Nov
5
Nov
4
I make lists. In the Gospel According to Sports Night, this definitely makes me a woman, says Jeremy, as “they are never so happy as when they’re making a little list”. And it’s TRUE. I like a good list.
I make lists of things to do. I make shopping lists. I make wish lists. I would make lists of lists, if it would do any good.
I have issues.
I realized this today, when we went grocery shopping. In our plastic bag-less supermarket society, I go equipped with my cloth bags and my bins, and today, when I went to put my bags and bins on the self checkout, it freaked out. It kept telling me to remove my last item and scan it. Well, I didn’t HAVE a last item. It was then that I looked in a bag, and realized that the machine thought I had bought something because of the weight of the eleventy-seven old lists in the bottom of the bag.
Whoops. That’s a lot of lists.
BDH is also a list maker, although he is not a woman. He makes lists to help keep his chaotic days organized, especially with the meds he has to be sure to take each day. But the difference between us is that he strives to CHECK THINGS OFF his lists, whereas I just make lists to… LIST THINGS, really. He derives a sense of accomplishment from crossing things off, where I find the list-making is satisfying enough for me.
Maybe that’s the difference between men and women. Men like to CROSS THINGS OFF, done, complete. Women find the list-making is enough.
Maybe. Or, it’s quite possible that I am just weird.
At any given time, I have lists on the go. I find lists provide me with a sense of structure in my day. Lists and calendars, to be honest. But what’s a calendar if not a list, really? It’s just organized differently, is all. I have a list of things to do in a week in a book on my bedside table. I have a shopping list on the go on a pad of paper stuck to the fridge with magnets. I have lists of knitting projects I want to do posted online. I have a calendar on the wall with all our events for the month on it, and a list of what’s on the menu for the week beside that. I have a calendar online with this information too that sends me reminders. Somewhere, on computers throughout the house, I have wish lists of things for the house. I have lists that are the bane of my work existence of things to do and messes to be cleaned up and projects that need work.
There are more. I can’t think of them right now. But there are.
See? I need a list of my lists.
But what I really need is something that will read my mind and make a list for me. I spend my day going about my business and a thought will occur to me — SOMETHING I KNOW SHOULD GO ON A LIST! — but I am driving or whatever and can’t just make a list right then and there. “I should do X for Stinkerbelle’s school.” “That would make a great Xmas gift for so-and-so.” “Oh, I should watch that show!” So what I need is something that takes that fleeting thought and sends it to the appropriate list.
Okay, so maybe that’s a little out there. A little futuristic. But really, list makers, wouldn’t it be great to have something that intuitive? Something that can just file things on lists for you so you can deal with them at a more convenient time. Doesn’t that sound like heaven for a list maker like me?
Maybe in the future. Some computer geek somewhere needs to put that on his “to do” list.
Nov
3
So, I have posted in the past about how Stinkerbelle loves her kitty Duncan, and how they are OMG BEST FRIENDS 4EVAH. In the beginning, it was about how Duncan had decided Stinkerbelle was His Baby, and would sleep outside her bedroom door (which he still does) and, occasionally, steal her toys.
Then, the tables turned, and suddenly That Girl was All. About. Her Kitty. She would call him, and follow him everywhere, and play with him. And, occasionally, steal his toys.
Well, they are best buddies, and that’s a fact. Well, except the other night, when he snuck into her room when we were checking up on her, and got stuck in there for a few hours, and then jumped up on her bed to sleep. And she was all WAKE ME AT YOUR PERIL YOU FELINE BASTARD.
So friendship has its limits. But the boundaries can be, if you pardon the pun, fuzzy.
This morning, Stinkerbelle and I were preparing to head out for a quick trip to the store. Yesterday, she began to sneeze and cough and by nighttime, her cold was full blown. So last night, when I put her to bed, I filled her humidifier reservoir and put it on for the night.
It’s the first time we’d used it this year, and, like everything involving water in this city, it died a slow, gunked-up death. The mineral buildup from our very tasty yet crazy hard water caused it to leak during the night, and so we binned it this morning. So we needed a new one.
Anyway, we were getting our gear on to go out to the store this morning, shoes and coats and such, and Duncan came by. He climbed up on a step to watch. And Stinkerbelle called out to him, “Bye, Duncan”.
And then she walked over and began hugging him. “BYE, DUNCAN! BYYYYYYEEEE!”
He was very tolerant, for a cat. He sat there with a look of mild disdain on his face, fur all fuzzed up backwards where she was hugging on him, eyes slightly bulging from the squeezing, as she called out her goodbyes. “Bye Dunc! See you later! Byeeee! Drive safe!”
Nobody knew what was coming next, least of all Duncan.
For Stinkerbelle, in her love for her bestest kitty friend, grabbed him about the head and neck, and PLANTED A KISS on him. RIGHT SMACK ON THE LIPS.
He sat there, stunned, for a moment, with a look of OH MY DOG WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED on his face. And then, he shook himself and ran off, with wild eyes. “NOOO! NO! BAD TOUCH! BAD TOUCH!!!”
It was like one of those moments in Peanuts, where Snoopy kisses Lucy, and she’s all “AAAAUUUGH DOG GERMS! GET THE DISINFECTANT!” If he could have spit and sputtered, he would have done.
And I have to tell you? I DIED. I laughed so hard I could not breathe. I CRIED from the laughing.
Stinkerbelle giggled and then carried on about her business.
Duncan, however, sat in the middle of the playroom floor, staring off into space. Looking stunned and slightly traumatized.
And somewhere in the house, Lucy and Cinnamon, who have endured YEARS of his chasing them and harassing them and his general being a weenie boy cat-ness… somewhere, they are LAUGHING THEIR FUZZY ASSES OFF.
Nov
2
So, remember how I said, like, LAST WEEK even, that I am overextending myself by planning and scheduling ALL THE THINGS?
Yeah. Me too.
Well, I was online this morning, minding my own business, when somebody on Teh Interwebs put forth a challenge. It’s called NaBloPoMo, which is not an acronym for something rude, as you might be thinking, me being… well, ME. Nor is it some sort of fusion cuisine, to go along with my plans to blog about food with the Insane Cooking Posse.
It stands for National Blog Posting Month. It’s a spin on NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, in which writerly types more dedicated than myself try to write a novel in a month. OH MY GOD WHO HAS THE ENERGY OR THE TIME. Instead, those of us with blogs try to post every day for the month of November, as a way to liven up a stagnant blog, or reinvigorate a flagging will to post, or simply as a way to challenge oneself and stretch those writing muscles.
Anyway. The challenge was put forth. And before my head got in gear my fingers were posting I’M IN TOO SO HELP ME DOG. Starting with yesterday’s post.
What am I, nuts? It’s not like I’m not already running around like some screwball 50s housewife, taking on waaaay more than I can rightfully accomplish and then just failing miserably. But I keep adding these things on, until the end of the show comes and like Lucy I am standing in the middle of some incredible mess bawling my eyes out WAAAAAHHHHH and you hear BDH hollering from off-camera CINNAMON YOU GOT SOME SPLAININ TO DO.
So that’ll be nice.
But here’s the thing. Sometimes, you need to challenge yourself in ways that are good for you. YOU. (I mean me. The royal “you”. Okay, I just made that up. But you know what I mean.) And writing, although people out there in Internetsland read it, is one of those things. It’s like a little bit of exercise for a little bit of creative muscle amid the running around and the cooking and the hollering HEY DON’T LICK THAT and the laundry and being the potty monitor.
So I’ll give it a try.
Don’t expect War and Peace every day. You won’t even get War one day and Peace the next. Likely what you’ll get is more of the same cursing, inane rambling, and waving my fist in futile anger at the universe. Probably towards the end of the month, a lot of foul language in regards to snow.
So, business as usual, then. With a more frantic tone as I begin to get frazzled. And probably more pictures when I get really desperate and OH MY DOG WHAT THE EVERLOVING HELL AM I GOING TO WRITE TODAY. Ish.
So. You can choose to change the channel until December. You can read along with great patience.
Or… YOU CAN JOIN ME. Be the Ethel Mertz to my Lucy.
How bad can it be? It’s November. It’s cold and crappy and dark. You got something better to do?
Nov
1
I HAVE A CHOCOLATE HANGOVER. Is that possible? It must be possible. Because after the adventure that was Halloween 2011, I have a headache and could sleep for a couple more Halloweens, thankyouverymuch.
- And You Wonder Where They Get It From: Last Wednesday, Stinkerbelle’s preschool teachers made sure to let us know that, as far as school was concerned, Halloween was just going to be a normal school day. They would not be observing the holiday in any way. Which is fine by me, and if it’s their policy then so be it. Most parents marked the day with orange and black clothes, Stinkerbelle included (wearing her “Mommy’s Little Monster” t-shirt.) So imagine my ABSOLUTE LACK OF SURPRISE to show up with Stinkerbelle at school yesterday morning and find AT LEAST THREE children decked out in full costume. We had the satan-child Ryna, OF COURSE dressed as a princess. We had Mr. And Mrs. “I Drive A Chevy Subdivision So I Can Take Up As Many Parking Spots As I Like” Douchebag with their evil spawn dressed up in the other classroom. And we had a little Superhero and his oblivious Mama, who not only dressed up her child but sent him in with a box full of treats, which because of food allergies is expressly forbidden in the school handbook. I fear for the future, I really do.
- Like Carnival, Only With Less Nudity and More Parkas: Our street was completely MENTAL last night. In a good way. People went all out to get ready and celebrate Halloween. As much as I complain about my neighbours and my little corner of Suburbiaville, we DO know how to mark a holiday. We had houses with light shows and sound effects, and yards made up like graveyards or covered in cobwebs. Decorations were everywhere. We had one house that made their porch and garage into a HAUNTED HOUSE. It was fantastic. And the street was thronging with parents and kids, having a fantastic time. Stinkerbelle went out trick or treating with Daddy, dressed as quite possibly the cutest monkey in existence, and they had a wonderful time. I think everyone did. We had 180 kids come through the door between 6:00 and about 7:45, when we shut the lights off, and the vast majority of them were happy and said “trick or treat” and remembered to say “thank you”. Well, except the awkward 10-13 year-old boys, but that’s pretty par for the course for that age. And a few douchebag teens who didn’t bother to dress up and just thrust a bag at you and expected freebies. But otherwise, it was great! Towards the end, BDH actually went back out with the camera to take pictures of some of the wonderful decorations.
- We Are The Champions… My Friends… (11 Years Running): One of the things I love best about Halloween is how the university and college kids go out and do Trick or Eat, the fabulous collection for local food banks. I LOVE THIS IDEA. I think it is a GREAT way to share the holiday and gear up the food banks for winter. I spent all day yesterday online telling anyone and everyone who would listen about Trick or Eat. But it’s hard not to get excited about it — we have such great kids in town (yeah, I know I complain about them, too) that, for the ten years previously, we have been the national leaders in this food drive. And although the final numbers are not in yet, it looks like we rocked the cans AGAIN! We had three great kids come out last night, and they were SO grateful for whatever we could give them, I even gave them some candy for the road. And they were really chuffed to get that, too. So all in all, a good night.
- What Goes Up Must Come Down: Stinkerbelle was SO SO SO SO excited about trick or treating, and had so much fun, that when it came time to come in from the adventure, she began to cry. So, since we still had things to do, and she was too wound up to sleep, I told her she could help me give out candy to the other kids. WELL NOW. You would NOT know which was more exciting, the receiving or the giving of candy, based on the SHRIEKS OF EXCITEMENT and rushing to the door each time the doorbell rang. She sat on a little stool and begged “MORE KIDS MOMMY PWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE!” as we waited for the next kids to come, and then she would RUN to the door to hand out candy to the usually older, usually cooing and OMGSHEISSOOOOOOCUTE-ing trick or treaters. She didn’t always get the candy in the kids’ bags, necessarily, but she sure was awfully cute while doing so. But once we shut up shop for the night, she crashed into bed, HARD. And slept without moving until 1 am, when both Mom and Dad were awakened by That Girl’s nightmares. She had a hysterical crying jag for a couple of minutes, until we could fully wake her, but then she had a little drink and some yogurt and went happily back to sleep again.
- Okay, BUT. The Creepiness Ended, Like, 12 Hours Ago: So, this morning, chocolate hangover and all, I got up early to ride the bike. And, around 20 to 7, I came upstairs and was in the foyer. And I noticed, in the still-mostly-dark, someone was IN OUR FRONT YARD. Close to the house. Like, almost-standing-in-my-garden close. And I watch him out there, hunched over like he’s lost a contact in the grass, for maybe 5 minutes. I realize, oh, he has a dog with him… probably what has happened is the dog has pooped in the yard and, in the dark, he’s trying to stoop and scoop. Well, it’s awfully close to the house, I think, but maybe the dog got loose or something. So, fine. After another five minutes or so he leaves. So, I happen to mention it in passing to BDH. And, as it transpires, this is NOT THE FIRST TIME THIS GUY’S BEEN IN OUR YARD. BDH has seen him, too, only late at night. So what it looks like now is that this guy is bringing his dog out for a walk to POOP IN OUR YARD. In the sense that, this is not your normal dog walk, with dog pooping on the boulevard and peeing on signposts and stuff. No, he has to make an EFFORT, to COME UP TO THE HOUSE for his dog to poop there. It’s WEIRD. And now, if you will pardon the pun, I am PISSED. Now, I have to wait in the mornings to catch him in the act and confront him. Which is not My Best Thing, and certainly not in the morning before a bucket or two of coffee.
- Not So Secret “Secret Chocolate”: So, the festivities have ended, but we still have a stash of chocolate. It is on a shelf in BDH’s Man Cave, and we have christened it “Secret Chocolate”, after the “Secret Toast” of Nanny McPhee. In that one always begs to have some, and it is not really as secret as the title would lead one to believe. Anyway, we still have some. And I can still hear its Siren Call. And this means, the chocolate hangover may persist for awhile yet. Oh well, since I’m feeling bad anyway… hair of the dog, and all that…
