I don't get it. What's with these sissy flowers that bloom then go away for the rest of the season? Hasn't anyone heard the motto: Form with Function? (I'll give you a tee-shirt, I've got some extras). Peonies smell good, but what other than that? They droop because their blooms are so large, they attrack ants like a melted popsicle on a hot sidewalk, and they bloom once, leaving the rest of the summer colorless.
I'm irritated.
And the peonies, well, they're really getting on my nerves!
Obviously there's been too much pulp in my juices and I've re-awakened my digestive system which only has one thing to say: FEED ME. Ahhhhhh. Hitting my head on a brick wall is starting to seem like a good idea; anything to take my mind of off the "f" word; the word I lust after and would just about do anything for: food. F. O. O. D.
The fresh strawberries on the kitchen counter are driving me nuts. I've still got my eye on that sandwich wrap and Garibaldi's calls to me like a lover in the night.
Did I mention that I'm rather irritable today? Sometimes I'd really like a free pass to be irresponsible. Why do I have to be so darn driven? I've tried to be more irresponsible, I just can't do it. I wouldn't say it's harder than not eating for 8 stinkin' days, but it just...just rubbed me the wrong way.
Stupid peonies. All bloomed out in the backyard, looking so happy and healthy and...fed. Like they're not even hungry.
Well, it's true folks, the flesh is fickle and I'm a perfect example right now. Miss Family Values would like nothing more than to smash something in a fit of rage. Feed me. Or to light something on fire and watch it burn. Feed me. Or to run something over with my big ol' 'Burb....wait, that's kinda gross, nevermind.
Speaking of gross and being run over, there was this huge water snake in the Costco parking lot today, which someone ran over. I took the kids over to see it as it was trying to find a hiding place in the shrubbery. It ws the largest and longest water snake I've ever seen. I'm not good at guestimating, but it was at least a yard long. Probably a yard and a half, possibly 2? And it was a fatty, too.
Just so some little prissy city girl didn't have a heart attack on the spot and wet her pants in the process, I told the person at the front door (the card checker, ya know--ohh, ahh, what an exciting job) about the snake. Hopefully someone did something humane to it....like, took it out for lunch and knit it a sweater. (Can you tell I'm not much for PETA?)
Can you tell I'm just a tad bit irritated? And I think I've got a boil. Big, red, painful. Remind me, why am I doing this again?
Yesterday was such a breeze. Infact (which is, of course, two words and not one), yesterday I spent almost 7 hours in the kitchen. I made like 8 pizzas (that was a lot of dough), a chocolate trifle, manicotti, stuffed shells, spaghetti, snacks for the growing number of children that populate my house and then, of course, dinner. Can I say that the fresh corn on the cob made me salivate like one of Pavlov's dogs?
And then there's today. Maybe I can look at the bright side of something. Like....like...like the scale says I'm down 11 pounds. Of course that's not really something to celebrate, though, becuase at least 3-4 pounds of that is simply water weight and the rest is body fat, which, if I'm not careful when I eat again will come back in double time.
Well, my little friend Dell hasn't been feeling well. It was quite the rumble just to get him to turn on for me. I need to back up all my files before I start losing things--better start with the pictures.
Time to go change the sprinkler and hunt for some more weeds. Then there's the laundry and the gerneral maintenance. Same ol' same ol'. I could really use a vacation....I don't really care where. Just somewhere.
Over and out.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Loving to Hate
What's with this little weenie laptop? Where's my lovely friend Dell? Oh, wait look, this one is a Dell, too. But it's a twinki Dell, feels funny to type on, rather awkward and tiny.
Anyway, I have found a new relationship to be in, and, yes, it's a love-hate relationship. I have found a new love of an old friend, but I'm hating not being able to love this old friend. Yes, I'm loving the fact that I now fit my size 10 jeans, but I'm hating the fact that I haven't eaten anything in 6 days. I love the thought of my body being able to heal and clean itself up, but I hate the fact that I haven't eaten in 6 days. I love the fact that if I don't give up, I'll just keep losing the fat and the toxins,BUT I hate the fact that I haven't eaten in 6 days. I love the fact that Wal-Mart still sells Lindor truffles, sweet, beautiful, consouling truffles (no, licking the packaging doesn't count as eating, so I'm in the clear on that one), but I HATE THE FACT that I haven't eaten in 6 STINKIN' days (if it wasn't unlady-like to swear, I would let out a long, sailor-styled line of obsenities at this point!). I love to hate my new life at this current place and time.
It's rather odd, I find comfort being in the kitchen, making meals and freezing them, baking bread and fruit breads (banana bread never smelled so sweet!), cookies, granola. I can do all that and not miss a beat, but you wanna talk about making dinner? That's another story. It's like Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde. Pleasant Little Suburban House Wife turns into Psycho Carrie, ready to unload on any little person that says, "Mommy, I need....". It's bizarre. Obviously, I love my dinner. Between 4 and 6PM are my weakest moments. Before then and after, I'm truckin' along, singing the Dori song, "Just keep swimmin'! Just keep swimmin'!"
I'm having Garibaldi's withdrawls. Chips, salsa. OH, if I could only have an affair with their salsa, mmmmmm.... And what about my Chile Colorado? Or my beloved Burrito Jalisco? Or my picadillo chimi and tamale combo!! Oh, the pain! Oh, the longing! Oh, the drama!
Let's think about something else, shall we....like...like....umm...thank you, stomache, for reminding me at this precise moment how lonely you are. Let's think about...monkies. Monkies are cute...when they're plastic. Ears, tail, little lips and mouth, fingers. Smelly. Ancestors. (hahaha) No, monkies is not cutting it here, let's think about something else.
Mountains. Ahh, now there's something good to think about. Purple mountains majesty. Fresh air. Scenery. Birds singing. Soft breeze swaing the Indian Paint Brush. Divine.
Homesteading. I'd like to do it. I'd get me a goat to milk, a pig to slaughter, and a cow to slaughter, too. I'd start a small orchard; apples, plums, pears. I'd start me a garden; veggies galore! I'd start me an herb garden and perfect the art of making tinctures. I'd plant so much basil I could swim in it! I'd plant my own wheat, grind my own flour and make my own pasta. I'd have a berry patch. Black berries and red raspberries; I'd just walk outdoors and have me some breakfast. I'd plant me some melons. Oh, lucious watermelon! I'd plant me some flowers; daisies, Black-eyed Susan's, hollyhocks. No roses allowed! Grapes. I'd start me some grape vines. Honeysuckle! I'd put it outside my bedroom window. I'd come to town for toilet paper, and that's about it. (No, I'd skip the outhouse, just incase you were wondering. I'm not THAT in to homesteading!)
Okay, that's looking like enough gibberish for tonight. Let's hope I can make it through another day of fasting tomorrow. I was hoping to go 30 days. Maybe even 40. At 40 days, though, I'd being weighing in around 120 pounds--I'd look like a Hollocost survivor! At 30 days, I should be around 130...I was a size 6 at 135 pounds, so I'll be pretty stinkin' skinny at 30 days, too. I'm not even going to think about the next 22 days--I'm just going to try to make it through tomorrow!
Oh, my beloved sandwich wrap, bacon, lettuce, tomoato, avacado, red onion, triple meats, all rolled up in a beauty of a wrap; I shall dream of you tonight. (Or should I say lust about?) Come visit me in my dreams and leave me sweet kisses in my belly.....
OK, I'm losing my cookies.....mmmmm...cookies. I'd better go before I salivate all over this pathetic excuse for a Dell.
Anyway, I have found a new relationship to be in, and, yes, it's a love-hate relationship. I have found a new love of an old friend, but I'm hating not being able to love this old friend. Yes, I'm loving the fact that I now fit my size 10 jeans, but I'm hating the fact that I haven't eaten anything in 6 days. I love the thought of my body being able to heal and clean itself up, but I hate the fact that I haven't eaten in 6 days. I love the fact that if I don't give up, I'll just keep losing the fat and the toxins,BUT I hate the fact that I haven't eaten in 6 days. I love the fact that Wal-Mart still sells Lindor truffles, sweet, beautiful, consouling truffles (no, licking the packaging doesn't count as eating, so I'm in the clear on that one), but I HATE THE FACT that I haven't eaten in 6 STINKIN' days (if it wasn't unlady-like to swear, I would let out a long, sailor-styled line of obsenities at this point!). I love to hate my new life at this current place and time.
It's rather odd, I find comfort being in the kitchen, making meals and freezing them, baking bread and fruit breads (banana bread never smelled so sweet!), cookies, granola. I can do all that and not miss a beat, but you wanna talk about making dinner? That's another story. It's like Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde. Pleasant Little Suburban House Wife turns into Psycho Carrie, ready to unload on any little person that says, "Mommy, I need....". It's bizarre. Obviously, I love my dinner. Between 4 and 6PM are my weakest moments. Before then and after, I'm truckin' along, singing the Dori song, "Just keep swimmin'! Just keep swimmin'!"
I'm having Garibaldi's withdrawls. Chips, salsa. OH, if I could only have an affair with their salsa, mmmmmm.... And what about my Chile Colorado? Or my beloved Burrito Jalisco? Or my picadillo chimi and tamale combo!! Oh, the pain! Oh, the longing! Oh, the drama!
Let's think about something else, shall we....like...like....umm...thank you, stomache, for reminding me at this precise moment how lonely you are. Let's think about...monkies. Monkies are cute...when they're plastic. Ears, tail, little lips and mouth, fingers. Smelly. Ancestors. (hahaha) No, monkies is not cutting it here, let's think about something else.
Mountains. Ahh, now there's something good to think about. Purple mountains majesty. Fresh air. Scenery. Birds singing. Soft breeze swaing the Indian Paint Brush. Divine.
Homesteading. I'd like to do it. I'd get me a goat to milk, a pig to slaughter, and a cow to slaughter, too. I'd start a small orchard; apples, plums, pears. I'd start me a garden; veggies galore! I'd start me an herb garden and perfect the art of making tinctures. I'd plant so much basil I could swim in it! I'd plant my own wheat, grind my own flour and make my own pasta. I'd have a berry patch. Black berries and red raspberries; I'd just walk outdoors and have me some breakfast. I'd plant me some melons. Oh, lucious watermelon! I'd plant me some flowers; daisies, Black-eyed Susan's, hollyhocks. No roses allowed! Grapes. I'd start me some grape vines. Honeysuckle! I'd put it outside my bedroom window. I'd come to town for toilet paper, and that's about it. (No, I'd skip the outhouse, just incase you were wondering. I'm not THAT in to homesteading!)
Okay, that's looking like enough gibberish for tonight. Let's hope I can make it through another day of fasting tomorrow. I was hoping to go 30 days. Maybe even 40. At 40 days, though, I'd being weighing in around 120 pounds--I'd look like a Hollocost survivor! At 30 days, I should be around 130...I was a size 6 at 135 pounds, so I'll be pretty stinkin' skinny at 30 days, too. I'm not even going to think about the next 22 days--I'm just going to try to make it through tomorrow!
Oh, my beloved sandwich wrap, bacon, lettuce, tomoato, avacado, red onion, triple meats, all rolled up in a beauty of a wrap; I shall dream of you tonight. (Or should I say lust about?) Come visit me in my dreams and leave me sweet kisses in my belly.....
OK, I'm losing my cookies.....mmmmm...cookies. I'd better go before I salivate all over this pathetic excuse for a Dell.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
That's Pathetic!
Okay, so what type of person writes in their blog about their computer? "My little Dell...." Face it, people, that's just sad. Or brilliant. Or psychotic.....let's go with brilliant.
Just designed a new quilt, can't wait to see it come to life. What am I, some old granny stuck in a 20-something body (haven't hit 30 yet, trying hard to avoid it!) I cook, I sew, I quilt, I take care of my lawn and plant flowers. I think the only difference between me and ol' Grandma Loyal down the street is that I have better vision and two good hips.
I've been thinking: dance lessons. How fun would that be? Maybe I've got too many shows of Dancing With the Stars stuck in my brain, or perhaps my inner self was tamed too much when I had to take ballet as a child, instead of swing or clogging. But then, the practical side of me says, "Where on earth would I use my aquired danceing?" Not at Costco, the gas station, or the City Park--unless I want to get called for disturbing the peace. I'm not much for the night life, so really, am I gonna Salsa in the library or Waltz through WinCo? But still, it'd be fun.
I think it's time to forage the kitchen for something to fill my tummy. Yes, when you spend lots of time around small children, your vocabulary starts to change. Instead of stomach, it's tummy. Instead of scrathces, it's boo-boo's. Very practical parts of one's anatomy are no longer the same, once labeled by a 2 year old. I'll spare you the details on that one and let your imagination run wild; hopefully you have one to do so.
Now, where's that short order cook I ordered???
Just designed a new quilt, can't wait to see it come to life. What am I, some old granny stuck in a 20-something body (haven't hit 30 yet, trying hard to avoid it!) I cook, I sew, I quilt, I take care of my lawn and plant flowers. I think the only difference between me and ol' Grandma Loyal down the street is that I have better vision and two good hips.
I've been thinking: dance lessons. How fun would that be? Maybe I've got too many shows of Dancing With the Stars stuck in my brain, or perhaps my inner self was tamed too much when I had to take ballet as a child, instead of swing or clogging. But then, the practical side of me says, "Where on earth would I use my aquired danceing?" Not at Costco, the gas station, or the City Park--unless I want to get called for disturbing the peace. I'm not much for the night life, so really, am I gonna Salsa in the library or Waltz through WinCo? But still, it'd be fun.
I think it's time to forage the kitchen for something to fill my tummy. Yes, when you spend lots of time around small children, your vocabulary starts to change. Instead of stomach, it's tummy. Instead of scrathces, it's boo-boo's. Very practical parts of one's anatomy are no longer the same, once labeled by a 2 year old. I'll spare you the details on that one and let your imagination run wild; hopefully you have one to do so.
Now, where's that short order cook I ordered???
Monday, May 14, 2007
Dell, A Friend Indeed
Oh, what would I do without you, my precious little Dell? How will I ever cope once your tired fan burns up and I must sit, lonely, until you are repaired? You've been used, abused, spilled on, picked on, lost your keys, had them glued back on, sat on, dropped, and yet, you faithful little Dell, you still turn on for me.
Is it wrong to name one's computer? Just incase it is, I shall call my little friend Dell, since that is, of course, the name on this sleek, oversized screened, piece of fabulous equipment...for some reason, that reminds me of people sewing their name on their underware. Which brings me to the thought, just where does that little joke come from? Did someone, somewhere really do that? Which begs the question: why?
When I worked at the retirement/rest home, there were several folks there who did have names on their underware, so that when they were laundered, there was no doubt to whom the owner was. Perhaps if I reproduce several more times, labeling ones underware may be the way to go. I'll keep you posted.
Well, I got the chance to use my MP3 player today, what a joy that was. Finally, good mucisc all the time, no radio commercials, no fuzz. I still haven't figured out how to put those little ear phones into my ears. Either I have small ear holes or I'm just not talented enough to figure out the mystery of it all. A picture really would have helped, ya know.
Hubby's not home again tonight and I'm rahter ready to go postal on a certain child that knows just how to make my blood boil. Which she is, of course, doing right now. So much for parent of the year award.
On that flat note, let's wrap this up and do some surfing. Juice fasting. How's that for exciting? I think I'm going to give it a whirl. I'll do a couple days and see where I want to take it from there, or, at least, that's my half-baked plan. The last time I fasted for 4 days my temperature dropped to 94 degrees. I'll have to keep track and see what happens this time. Yes, that's me, the overgrown guinee pig doing yet another experiment on myslef. That's my life, just one big science experiment (I have learned not to put cinnamon oil under my tongue lest I feel like my body is on fire, and that even aprons marked "non-flammable" can burn if you hold a lighter on them for long enough...what was my grade in chemistry...a C?? I learned lots of things, just not what the teacher was teaching.).
Good night, Little Dell, how consoling you are. My precious, friendly, little Dell.
Is it wrong to name one's computer? Just incase it is, I shall call my little friend Dell, since that is, of course, the name on this sleek, oversized screened, piece of fabulous equipment...for some reason, that reminds me of people sewing their name on their underware. Which brings me to the thought, just where does that little joke come from? Did someone, somewhere really do that? Which begs the question: why?
When I worked at the retirement/rest home, there were several folks there who did have names on their underware, so that when they were laundered, there was no doubt to whom the owner was. Perhaps if I reproduce several more times, labeling ones underware may be the way to go. I'll keep you posted.
Well, I got the chance to use my MP3 player today, what a joy that was. Finally, good mucisc all the time, no radio commercials, no fuzz. I still haven't figured out how to put those little ear phones into my ears. Either I have small ear holes or I'm just not talented enough to figure out the mystery of it all. A picture really would have helped, ya know.
Hubby's not home again tonight and I'm rahter ready to go postal on a certain child that knows just how to make my blood boil. Which she is, of course, doing right now. So much for parent of the year award.
On that flat note, let's wrap this up and do some surfing. Juice fasting. How's that for exciting? I think I'm going to give it a whirl. I'll do a couple days and see where I want to take it from there, or, at least, that's my half-baked plan. The last time I fasted for 4 days my temperature dropped to 94 degrees. I'll have to keep track and see what happens this time. Yes, that's me, the overgrown guinee pig doing yet another experiment on myslef. That's my life, just one big science experiment (I have learned not to put cinnamon oil under my tongue lest I feel like my body is on fire, and that even aprons marked "non-flammable" can burn if you hold a lighter on them for long enough...what was my grade in chemistry...a C?? I learned lots of things, just not what the teacher was teaching.).
Good night, Little Dell, how consoling you are. My precious, friendly, little Dell.
Stomach Acid and Pink Bathrobes
Yes, I own a pink bathrobe, and yes, I wear it. Infact, (which technically is not one word, but two) I am wearing said bathrobe right now while typing. Infact (which again, is technically two words, not one), I have just eaten half a dozen chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies while wearing said pink bathrobe while filling out reviews at Allrecipes.com. Infact (I'm not going to let the technicality of the word "infact" --which is technically two words and not one--bother me anymore; it is Monday, you know, and I do have certain rights!!), I have done very little today except flush my daughter's stomach acid down the toilet, water the tree, and talk on the phone while folding laundry; all while wearing said pink bathrobe.
I never really understood bathrobes in the first place. I mean, why not use a towel and save yourself the pain of having an extra hook for a robe? There is no shame in wearing pajamas without a robe, and if you can just wear your birthday suit and feel comfortable walking around, more power to ya (I find it rather breezy myself)...unless your a pediphile or someone who's got a few screws loose, then, well, that's rather disturbing to walk around in your birthday suit, so you may want to purchase a bathrobe.
What was I saying?
Oh yes, today is Monday and I had quite forgotten that I started a blog, until I ran across myself on the internet and remembered "Oh, yes, I started a blog." So, I decided to post on my blog spot and couldn't quite figure out how to log on (of course, this is after half a dozen cookies, a glass of milk, and cleaning up vomit while wearing my pink bathrobe). But, alas, here I find myself writing gibberish with unusually cold fingers and feeling rather dizzy from the rush of sugar that I've just ingested while wearing this rather lovely, soft pink bathrobe.
I'm not much of a time waster, so I find it rather peculiar that I am typing into cyberspace with no point other than me, myself, I, am wearing a pink bathrobe...and who really cares about that anyway? It must be the cookies. Or the vodka. Of course, I didn't have any vodka, so it must be the cookies.
I find it rather hard to give myself downtime, as there is always more work to be done and just sitting and doing nothing is but a tragic use of minutes lost that I can never retreive. Of course, physics has proven that time is not linear, but indeed more circular, so perhaps the past of my past is not lost completely. Either way, wasted minutes are not the best use of a limited number of minutes.
I got am MP3 player for Mother's Day, preloaded with my favorite 3 CD's. I didn't get the chance to go running yesterday, it was so very windy, and then there was the fact that I woke up at 3AM and was ready to pass out at lunchtime. And today, I am so very tired and filled up on cookies. Perhaps I'll dig out the bathing suit and find a comfortable patch in the backyard to go soak up some sun. I have almost turned a darker shade of white, much to my surprise. My brother gets the brains (which tan well), my sister gets the looks (which tan well) and what do I get but a pink bathrobe and a sarcastic sense of humor?
What was I saying?
I'm feeling rather sleepy now, but the laundry has claimed the bed, so perhaps I might trade in the pink bathrobe for something more suitable, say, snorkeling gear, and start my day, now that it is nearly 1PM. What is that? Did I say it's nearly 1PM? Why yes, I did! How fortunate for me! It's nearly nap time. Oh, I am suddenly finding myself giddy with half-formed joy. Perhaps I can actually get up from my chair with the high hopes of finding a warm place to nap. Of course, that would mean that I would need to leave the warmth of the laptop....hmmm....I'll have to think about this one.
Well, that was a glorious waste of time, sitting here, doing nothing in my pink, rose splahsed bathrobe. Ahh, Monday's, what could be better...well, I can think of lots of things that could be better, but let's not focus on that right now.
I never really understood bathrobes in the first place. I mean, why not use a towel and save yourself the pain of having an extra hook for a robe? There is no shame in wearing pajamas without a robe, and if you can just wear your birthday suit and feel comfortable walking around, more power to ya (I find it rather breezy myself)...unless your a pediphile or someone who's got a few screws loose, then, well, that's rather disturbing to walk around in your birthday suit, so you may want to purchase a bathrobe.
What was I saying?
Oh yes, today is Monday and I had quite forgotten that I started a blog, until I ran across myself on the internet and remembered "Oh, yes, I started a blog." So, I decided to post on my blog spot and couldn't quite figure out how to log on (of course, this is after half a dozen cookies, a glass of milk, and cleaning up vomit while wearing my pink bathrobe). But, alas, here I find myself writing gibberish with unusually cold fingers and feeling rather dizzy from the rush of sugar that I've just ingested while wearing this rather lovely, soft pink bathrobe.
I'm not much of a time waster, so I find it rather peculiar that I am typing into cyberspace with no point other than me, myself, I, am wearing a pink bathrobe...and who really cares about that anyway? It must be the cookies. Or the vodka. Of course, I didn't have any vodka, so it must be the cookies.
I find it rather hard to give myself downtime, as there is always more work to be done and just sitting and doing nothing is but a tragic use of minutes lost that I can never retreive. Of course, physics has proven that time is not linear, but indeed more circular, so perhaps the past of my past is not lost completely. Either way, wasted minutes are not the best use of a limited number of minutes.
I got am MP3 player for Mother's Day, preloaded with my favorite 3 CD's. I didn't get the chance to go running yesterday, it was so very windy, and then there was the fact that I woke up at 3AM and was ready to pass out at lunchtime. And today, I am so very tired and filled up on cookies. Perhaps I'll dig out the bathing suit and find a comfortable patch in the backyard to go soak up some sun. I have almost turned a darker shade of white, much to my surprise. My brother gets the brains (which tan well), my sister gets the looks (which tan well) and what do I get but a pink bathrobe and a sarcastic sense of humor?
What was I saying?
I'm feeling rather sleepy now, but the laundry has claimed the bed, so perhaps I might trade in the pink bathrobe for something more suitable, say, snorkeling gear, and start my day, now that it is nearly 1PM. What is that? Did I say it's nearly 1PM? Why yes, I did! How fortunate for me! It's nearly nap time. Oh, I am suddenly finding myself giddy with half-formed joy. Perhaps I can actually get up from my chair with the high hopes of finding a warm place to nap. Of course, that would mean that I would need to leave the warmth of the laptop....hmmm....I'll have to think about this one.
Well, that was a glorious waste of time, sitting here, doing nothing in my pink, rose splahsed bathrobe. Ahh, Monday's, what could be better...well, I can think of lots of things that could be better, but let's not focus on that right now.
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