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.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Random Tuesday thoughts
Last week when I wrote about the “corners and edges,” people seemed confused. Well, ok, they were confused. What happened is that my officemates and I were talking about holding a meeting on a Wednesday night. One woman said, “Oh no, I can’t. My husband and I do the centers that night.” Everyone looked at her like she was a freak so she explained that when they vacuum, they do the middle of the rugs midweek and save the corners and edges for Sundays. Everyone still looked at her like she was a freak, but she didn’t mind. Normally I’d applaud that; in this case, not so much.
Chuck’s best friend’s brother is getting married. He borrowed our camera at Junior’s first birthday party and took this picture:
I’m thinking of making it into a card for his fiancée that reads: Congratulations on your engagement / Looks like your wedding night’s gonna be a big, fat disappointment. But maybe she already knows that.
We’ve been feeding our obese cat less and he’s pissed. At 5:30 a.m. he runs up and down the stairs making a noise that’s something between a meow and “I hate you!” One of these days Chuck’s going to come home to find that cat mounted on the wall.
Junior ate a sandwich by himself. I don't know why this seems like such a milestone, but it felt like I was watching a real, little person accomplish a grown-up task. There wasn't a line in his baby book for "ate first sandwich" so I'm documenting it here. Thank God.
I forgot about springtime gnats. They're right up there with Celine Dion and Kathy Lee Gifford.
That hippie chick hasn't called me. It's probably better this way. I forgot to mention that her kid was wrapped up in a wool blanket, and I don't hang with people who wear wool. I prefer people who put mini carrots in their pants and who have strategical plans for maintaining their area rugs. Snap!
(Keely, I actually waited until Tuesday this week. Does this mean we're un-broken up?)