, and I kind of get that there’s no reason to dwell, but I feel like I need Phil to mull over each and every possible disaster scenario that could have occurred before I can get over the situation.
Kind of like how when I’m showering, I think about being negligent in my soap removal and then accidentally not drying my soapy arms well and picking up Penny and she slips right out of my slippery arms. I feel like these things need to be acknowledged. As stuff that COULD HAVE HAPPENED.
Basically, Phil is not fretting over things that didn’t happen enough for my comfort.
This is awful! I hate this! Pick me up, you assholes!
*****
I can always tell when my mom has made her once weekly visit to Facebook by the two page list of notifications alerting me to the fact that she has “liked” everything I’ve posted in the last 7 days. Except for the status updates that contain foul language, and a complete refusal to acknowledge any captions on pictures of Penny that contain the F-bomb or the asshole-bomb.
Example: Picture of Penny, captioned: “I hate you, get the fuck out of my face!”
My mom’s comment: She looks so happy! She must be looking at her mama!
She also comments on old status updates, which is especially funny in the case of my brother, who would post something like, “Tired” during his college finals. There’d be a little back and forth between his friends in the comments, then three days of nothing, then my mom posts, “Why?”
It’s weird, because my mom has a completely fine grasp of technology (except for prevention of the ass dial – you have NEVER been pocket dialed as many times as this woman is capable of. If you get a call Saturday morning and hear the inside of my mom’s purse, prepare to spend the next 45 minutes picking up the phone nearly constantly, bellowing, “MOM! MOOOOOOOM! STOOOOOOOP” and hoping she hears the disembodied voice of her child coming from inside of her purse. Things, admittedly, did get a little better when she got a touch screen phone, but mindbogglingly, it STILL HAPPENS reasonably regularly.)
AS I WAS SAYING, she has a completely fine grasp of technology, she just puts her own mom twist on it. Like replying to Facebook statuses as if she’s in a personal conversation with the poster. Or? OR? When I text her pictures of Penny? She calls me to discuss the picture.
******
Penny, right after that whole tummy time business:
Not cool, guys. Not cool.
*****
I wanted to roll a new toon in WoW last weekend, but whenever I try to do it myself, no combination of class and race really appeals to me. While I was feeding Penny, I told Phil to just go ahead and create something for me.
I came back to find a warlock named Lwaxana. Er, no. Delete. I should have known he’d make a warlock, considering he has 75 warlocks himself, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Plus, Lwaxana? No.
He asked for another chance, though, so, fine. I was out of the room for a bit and came back to find myself standing in the human starting area as a paladin named Sumki.
“What the shit is a Sumki?”
“I used Google Translate! I thought you’d get it…”
(Years of Russian come back to me.)
“Sumki? As in, the plural of sumka? Like, purse? Purses?”
“It’s supposed to be bags.”
“… you’re an asshole!“
*****
You know what is a serious boner killer? When you’re in the car and the Proclaimers come on, and you’re listening to I’m Gonna Be, and you think that you and the other person in the car are on the same page.
You think that, at least, until you bellow out the first “DA DA DA!” at the top of your lungs, and he DOES NOT DO the echo back “DA DA DA!”
I swear, nothing has ever made me question my marriage more.
*****
These are your parents, Penny.
Too bad.
Posted in Brinkley + Sheldon, daily BS, Penny, TJ + Phil, Yeah, I play WoW | 37 Comments »
