I spuddle.

I went to Costco yesterday with my parents because they have a membership and I am far far far too cheap to buy my own, and also because shopping with my parents makes me feel young again as though I am too young to be able to shop for real grown up items on my own, which I’m actually not, Costco makes me mad anxious when I go alone.   I never (well, hardly ever) go to Costco anyway because something happens when you go to Costco, if “you” are “me”, that is, and what happens is that your (my) bank account gets drained.   You (me) may say to yourself (myself), “I am going to buy some Pull Ups for The Birdy, a box of frozen chicken pot pies, those really really good cracker/cookie things and something for dinner!”    Then put, say, $50 in your wallet for this purpose.   AND YOU WILL WALK OUT HAVING SPENT $250.   With very little to show for it apart from the diapers, pies and crackers.     WHAT ELSE DID I BUY?   I’m sure you would like to know, as would I, and probably Mr. Spuddle is curious, too.

Well, I bought The Bun this cool science book that he is far far too young for because he was so excited about it that it was impossible to say, “No, I will not spend an extra $10 on an educational opportunity to expand your young horizons!”  (New total:  $60).   Then I bought The Birdy a new dress.   The Birdy is TWO YEARS OLD but man oh man, kid knows what she wants, and in this case, what she wanted was a Laura Ashley spring dress.   I could have said “No”.  Indeed, I DID say “No.”   But that didn’t work out.   It was buy her the dress or let her scream the store down and disallow me from buying all the other things I suddenly wanted/needed to purchase.   Add the dress.   (New total:  $75).

Did I mention that when I woke up yesterday, I reached over to hug The Bun awake and something in my neck went CRUNCH.   I’m not even kidding, it sounded like there was granola in there and a guy with heavy boots who was into that dance style that we like to call stomping, because that is what it’s called.   And CRUNCH.   It was the most painful CRUNCH in the history of all CRUNCHES.   I screamed in pain, which terrified The Bun (but also woke him up, which was good, because we were running late, just like every other morning) and then spent a good ten minutes painfully hoisting myself out of bed while cursing in a child-friendly way under my breath.   The pain was so horrific that by the time I got to Costco, I could only point my head straight forward, except it wasn’t even straight, it was on an angle that I believed was straight but really just made my look like a mystified cocker spaniel.   As a result, it became necessary to purchase a really really big bottle of Tyelenol (new total:  $91).   It’s like shopping for food when you’re hungry.   Don’t do it!

Also, I was hungry.   Add flax bread, Laughing Cow cheese, gallons of grape juice, a lasagne, and a rack of ribs.   Stop at the book table, buy a copy of “Ivy & Bean” because it’s cute.   Mr. Spuddle needs underwear.   Check.   Trail mix is good!   Add that.   And kids need vitamins, right?   Snap.  NEW TOTAL:  $250.   I didn’t even buy yoga pants, which are my normal Costco Impulse Buy.

Le.

Sigh.

Seriously, we’re in trouble with The Birdy.  The girl LOVES her dresses.   She is more passionate about dresses than I am.  On the plus side, I just made $250 selling her outgrown stuff on consignment.   So it’s sort of like her passion for dresses is making me money!   Except not really.   I KNOW.    I’m kidding.

I promised you lumps so I will now make a completely bumpy (ha ha!) transition into the ongoing story of the LUMPZ.   On Thursday, I went in for an ultrasound.   I realize that this will sound demented but when my doctor told me that I had to have an ultrasound I asked neither obvious question:  1.   On what part of my body?  Or 2.  Why?   So no, I do not know what the ultrasound was meant to prove or not prove, but I am diligent in following instructions as though following the instructions will prevent me from getting the thing that we are trying to prove that I do not have by doing seventy-eighteen tests.

The instruction for the ultrasound was ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO EAT OR DRINK PAST MIDNIGHT ON WEDNESDAY UNTIL AFTER THE TEST.   The test was at 11:35.   By 8 am, I was crying because I was so desperate for coffee.   By 9, I was snappish.   By 10, I was downright nasty.   By 11, I was in the car because damn it, maybe if I was early, they would do the thing early and I could go downstairs to Starbucks and gulp down a venti shot of espresso.    I arrived at 11:05.   They were not busy.  In fact, they were not doing anything but leaning on counters talking to each other.   They politely told me to have a seat as though I was a reasonable, coffee-sated person who wanted to sit and read McLean’s magazine from 1989 for 35 minutes.

They proceeded to chat amongst themselves.   THEY COULD HAVE DONE THE TEST!  THEY COULD HAVE!  BUT THEY DID NOT!   By the time I got into the room (11:40), I was in hardly any mood to undertake my usual program of trying to amuse the technician into giving me a better diagnosis, but I was willing to try.    She was not willing to talk.   In fact, she never once looked at my face or addressed me directly.   ALL she said the entire time was, “HOLD YOUR BREATH” and then, about eleventy-hundred seconds later, “Relax.”   “ONE MORE TIME, HOLD YOUR BREATH” – long pause longer than is possible to hold breath for – “relax.”  It would have been boring if it wasn’t so painful and it was painful.   Let me tell you, I have had more than my share of ultrasounds, but these have all been while knocked up.   When you have a baby-related ultrasound, it’s all soft music and warmed gel.   When you have a non-baby related ultrasound, it’s barked orders and ice cold gel squirted on you like bleach cleaner into a toilet.   Then, at the end, she grabbed two of those hospital quality cardboard like brown paper towel things and swabbed at the goo like I was a countertop and she was a sullen, adolescent fast food worker who had just been told his work station was unsanitary.   Then she said, “OK, you go.”   EXCEPT I COULDN’T GO.   Because she was in the way.   The table was up against the wall, the machine was on the other side, and then there was her.  In order to “GO”, I had to crawl up to the end of the table, climb off and clamber over the machine.   Which I did because, damn it, I needed coffee.

And she said NOT ONE SINGLE WORD.

So I don’t know, still, what the ultrasound was for, or what it found because she gave nothing away, no expression of shock and sympathy or even one of outright boredom, just no expression at all.   I’ll find out next week and will advise you right away or some time near then depending on the news and whether it is good or bad.

Then I had coffee.   SO SO SO MUCH COFFEE.   Which gave me heartburn and possibly kidney stones, but did not relieve the GIANT SKULL-CRUSHING HEADACHE.

In my head, that was a much funnier story than it really is because the end of the story is that I’ve now had the headache that the lack of caffeine caused for three days or maybe THIS headache is to do with the neck stomp crunch thing or I don’t know, maybe I’ll just stop typing now.   Why not?   I have other stuff to do!  I am busy!  And important!*

Pass the Tylenol, please.

*Hilarious “Rules” reference which is only funny to me.

Oh, I forgot a bit that I was going to mention about when I was in the waiting room waiting for the lumpz to be investigated, I was reading a book that I brought with me, having exhausted the waiting room’s supply of ONE MAGAZINE.   The book was Maureen Johnson’s The Bermudez Triangle which caused a bunch of controversy because some librarians in schools banned it due to the fact that it has (gasp!) LESBIAN TEENAGERS.   The horror!  The horror!   Only wait, isn’t it 2010?   Are people really BANNING books based on the gay still?   Yes?   I find that really depressing.

Anyway, an old woman came into the waiting room and plopped herself down next to me and struck up a conversation by looking at the book in my hand and gasping, “WHAT A HUGE BOOK!”  I knew that her next question was going to be “What is it about?” and honestly I was pretty geared up for having a conversation about gay teenagers with an elderly woman, but she surprised me by saying, “I READ A BOOK ONCE!”  I don’t know which part of it surprised me most, the way she was shouting right in my face while I was trying to read, or the word ONCE.   So I said, “Oh!”  Which is writer-speak for, “Seriously?  ONCE?  If people like YOU who read ONE BOOK in your ENTIRE LIFE take over the planet, then my job will go the way of the dinosaurs and I will die penniless and alone!”   She went on, “It was 1945!   I was on a cruise on the Panama Canal!  It was a very slow cruise!   Very boring!  So I READ A BOOK!”   She was so happy about it and I was so aghast that what I did was to go back to The Bermudez Triangle without saying anything else but I’m kicking myself, peeps, I am, because I did not ask her what the book was.   I mean, obviously it wasn’t Maureen Johnson and I’m guessing it didn’t have lesbian teens in it, but you never know.   Now I am left wondering, WHAT WAS THE BOOK?   It’s not keeping me up at night, but still, [kicks self]…

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It was kindergarten registration this week which means that I went into a tailspin of angst about what is THE RIGHT THING TO DO.    The Bun is currently in a private school that we can’t really afford long-term and that does full day kindergarten, which we don’t really want, and separates the boys from the girls (which initially I thought was TERRIFIC! and now I think is STUPID!)   Keeping him where he is is not an option and keep in mind that he is FOUR and so the fact that I’m having any sort of angst about it is ridiculous.   I just want him to learn to read.   I’m going to teach him myself, so actually the whole school thing is moot, except of course it isn’t moot at all.

To make a long story even longer than necessary, I’ll tell you that we are in the catchment for a French school, which is fine.   Be French.   I don’t care.   I, personally, have no skill for languages AT ALL and am not really interested in exposing The Bun to a language that he will be required to speak if and when he travels to France or Quebec, but that isn’t really spoken anywhere relevant to his life.   Likely he will now grow up to be an ardent francophile and will resent me bitterly for my choice, but there you have it.   I’ll just come right out and say it:  I HATED FRENCH IN SCHOOL.    I really did.   I ALSO think that school should not be stressful when you are, you know, FIVE.   But!  I can easily be talked into anything and as more and more people opined on the French track vs. English track, I started to be unsure.   Then I began to wobble a bit back into the idea of French.

Then I thought, SCREW IT, I’M HOMESCHOOLING!

Then I thought, HA HA HA HA HA.   NO, I AM NOT.

So I lined up for registration, only I was later than I wanted to be and as it turned out, was too late for French registration anyway, the line was huge and the library was thick with frantic parents filling out forms maniacally to get their kid the coveted French spot.   I was relieved to have chosen English and also not relieved, as The Birdy started screaming and scaling the shelves like a kidnapped spider monkey up the walls of his cage.   The Bun lay down on the floor and I didn’t have a pen and MAN OH MAN, IT WAS SO STRESSFUL.

But now it’s over.   I did it.   English.   DECISION MADE.   I am still second-guessing my choice.   Oh, self-doubt.   You are so sweet, if by “sweet”, I mean “annoying, and stop it already.”

In any event, I wrote this post this morning with the intention of telling you about this thing that happened there in the library of the school during registration that made me indignant and then I got distracted and forgot why I started the story.  It’s things like this that make me realize that I am as batty as a …well, a bat.   Is that an expression?  As batty as a _____?   If so, fill in the blank.

So there we were, in the overcrowded library, lined up with forms and I had the spider monkey dangling from my hair and was dragging the lying down one along somewhere near my knees and I was dying to get out of there and also massively late for everything because of waiting in the library and this man suddenly leaped to the front of the line, waving his papers in the air and he said… I’m not even making this up because even I could not come up with something so implausible… he said, “SORRY, LADIES OF OAK BAY.   EXCUSE ME.   SORRY LADIES.   BUT IS THERE A SPECIAL LINE UP FOR THOSE OF US WHO HAVE REAL JOBS WE HAVE TO GET TO?”   There was this complete silence and no one said what they were thinking, mostly because what they were thinking was not polite enough language to use in a primary school library where there were all those short tables and tiny chairs.   I mean, what *I* was thinking was not appropriate to scream in the face of this obnoxious creep around the tiny chairs.   Or my tiny children for that matter.   But seriously, the h-e-double-hockey-sticks?  Because we were predominantly women, we were obviously unemployed?   I mean, right after that, I rushed home and donned my apron and whipped up a batch of cookies, a pot roast, and a few martinis for my MAN.   Or did I?   No, I didn’t.   What I DID was take the kids to where they needed to go and then WORKED.    You know, just like a man.

1950 called, they want their chauvinism back.   If they call again, tell them I think I know JUST the guy for them.

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I was drinking last night when I watched this, I’ll admit it up front.   I’m kind of a one-glass-of-wine-then-I-get-dizzy-and-have-to-lie-down person, at least I am lately, so the fact I had TWO glasses of wine last night may affect my ability to be completely objective about this episode.   Also, I have a wicked bad headache this morning and am mainlining coffee.   WHO IS THE LIFE OF THE PARTY NOW?   Read more »

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People hit this site for all sorts of reasons, most having to do with how Wes is a douchebag and Jake is vertically challenged.   Seriously, the most frequent hit on this site for a while as “How much does Jillian Harris weigh?” You are truly my peeps, because you love to hate The Bachelor franchise as much as I do and yet also wouldn’t miss an episode or at least a churlish recap, and also need more information than is strictly necessary.    

Or maybe you like to see clothes that I want.  I have no idea.

But other people hit this site completely by accident.  Like the person who innocently sat down at their computer and typed:

DO VAMPIRE’S GET ALZHEIMERS?

I know you weren’t asking me, but it did bring you to my website and frankly who is better equipped to answer this pressing query than me?

Answer:  Everybody.   I didn’t even FINISH Twilight.   I just flat out didn’t like it.

But that won’t stop me.   But before I answer, I’d like to point out that the apostrophe errors  in your question are really annoying.   WHY oh why do people put apostrophes in where they don’t belong?   I can understand accidentally missing one (sort of), but putting in extra ones is one of the most profound mysteries of our times.   I’m going to pitch a show to the Discovery Channel called, “THE EXTRA APOSTROPHE” where we will explore if it’s a genetic problem or just that no one paid attention in school and is overcompensating by just randomly strewing apostrophes around in the hopes of appearing to be smarter than they actually are.  

Memo to Apostrophe Abusers:   It isn’t working.    Stop it already.

But back to your question.   The answer is …

YES.

Of course vampires can get Alzheimer’s.   Vampires are just people with dirty hair who have been bitten by other vampires and then get all THIRSTY FOR BLOOD and sullen and glittery in the sunlight, right?    If they are people, which I think we can agree that they are, then they are just as susceptible to degenerative brain diseases as the rest of us.   I’d say that they were at particularly high risk for Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, too, which is just mad cow with a fancier name, because aren’t they always running around farmers’ fields slurping the life out of innocent bovines?   Vampires are not immune!   So if you know a vampire who is starting to show signs of Alzheimer’s then I think you should talk to their doctor.   And FYI, just forgetting a lot isn’t really a sign, it’s more like if they forget how to get home to their crypt after a long day of blood sucking.    Or if they forget HOW, exactly, you are supposed to extract the blood from the victim.    More warning signs are here.    

Now excuse me, because I’m going to be over in the corner panicking for a while as I’m pretty sure I have every single one of those symptoms RIGHT NOW.   And I’m not even a vampire.

Filed under: Answers To Questions You Didn't Actually Ask | No Comments »

Oh my gosh!  They are leaving the mansion!  And never going back!  Instead they are going to take a roadtrip in RVs!   And they have to pretend to be thrilled about this!  And they aren’t!   But they put on their game faces, our girls, and pretend that DANG IT, they are so excited.   Especially Ella.  Because she’s from Tennessee.  I do not see how this relates to going on a roadtrip in RVs that resemble the tour buses of rock stars, but whatevs.   I like Ella and I’m pretty sure she’s going home this episode, not just because I watched it last night and I know she goes home.

I’m finding virtually everyone on this show loathsome this season, which means that it took me FOUR HOURS to watch this episode because I had to keep stopping it so that I could take a check on my sanity.     Then I realized that it’s not possible for someone insane to really KNOW they are insane because they probably aren’t the best judge of themselves, so I gave up and lay on the couch for a while and watched my Twitter count dropping, then I re-read some bad news emails and felt sorry for myself.  Then I ate half a box of Reese peanut butter cookies.   They were good.

After a bunch of nastiness between Ali/Tenley and Vienna,  the giant behemoths crawled up the coast.   Jake sensibly rode a motorbike, followed in the air by choppers and on the road by camera trucks in front of him and behind.   Boy, that must have felt like he was all alone in the world just drinking up the sights!   I’m surprised he didn’t fly because, you know, he’s a pilot and … yeah, whatever.  I know.

They arrive at a vineyard and Jake is doing a good (if by “good”, I mean “poor”) job of pretending to pitch a tent that has already been put in place by the crew.   He insists on continuing with the bullshit of “I’ve planned so many fun things for the girls!” which makes me want to stab someone with a fork.   We do not for one second believe that Sanford or whatever that winery was didn’t pay a million dollars to be the pitstop on this leg of the race.   He “planned” it, just like he “plans” the rest of this show, which is to say he sits around grinning dumbly while waiting for his line.  I’m really REALLY finding him dislikeable, I think it’s because of what he says and does and how he says and does it.   Or maybe I’m just kind of mean.

First date:  Gia.   I actually sort of like Gia in spite of the fact that when we first met her, she applied enough tongue to the word “Manhattan” to make me feel like I’d accidentally dialled up the Playboy channel.   She actually seems nice enough (although the whole “I want to have two kids and then adopt one from China” just sat wrong with me in a way that I can’t pinpoint, or can I?  Is it because she made it sound like she was going to pick up a rescue dog at the SPCA?)  and I do believe that she was bullied as all get out in school and that makes me like her better because I prefer the people who were bullied (Gia) to the bullies (Ali).   For some reason, her story prompts Jake to spurt out an incredibly inane anecdote about how he was called Mr. Dateless in the 9th grade.   Er.   Um.   Well.   OK, I have to say it.   Did ANYONE date in the 9th grade?   Really?  I mean, I can remember there was always a couple or two who would hold hands at recess, but dating?   I highly doubt that all Jake’s peers were dating up a storm and mocking him for not doing it.    And “Mr. Dateless”?    I don’t buy it.   No 14 year old in the world is going to call some other kid “Mr. Dateless”.    I call bullshit.    I guess he was trying to make Gia feel like he was in the same boat:  her shoes and bag were stolen and she was bullied to the point where her parents took her out of school.   And he didn’t date and his friends called him “Mr. Dateless” (which they did NOT), and so that’s the same.   EXCEPT IT IS NOT.   What an idiot.    In spite of that, they seemed to get along well enough to make out for long enough for me to make some tea to wash down all those cookies, so that was fine.   Go Gia!  If he’s really what you want, then I’m rooting for you, but frankly, you could do better and besides, I already know that Vienna wins.

Back to the cathouse, I mean the RV, the remaining girls are sitting around looking bored and cold and uncomfortable and for some reason howling like banshees.   Whatever floats your boat.   Oh!  I forgot what I was going to say before and that was earlier in the show when they found there was going to be a two-person date, Ali VOLUNTEERED TO GO with Vienna because she “knew” that she’d come back and she’d “take one for the team”.   WTF?   There is no team, kid.   It’s a dating show, not a team event.   Besides which, you WOULDN’T come back.   I really really really dislike Ali.   In case you haven’t noticed.   Then I started to hate Tenley because she looked at Ali, mouth agape, and whispered, “Oh, THANK you” like Ali had just unselfishly donated her heart to science.

Anyway, somehow we get dragged up the coast to the dunes and there is a group date in which there is dune buggy riding and Jake makes a real point of rolling around in the sand with the girls like the good actor that he is (”Look like you’re having fun!”) (”Pretend the bruises don’t hurt!”) and not actually ever talking to any of them.   The most painfully awkward moment on this show — across all seasons — is a scene where he and Ashleigh sit awkwardly on top of each other in a hotel room (we are treated to a view of each different “theme suite” — in an inn where CELEBRITIES go! — obviously Jake’s idea and not part of the sponsorship deal struck with ABC) and can think of NOTHING to say to each other.   Off camera, Ashleigh tells us how uncomfortable it is that some girls are very physical with Jake and then proceeds to rub him with her hands and feet until I felt a goodly portion of my skin actually crawl off my body and leave the room.  Bye Ashleigh.   I can only assume his one on one time with Jessie and whatshername was equally awkward because we didn’t even get to see it.    He gives the rose to Tenley because he’s really probed her innermost thoughts, i.e. he’s asked if she’s over her ex and she’s said “yes” so obviously she’s ready to marry him or at least sleep with him on the overnight shows.

Yawn.   I don’t know what it IS about this episode but by the halfway point I was feeling incredibly irritable and punchy, sort of like I’d been stuck in an elevator with someone boring and malodorous for my entire lunch break and forced to eat my own leg for nutrition.

Let’s summarize:  Two on one date.   (AWKWARD.)   Both Ella and Kathryn are sent home.  (PREDICTABLE.)    He even used the same line that whats-his-name used on Stephanie last season (GET YOUR OWN MATERIAL, DUDE), which was some baloney about how because she has a child, he doesn’t want to lead her on and keep her from her son because he (Jake) is really just such an awesomely thoughtful person and besides, he doesn’t want to marry someone who already has a child, he wants to make his own and also maybe get one from China as a spare which he hadn’t thought of until Gia suggested it and now he’s thinking is an A#1 idea because he’d agree to anything that any of these women say because he knows in his real life, he’s “Mr. Dateless” and by the “9th grade”, he meant “up until I was on The Bachelorette”.   For some reason, the departure of Ella and Kathryn (”I didn’t even properly say goodbye!” SOB) meant another group fake-cry where the remaining girls try to out-sincere each other in the I CARE MORE ABOUT THE OTHER GIRLS THAN I DO ABOUT WINNING bullshit that they whole-heartedly sell to the camera.   Honestly, girls, the crying is so utterly ridiculous, it’s practically offensive.    You cannot be upset that there are two less competitors for the one-dimensional heart of your so-called “future husband”.    Christ on a bike, get on over yourselves.

The rose ceremony finally is upon us and he doles out the roses slowly and painfully and sends Jessie home because she actually hadn’t been on the show at all and they just realized there was no need to drag an extra along for the painful ride, and Ashleigh because of the awkward touching and complete lack of ability to make small talk on camera.   Ali The Prom Queen promptly loses her shit because Vienna got a rose and BOY OH BOY is she gonna give Jake what for.   What a sec, Prom Queen!   You actually don’t control everything!  SURPRISE!    I would have actually enjoyed watching her give Jake what for, but she didn’t (of course) instead she just clutched her rose desperately and shot daggers at Vienna and stage-whispered under her breath.    PLAY YOUR OWN GAME, ALI.    Honestly, she’d make a terrible athlete, she’d be storming up and down the field shouting, “THAT PERSON DOESN’T DESERVE TO BE HERE!” and then she’d be clobbered by the other team.   In this scenario, I’m picturing the sport as rugby.   I know I’m becoming my mother when I say this, but it’s true:   Everyone is pretty when they smile.    And for God’s sake, let’s also take from my mother’s wisdom that EVERYONE is ugly when they spend all their time talking smack about someone else wearing a sucked-lemon expression and rolling their eyes.

Which winds it up for this week, and I’m being sincere when I say this was the most boring episode of this show I’ve ever seen and if nothing interesting happens next week, I may just pack it in.

Oh, I jest.   I’ll never stop watching, it’s an ugly addiction.   I … can’t… fight… it.     Maybe there is Bachelor rehab.   I should look into that.

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I know it is not Friday, so stop being such stickler for precision dating.  It’s people like you that make the trains run on time and such forth.   Well, good for you.   Certainly it’s nothing to do with the likes of me, who actually have to look at a calendar to ascertain what month it might be.   (For the record, it is January, although you wouldn’t know it from the cherry blossom tree I saw in full flower just yesterday.)    It is also that precious time of year when JCrew does an extra 30% off clearance clothing (EXTRA30 is the code, FYI).   This sale used to be a lot better than it is now, I’ve noticed lately that the on-line stores that I frequent are getting more stingy with their discounts.   Used to be that you could get stuff for $5.  NOT SO MUCH NOW.   Still!  There are bargains to be had!   And I present to you, my five faves from this year’s selection. Read more »

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This my writerly wisdom for the day:  The first part of writing a book is just a bunch of throwing words at the page and hoping they sprout.   Mostly it’s bad prose and overwrought phrasing and trying on different voices and sometimes it can make you twitch with anxiety because the story is THERE but you can’t get there from where you’ve begun.   Sometimes of course you get it right the very first time and other times it’s version seven — produced after weeks of writing and rewriting — that sings and you can get so excited about it that you immediately reserve fourteen new books at the library, fill and empty your imaginary shopping cart at JCrew twelve times, do the same at anthro, re-imagine the colour scheme of your house’s interior, upload your pictures from the last few days, and write a blog post about writing books because although what you really WANT to be doing is writing your book which is now ready to SING, somehow are stopping yourself by writing some other thing first because you are, at heart, someone who stops themselves for a minute before doing the thing you want most to do.

Mix a bunch of metaphors.   Rinse.   Lather.   Repeat.

Some pictures, which I’m uploading now as I take them instead of just waiting until I’ve edited them to my version of as-good-as-they-can-be, are metaphors for the start or the restart of the book of the moment, and bad metaphors at that.   Here’s the first one:  New beginning!   Get it?

And another one.   Let’s call this one FLOW:

And finally, this one.   I call it Work-In-Progress, even though that makes no sense, because it stretches this metaphor that I’ve been abusing throughout this post to the breaking point.   Snap.

OK, fine, it’s just a fish.    We were at the aquarium yesterday.   It wasn’t really a metaphor, it was just a good way to keep the kids amused and play with the camera at the same time.   Back to work, peeps.

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I’ll admit from the outset that I’ve had a really weird week and weird things have happened, mostly that involve my legs being numb.   I don’t like it when weird things happen to any of my body parts so I may have been distracted and annoyed even before this show began, but at the same time, looking forward to it in the same way that a vicious dog looks forward to the mailman’s arrival so that he can put on a big obnoxious show of ferocity and then go back to sleep.   That was a bad metaphor, right?  NOT AS BAD AS THE METAPHORS ON THIS SHOW.   I mean, seriously.   “Love is a two-way street!”   No, it isn’t, Jake.   It’s a one-way street and hopefully you are travelling in the same vehicle, because if it’s a two way street and you’re both in your own cars and going in different directions than the best you can hope for is some kind of gentle swerve that causes your cars to scrape each other causing thousands in damages but with no real injury.    I’m beginning to wonder if Jake exists, or if he’s a cardboard cutout programmed to spout random cliches that make no sense and do not apply to whatever situation he is actually IN.    But maybe I’m just snarky.   I admit it.

The show opens with a one on one date with Vienna, after a bunch of nonsense about how hard the previous week was.   Was it hard?   It took me a minute to realize that he was referring to Rozlyn screwing the producer while she waited for him to come back to the roof with a rose.   Come on, Jake.  That was hard for exactly no one.   In fact, if it hadn’t happened, the show would have got no ratings at all and you’d be performing this pantomime for an audience of three.    So it was for the best.   Ask ABC. Read more »

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I am going to give you a brief summary of my week.   Why?  Because I can.   I have a blog.   I have a story.    Well, sort of.   I mean, it’s not an actual story because the plot doesn’t move along and there is a whole big fat lot of repetition, which in an actual story one would try to avoid.

Here goes!   Are you excited?

We went to the library.   The Bun had a meltdown.  The Birdy ran away, laughing.

We walked up the street.   The Bun had a meltdown, complete with screaming and tears coursing down his cheeks.   I’m surprised no one called the police.   He was doing an excellent impression of a child being kidnapped.   Hilarious, right?   The Birdy ran away, laughing.

We went into a store to buy milk.   The Bun did not want MILK.   The Bun wanted cheese.  The brick of cheese that The Bun wanted was $15 and the size of his head.   I did NOT want the cheese.   The Bun had a meltdown, complete with threats and fist pounding.   Old ladies suggested that perhaps I was doing a lousy job as a mother and I ought to tell him to stop.    REALLY?   YOU DON’T SAY.   DO YOU NOT HEAR ME, IMPLORING HIM TO STOP?  NO?  REALLY?   The Bun ran away.   The Birdy ran away, too.    In the other direction.    Laughing.

We went home.   I ran away.   Oh, I jest.   I didn’t run away.    I REALLY REALLY WANTED TO RUN AWAY.

We went swimming.   There was no parking.   We were late because the ten minutes in which we could have been early were absorbed by me repeatedly saying, “PLEASE PUT ON YOUR BOOTS” in gradually increasing volume until I just about blacked out.   The pool had fourteen thousand other kids swimming in it.    The Birdy kept sliding under the water and the teacher was too busy to notice.   I had a panic attack.

We quit swimming.

We went to dancing.   The Birdy fell off a chair backwards and cracked her head on the concrete floor.   The Bun had a meltdown because a girl in his class looked at him funny.    I went in to the classroom to rescue The Bun.   The Birdy had a meltdown of epic proportions because she couldn’t see me through the floor to ceiling window.   The Bun ran out of the classroom.   I tried to cajole him to go back in, punctuating my message by accidentally whacking his eye with the door handle.   In my hurry to kiss the black eye better, I slammed the door on The Birdy’s fingers and didn’t notice for long enough that everyone else in the room came sprinting over screaming, “HER HAND IS STUCK IN THE DOOR!”

We went home.

The Bun had a meltdown.   The Birdy had a meltdown.

Rinse.   Lather.   Repeat.

Word of the Week:   AWESOMETASTIC.

Sometimes you have to laugh.   Because if you don’t laugh, then you’ll just walk around crying all the time and people will judge you.   They won’t HELP you.    Trust me.   But they WILL judge.

Here is a picture of The Birdy and The Bun, entirely belying their behaviour of EVERY DAY THIS WEEK.    (I don’t take pictures of the meltdowns.)(Or the shocked, disapproving stares of onlookers.)(But maybe I should.)  Uploading this picture has made me realize that I’m more than six months behind on editing and uploading pictures and that I FORGOT TO TAKE PICTURES ON CHRISTMAS DAY and am now having a massive panic attack, complete with breathing into a paper bag, because when you are me, getting behind means that OMG I WILL NEVER CATCH UP AND WHAT AM I GOING TO DO AND OH NO I NEED TO GET SOME WORK DONE BECAUSE I’VE JUST WASTED HALF AN HOUR LOOKING FOR THIS ONE PICTURE AND HALP HALP HALP SOS I WILL NEVER HAVE FREE TIME FOR MY HOBBIES AGAIN!!!!!  Or, you know, something like that but with more screaming.

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