Random Tuesday thoughts - I'ma leavin'

I don’t have an addictive personality, but I’m having a serious problem kicking the Q-tips. When I get out of the shower I stand in front of the medicine cabinet and daydream about how delicious it would feel to slide that firm little cotton head into my dewy ear canal. I open the medicine cabinet. I close it. I open it. I tell myself that that Q-tip will be the last. It never is.

I need to find a Q-tip support group.

On Thursday, I’m leaving for a mini-vacation with my best friend. I haven’t been away from Junior for more than one night, so this trip is a big deal for me. One might even say it’s caused me embarrassing amounts of guilt and anxiety. It didn’t help that my mother asked me if the trip was the best use of my vacation time since I am already “out of the house so much.” I nicely reminded her that I am taking two days off after my trip so I can spend quality time with Junior—and that I’ll only be gone for three nights. She smiled and told me that enjoying some me time—my first trip in two years!—would be good for me.

Ok, that’s a crock of shit. Chuck said that. My mother shrugged her shoulders and frowned, which made me want to punch her lights out. It also made buying a Mother’s Day card particularly difficult. Hallmark doesn’t exactly make cards that allow you to thank dear mom for inducing unnecessary guilt, being petty and hacking at sensitive issues with an ice pick. Instead I got her a card with some bullshit about how she spreads sunshine wherever she goes.

I hate sunshine.

I thought about asking someone to guest post for me while I’m away but then I thought, maybe the world would like a break from Mrs. Mullet. Actually, that’s a lie. I thought maybe I would like a break from this blog. So I’ll be gone for a few days. If you simply cannot live without me, I’ve got some regurgitated Mulletville posts for you. I chose something completely self-serving in that it makes reference to Chuck’s ample—and 100% guilt- and Junior-free*—romping and my mother’s tendency to be a peckerhead.

* Maybe Chuck is on to something. Maybe we can simultaneously love our children and frolic with friends. Granted, I'll be doing it without the Viking garb, but maybe he is right. (I said maybe, and I’m still going to bust him for the chocolate doughnuts.)

Keely? I'm starting to feel like I owe you money for this.

Random Tuesday thoughts

I’m beginning to loathe the Island of Sodor and Thomas the Train. For one, Thomas has psychological issues. He’s either cross or tooting. I think he needs a mood stabilizer. Second, there’s too much wheeshing and shunting. I try not to snicker when the narrator says “Thomas shunted Gordon home” but I can’t help it. I hope Thomas at least buys Gordon a drink before he shunts him again.

It was so hot at work today (how hot was it?) people started congregating in the bathrooms because that’s where the air conditioning was working. There was talk of a walk-out. Instead everyone just complained and sweated. Forget solar energy: There’s enough pent up anger in Corporate America to run the planet.

I envy people who look sweat-less and composed in warm weather. When I was in high school, our gym class had to run around the track in the spring. My face would turn bright red as soon as we stepped outside. The teacher told me it was because I had a great internal cooling system. I’m still waiting to reap the benefits of my internal greatness.

One of the copier repairmen at work has a crush on me. He calls to check on the printer but begins the conversation by saying, “I was thinking about you.” Yesterday he said he drove by my house and saw Chuck and Junior in the yard; he recognized them because he’s seen their pictures in my office. I swear, if he pulls a Glenn Close on me and boils our fat cat, Mr. Cat, I’m going to be pissed. Even though Mr. Cat leaves tufts of fur on my rugs and attacks his sister when he’s hungry (which is every couple hours), I still love him. Besides, if anyone's going to boil that furball it's going to be me.

We’re having a potluck lunch at work on Friday. The owner of the company wants us all to get to know each other better. I want to send him an email and tell him that through the mutiny exercise in the bathrooms, we’ve already accomplished his goal. I’d also like to suggest that we affix place cards to each potluck item. Truthful place cards. Place cards that read, “I swear to God I did not lick the spoon while making this”, “I may have licked the spoon a little” or “not only did I lick the spoon, my dog did too, and then I scratched my butt and dipped my finger in the batter.” I cannot eat another bite of cornbread without this knowledge.

Thanks Keely. Again. And again. And again.

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?)