About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Random Tuesday thoughts
Why does Junior only get sick on days that Chuck has doctor's appointments or family deaths? Chuck's at the gastroenterologist's right now and I'm home from work tending to profuse puke. And why does Junior like to puke in Chuck's slippers? No sooner had the wonderful customer service woman from LL Bean patiently explained how to clean vomit off sheepskin then Junior upchucked into them all over again.
Speaking of puke, why did Chuck have to take his brother out to celebrate his 21st birthday in my car? Of course he puked. The only thing worse than driving to work in a freezing cold car that reeks of puke is driving to work in a warm car that reeks of puke. For this reason alone I am hoping the weather stays in the low 30s.
Why can't people listen? The man across the street who was laid off months before Chuck keeps shoveling our walkway then asking for money. I told him if we wanted him to shovel we'd ask him. He suggested I leave a note in the window that reads "yes" or "no" instead. I agreed, but in the dark crevices of my mind I thought of other things I'd like to leave on that note. Something like "we're poor too, dipshit."
My hot flame from second grade who found me on Facebook finally posted a picture. It appears that his hotness also peaked in elementary school.
Why does Junior take two-hour naps for Chuck and sleep until eight? I think it's a male gene conspiracy.
How is it possible that my boss grows a flaky booger in her right nostril every day at 3 o'clock? I know this because she pops into my office to check in at that time, and when I look up I can see into her nose and there it is! The same shape and size and everything! Can someone explain how this is possible? If someone marries her I hope he'll bring this up nicely.
Why does Chuck tell me, "It looks like you'll be getting that new bathroom you wanted" like he's giving me a present? We have to redo the bathroom and as far as I know, both of our names are on the checking account and my hands will be laying grout or stripping tile or whatever the hell you do to old bathrooms too.
Why am I blogging during Junior's naptime instead of writing "NO" on an index card and taping it to the front window? (Yah, it's snowing again.)
For more randomness, hop over and see the Un Mom, the swearing brainchild of this mental snack.