katydidnot

because i was distracted. by free tampons that cost $18,000 per semester. it’s like i’ve become george costanza. (if he was like, you know, a chick.)

2009-12-01T21:58:00.001-08:00

I know you’ve been waiting for something to happen. Something big. Because hello November 1st post, what the f are you still doing here?

And now? Something has happened. Something big.

The University of San Diego? Gives away tampons. FOR FREE. And I? Took a photo. (Of course.)

USD just gives away tampons and pads in the ladies' rooms. Isn't this amazing? I have never been anywhere that gives away free tampons. The little slot where you put in the quarter? It has a sign taped over it that says free. Free!

(Where free equals $18,000 per semester.) (Shut up, it still counts.)

And now I have four tampons and two pads in my school bag because I had to test it and see if they really are free.

They are.

Then? (I haven’t told anyone this part yet.) I left the ladies’ room without zipping my jeans. This is the first time this has ever happened to me. What’s worse though is that I left the bathroom and was all hey, these jeans feel loose, I must be losing weight. But the jeans? Not loose as much as not zipped. Because I was distracted. By free tampons that cost $18,000 per semester. It’s like I’ve become George Costanza. (If he was like, you know, a chick.)

But it gets worse. I considered not blogging this, not because it was, like, super dumb, but because I was afraid the USD Free Tampon Program was some sort of pilot project started by some intern in the 90s which was later forgotten about and that if I wrote about it then someone at USD might read this and put an end to the Free Tampon Program as a cost-saving measure. (Please don’t.)

I have class again tomorrow night. In a different building. So I’ll let you know if the USD Free Tampon Program extends to West Campus. And maybe I’ll check the dorms too.

(Also? My dad reads my blog.) (And he has no idea how to make this not be his homepage and if November is any indicator, he’s going to see this exact post every day until 2010.) (Sorry, Dad. Go ahead and gouge your eyeballs out now.)

he didn’t even buy fish food. just the fish. in a bag. which he left in the kitchen sink.

2009-11-01T23:46:00.001-08:00

The Adolescent Boy has some good latch key freedom after school. He rides his bike to and from school, and lets me know where in San Diego he is between the time he gets out of school and the time he has to come home. Usually he goes to his best friend’s house, whose mom is really mean, but pretty much leaves them alone. Sometimes he and his best friend go to the frozen yogurt place. Sometimes they go to Barnes and Noble, where they do something that never includes looking at books. Sometimes they go to the bike shop. One time they went to Petco and bought goldfish.

Apparently they didn’t have enough money for anything else, but goldfish are, like, cheap. So they each bought three. Goldfish. In a bag.

Now understand, we don’t have fish. We didn’t have an aquarium to add the goldfish to, we didn’t have an old fish tank in the garage we could clean up and put the fish in. So really all we had was three goldfish. In a bag. He didn’t even buy fish food. Just the fish. In a bag. Which he left in the kitchen sink.

I pulled some old crappy glass vase out of a cabinet and put the fish in it with water. And then I kept forgetting to go buy fish food. And like, a proper fish bowl. I tried feeding them squashed up bits of oatmeal, but they didn’t really like it.

And then they died.

The Sailor was here for the tail end of the goldfish debacle. So he took the Adolescent Boy out and bought him a big fish tank with lights and a filter and everything. He got a crashed airplane and some rock sculptures and some plants and green and gray gravel for it too. But, like, no fish per se.

He said to set it up and let it run for a few days before putting fish in it. So I set it up. A couple of weeks ago. And we still don’t have any fish to put in it. Which I think? Is totally fine. Because a fish tank without fish? Is perfect. It doesn’t ever. Have. To be. Cleaned.

The kids are all we need to go get fish for the fish tank. And I’m all yeah, no, we’re not doing that. I’ve convinced them that goldfish are unhappy in captivity and that they’re raised on fish farms that don’t treat them humanely and that the constant cleaning of a fish tank when it contains, say, fish? Is bad for the environment.

Booyah. Mom, 1; Little People, 0.

also? he thinks we should drive there. to texas. and not the close part of texas.

2009-10-25T21:36:00.001-07:00

So. The Sailor is from Texas. And he thinks it’s a good idea for us to go to Texas together for Thanksgiving. Which I think is a totally good idea. Except the part where he thinks we should take the kids with us. And he doesn’t just mean the good ones, he means all of them. The Sailor has two kids. I have three. (And one of them is the Second Grader.) (Just saying.) So that’s five kids.

Also? He thinks we should drive there. To Texas. And not the close part of Texas. But the part of Texas that’s actually, like, Louisiana.

This should go really well.

You know how people (me) are like if you kids don’t stop this right this second, I’m going to pull this car over! And then people (me) are all now, if you kids don’t stop that in the next TWO SECONDS I’m going to pull this car over! Well, the Sailor? Actually pulls the car over. I swear. And you know how kids can be extra annoying and irritable and generally suck ass on long car rides? Our kids are extra good at that. (Mine.)

So this should go really well.

He’s pretty sure we can get there in just a couple of days if we split the driving. And you know how I’m a really good driver and mostly things don’t go wrong when I drive. Except when the watermelon bounced out of the truck in front of me and smashed into my car. And when the bear tried to get into my car and dented the roof and cracked the sunroof and tore the back door handle off. And the four-car pile up on the 15 South. And the four-car pile up on the 15 North. And this trip is fifteen hundred and forty-two miles. But it’s only fifteen hundred and thirty-one from the Sailor’s house. So we’ll leave from there. That should help, right?

This should go really well.

Also? I’ll be meeting his parents. As will my kids. (Including the Second Grader.)

So this should go really well. Really. Really. Very. Well.

I’m pretty excited.

where purring means he’s laughing at his funny little hiding from us joke.

2009-10-20T23:27:00.001-07:00

I have a midterm tomorrow.

And they’ve placed this midterm in the middle of a week where I have, like, three kids. Where one of the kids is the Second Grader.

And they’ve placed this midterm in the middle of a week where I have, like, a job. And laundry. And like, three kids.

And they’ve placed this midterm in the middle of a week where these three kids expect me to, like, feed them. And help them with homework. It’s like they think I’m their mother or something.

And they’ve placed this midterm in the middle of a week where the Sailor is like, at sea. And where I’m taking care of the Sailor’s cat. A cat he totally likes. A cat who has decided that it’s totally fun to hide under a bed for an hour every time one of the three kids opens an exterior door. Leading me to believe we’ve lost the cat. Which throws the whole house into lockdown until we locate the cat. Who is hiding. And, like, purring. Where purring means he’s laughing at his funny little hiding from us joke.

Do you see how he’s looking out the window to make me think he’s planning to make a break for it next time the door opens? And then checking to make sure I’m watching? He’s thinks he’s funny.

Bad cat.

So suck it midterm, I have to find a cat.

hello unlimited texting plus bored 9-year-old.

2009-10-15T20:36:00.001-07:00

The Girl stayed home from school yesterday because her knee really, really hurt. So I stayed home with her. Sort of. I ran back and forth between my house and my office all day. Go to a meeting, be a mommy, go to a meeting, be a mommy, go to a mommy, be a meeting. Blah blah blah. Before my first meeting we watched the Today Show together. She loves the Today Show. (I don't know why.)

Featured on the Today Show were these stupidly extravagant Christmas gifts, like a Jaguar and diamond encrusted bra and shit.

And cupcake cars.

I know, right? They're awesome.

The Girl agrees.

For my 10am meeting, I left the Girl at home with her cell phone. Hello unlimited texting plus bored 9-year-old.

The Girl: for Christmas will you get me a electrical vanilla with cherry frosting cupcake car?

The Girl: please say yes!!!!!

The Girl: please txt me back faaaassssttt!

Me: Of course.

The Girl: thanks that’s why I love you so much. I love you.

The Girl: oh by the way they are twenty five thousand dollars each but you already said yes

Me: I know, I will buy you two.

The Girl: 2 that is even awsomer!!!

The Girl: can I have a coke?

Me: no.

The Girl: you should get youthology for you eye wrinkles.

The Girl: can you text me how to make French toast.

The Girl: text me back faaaassssttt! i’m starbing.

The Girl: can I use the markers on the awtaman?

Me: yes

The Girl: thanks! i love you! i miss you!

the second grader: i don’t even have ANY SHOES. AND I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL!

2009-10-12T22:39:00.001-07:00

Me: Wake up.

The Second Grader: I’m not going to school.

Me: Alright. Get up anyway.

The Second Grader: Okay.

Me: Go eat breakfast, Chipmunk. Hurry up.

The Second Grader: I don’t have to. I’m not going to school.

Me: Okay, go eat breakfast anyway.

The Second Grader: Okay.

Me: Get your backpack, we have to go.

The Second Grader: I don’t need a backpack BECAUSE I’M NOT GOING TO SCHOOL!

Me: Okay, just get your backpack anyway.

The Second Grader: OKAY!

Me: Where are your shoes?

The Second Grader: I don’t even have ANY SHOES. AND I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL!

Me: Okay, just get the shoes you used to have.

The Second Grader: FINE!

Me: Let’s go. Get in the car guys.

The Second Grader: I AM NOT GETTING IN THE CAR BECAUSE I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL!

Me: Okay. Just. Ride. To school. With us. Anyway.

The Second Grader: OKAY. But I am not. Getting. Out. Of. The. Car.

Me: Bye. See you after school.

The Second Grader: I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL. I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL. I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL.

Me: Get. Out. Of. This. Car.

The Second Grader: OKAY! BUT I AM DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO SCHOOL TOMORROW.

And then my head exploded. The end.

Is it really bad to flip your child the bird if they don’t see you do it?

i felt worse about the goldfish than i did about missing back to school night.

2009-10-05T23:29:00.001-07:00

What the hell do you mean I have a blog?

I’m sure I’d know if I had a blog. I’d write things on it and shit.

And what the hell is Tom Delay still doing on Dancing with the Stars?

In other news. I need a haircut. And to shave my legs.

I still have children. But they seem to be a lot less interesting than they used to be.

I don’t seem to have time to unload the dishwasher or buy milk, but I have time to play Wii Ping Pong.

The Adolescent Boy went to Petco and bought three goldfish after school one day. This is how he spends his latchkey time.

The goldfish all died.

I felt worse about the goldfish than I did about missing Back to School Night.

That is all.

this post is about 5am. which i can’t really write about as much as i can theorize about.

2009-09-28T22:18:00.001-07:00

What in hell is Tom Delay is doing on Dancing with the Stars?

Do you think Robert Reich will be the next Bachelor?

That’s not what this post is about. This post is about 5am. Which I can’t really write about as much as I can theorize about. Because Jesus, Mary and Joseph how the hell does anyone get up at 5am?

In an effort to save some money on child care I devised this whole plan based on fucking 5am. It went like this:

Get up at 5am everyday. (Except one time when I was catching a flight to Mexico, this has never actually happened.)

Get ready for work and make breakfast for the Little People before they get up. (I have made them breakfast a total of eight times on in their whole lives. Three of these were Christmas morning, one was where I bought Egg McMuffins at McDonalds on the way to the airport for a flight to Mexico, two were when I offered to share my coffee and three were times I made scrambled eggs or pancakes for dinner because Jesus, Mary and Joseph I just cannot remember to defrost chicken.)

Leave for work at 6:30, leaving the completely competent Little People to get themselves up and ready to walk to school. (They are totally incompetent.) (And these are people whose shoes can be on their very own feet and they still cannot find them anywhere.)

Have the Little People walk home from school and spend thirty minutes doing homework without supervision until I get home. (Seriously, this was my actual plan.)

So far, this whole plan is totally working. Except the part where I get up at 5am. I could save $864 per month in after school care if I could get my ass up at 5am. But when my alarm goes off at 5am? I would happily pay someone $864 just to turn it the fuck off.

because that? is all i’ve got [1]. and it is phenomenally, fantastically, fuck-all boring.

2009-09-21T23:11:00.001-07:00

Hi.

So. Unless you want to know some shit about the most boring 37-page paper ever written about the social welfare state, which was written by Ph.D. candidates at UCLA, and was presented at a conference called some shit like The Dead Sea Conference for Third Sector Research into Nothing That Is At All Interesting then you’re in the wrong place.

Because that? Is all I’ve got [1]. And it is phenomenally, fantastically, fuck-all boring.

That said, though, I have found that this interminable 37-page blah blah blah paper to be quite useful for one thing. Before class, I was trying to finish reading it and the Second Grader kept bugging me about shit. He was all I’m hungry, what’s for dinner? And I need help with my homework! And how do you spell Colorado? And I think my whole stomach is really empty of all food, I’m HUNGRY!

(It’s like he thinks I’m his mother or something.)

And I? Could. Not. Fucking. Hear. Myself. Think.

So I starting reading it aloud.

I was all throughout the western democracies there has been a convergence toward a neo-liberal ideology, or what Jessop terms “Schumpeterian workfare postnational regimes.” These are described as increasing reliance on supply side strategies to strengthen the competitiveness of relatively open economies (Hasenfeld, pg 8). [2] [3]

And the Second Grader was all What? The? Heck?

And then he grabbed a Balance Bar out of my purse, put his hands over his ears and walked out of the room.

[1] Since composing this post, there is other news. News which I will tell you. Or which I will bury in the text of my 10-page response/reflection paper to the fuck all boring 37-page paper and post here to see who’s really motivated.

[2] Hasenfeld, Y. & Garrow, E. (March 2007). The welfare state, the non-profit sector and the politics of care. Working draft 3 as presented at the Dead Sea conference for third sector research. Israel.

[3] Look how fucking awesome I am at APA format. (Booyah 2009).

she’s texted me six times from the other end of the couch

2009-09-17T13:14:00.001-07:00

The Girl is in charge of walking the Second Grader home after school and hanging out with him until I get home approximately twenty minutes later. I got her a cell phone for this reason. She texts me every four minutes. Which is awesome. Because her texts? Make me want to scoop her up and carry her around in my purse.

The Girl: i am picking up the second grader bye

The Girl: i picked up the second grader bye

The Girl: we are walking home bye

The Girl: we are home when will you be home how many minutes bye

The Girl: i changed my signature see Giggle

Last night, while I was in class the Little People were home with a babysitter.

The Girl: i took one of you yellow pillows to sleep with cause they don’t hurt my ear don’t respond unless its not ok because i’m going to turn my phone off in a minute Giggle

The Girl: ok i guess its ok i have your yellow pillow if you want it when you get home ok bye Giggle

Then this morning she wasn’t feeling well. I had to go to the office and pick up some things to work on at home, she stayed home while I went to my office.

The Girl: how many minutes will you be gone bye Giggle

The Girl: i changed my signature see Giggles

The Girl: when will you be home i changed my signature again see You Goofball Girl

The Girl: are you coming home soon and you don’t have to if you dont want or need to because i’m fine i dont need you to come home bye You Goofball Girl

And then? I came home. Because are you kidding me?

She’s texted me six times from the other end of the couch. And she’s changed her signature eight times in the last twenty minutes.

and i’m just all jesus christ, is robert reich still going on about this?

2009-09-13T22:41:00.001-07:00

Dude.

Here’s the thing about graduate school. They totally want me to do homework and shit.

They’re all four-page self-reflection on your role in blah blah blah in APA format and further discuss Mr. Reich’s assertion that something something whatever as cited in The Journal on Economic Something or Other.

And I’m just all Jesus Christ, is Robert Reich still going on about this? Can’t he get a gig on the Daily Show or something?

Then they’re all also, please read The Netherlands policy on social welfare which can be found on the Internet but we’re not telling you exactly where and we really mean the one written and published by The Netherlands not some shit someone summarized on Wikipedia and we’re also not telling you if the “the” in The Netherlands should be capitalized but we’ll definitely take off points if you’re wrong.

And I was all you’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this.

Because The Netherlands? Like, the country? They want me to read the social welfare policy of an entire country? And it’s not even some crappy no-welfare country like, the Bahamas or something, but The Netherlands? Are they for real with this?

I thought about going to IKEA for some experiential learning, but then one of my classmates was all that’s Sweden, not The Netherlands. And I was like, details, baby, because have you seen the Vreta Footstool in Mjuk Ivory?

Also? I just checked and the is not capitalized in the Netherlands. But it is capitalized in The Bahamas. Which is awesome. Because of course, I had it the other way. The only one I was right about was that the the in the Daily Show is not capitalized. So that bodes well.

Also? I just Wiki’d The Bahamas, and they aren’t even a fucking country. They’re a commonwealth realm. And a commonwealth realm is different from a country in that a;lsketn ieeru ern a;kcn eialtrwi’wlei.

Fucking school. I’m so screwed.

captain annoying: did you dye your hair?

2009-09-09T17:05:00.001-07:00

You remember the Second Grader’s friend, Captain Annoying, right? Here he becomes ever more annoying.

Captain Annoying: Are you wearing a wig?

Me: No.

Captain Annoying: Did you dye your hair?

Me: Um. Sort of. I highlighted it.

Captain Annoying: Oh. A lot, huh?

Me: Yeah. A lot.

The Second Grader: Do you like it?

Captain Annoying: It’s pretty weird. And it looks like a wig. So that’s good.

it makes it clear, i think, that i might just slip into a coma at any moment, so you shouldn’t bother me.

2009-09-02T00:38:00.001-07:00

When the Sailor was deployed he sent me some awesome sexy lacy silk pajamas. I don’t really know how he did this from the middle of the something something classified gulf of blah blah blah. But he did. When he wasn’t busy with yada yada top secret something or other. The pajamas? Are lovely. Really. But there was this other thing that came with the pajamas that is oh, holy hell, my favorite thing ever.

(Not that.) (Heh.)

The pajamas came with a sleep mask. And I? Love. It. At first, I thought it was just sort of funny, and I’m pretty sure it’s just like, a free gift with the pajamas, that maybe the Sailor didn’t even know came with them. And I just sort of put it away and forgot about because, hello? I’m not Goldie Hawn. Or like, Danielle Steele or something. But the sleep mask? I. Fucking. Love it.

I felt a little bit silly trying it at first. But then?

Oh. Em. Eff. Gee.

It’s like a puppy. For your eyes. Or like chilled cotton candy pillows on your face. But not sticky. Or like, coldish cucumbers on your eyes. That don’t slide off. Or get eaten. You don’t have to do all that extra work to keep your eyes closed when you sleep either. It’s like topical Ambien.

But my favorite thing about it? Is pushing it up on my forehead in the morning and wearing it around the house while I drink my coffee. I really think that my desperate need for coffee is more believable with this prop. It makes it clear, I think, that I might just slip into a coma at any moment, so you shouldn’t bother me.

It also makes me kind of want to eat bon bons though. And wear high-heeled slippers with feathery fuzz on the toes.

because it’s actually good. and he makes things out of like, ingredients.

2009-08-30T22:54:00.001-07:00

The Sailor cooks dinner and I pour the drinks.

This seems like a very Joan Collins in Dynasty kind of role for me, and frankly? I like it.

I really like this whole thing where I can talk about being a good cook, and I can talk about all the things I’m especially good at cooking and I can talk about how I’d be happy to make dinner tonight and yet, I never, ever actually have to cook anything.

So far, I’ve told the Sailor about my awesome spinach lasagna. I’ve hyped my supernatural ability with chocolate chip cookies. I’ve mentioned my world-renowned corn chowder. And I’ve dialogued about my fantastic omelets, but I haven’t actually had to make any of them. And that? Is effing great. Because I’m pretty sure he believes I’m a good cook, but I never actually have to like, cook anything.

And yet? I continue to eat actual food nearly every night, because he just keeps making dinner. The food he cooks is really good too. Like how he gets me really good gifts that I don’t have to figure out how to stain or lose? I don’t have to try to figure out how to swallow dinner without actually chewing it. Because it’s actually good. And he makes things out of like, ingredients.

So I will just continue to be all Joan Collins in Dynasty, and pour the drinks. Except? I don’t think he’s going to let me do that part anymore. Because I keep spilling shit. Just tonight I overflowed his glass when I added the ice to his drink, and the club soda exploded nearly everywhere when I opened it. I also may have spilled a little bit of orange juice tonight, but I don’t think he noticed, so no, I didn’t.

that’s the whole plan. kansas. for the weekend. to shoot prairie dogs.

2009-08-28T23:31:00.001-07:00

Apparently? The Adolescent Boy has gone with my dad to Kansas for the weekend to shoot prairie dogs.

That’s the whole plan. Kansas. For the weekend. To shoot prairie dogs. Which look exactly like beanie babies.

Yes, shoot them. Just, like, totally shoot them dead. With guns, I guess. And my dad? Is pretty sure that this activity is the key to keeping the Adolescent Boy from becoming a liberal at some point in his life. This is the girding on which he is building his defense against pretty much my entire belief system.

And probably? He’s right. Because, come on, if you can shoot one of these guys?

Then I think, you could probably vote for one of these guys.

And this is not a baseless theory. Because look, Sarah Palin has clearly done some prairie dog shooting of her own.

where taking care of things means hello, student loans, i’ve missed you, baby

2009-08-27T15:53:00.001-07:00

I’m starting a master’s program. At a real university. Classes start on Wednesday, freshman move in tomorrow, so I spent the morning taking care of things at school. Where taking care of things means hello, student loans, I’ve missed you, Baby. And school means Jesus, Mary and Joseph I’m old.

The Woman at the Entrance Gate: Hello.

Me: I need to go to financial aid, the bookstore and wherever one goes to get a student ID.

The Woman at the Entrance Gate: Oh, and is your student with you?

Me: Um. Yes. Me. I’m the student.

The Woman at the Information Desk at the Student Center: Hello.

Me: Where does one get a student ID?

The Woman at the Information Desk at the Student Center: Oh, and is your student with you?

Me: Um. Yes, no. My student is me.

The Woman Taking Photos for Student IDs: Hello.

Me: Hi, I need a student ID.

The Woman Taking Photos for Student IDs: Oh, and is your student right here somewhere?

Me: Um. Yeah. Right here…somewhere…let’s see…. Hi there.

The Woman at the Bookstore: Hello.

Me: Hi, can you tell me how to find a book for a particular class?

The Woman at the Bookstore: Certainly. Is your student here with you now?

Me: Um. Yeah, no. It’s just me.

The Woman at the Bookstore: We really prefer to show the students, themselves, how the system works.

Me: Um. Listen, lady, I need a book, and you’re going to tell me how to find the fucker, ‘kay?

I have never, ever felt so exactly almost 37 in my whole life. Assholes.

he’s reading this right now, and he’s probably all whiskey tango foxtrot? and i? am all heh, you are so screwed, baby.

2009-08-24T21:33:00.001-07:00

My birthday is next month. And the Sailor? Heh. Oh, he’s so screwed. He made the mother of all big mistakes. And he? Is sunk.

And? He has no idea. He’s reading this right now, and he’s probably all whiskey tango foxtrot? And I? Am all heh, you are so screwed, Baby.

Here’s the thing. The Sailor? Already gave me a birthday present. On, like, August 21st. And that? Means that my birthday has officially begun. He was probably just all I’ve got a birthday present sitting here, so I’ll just give her an early birthday present. And then? He probably was all nothing, because he has no idea. The Sailor probably thought that he could just give me an early birthday present and that, then? We would just return to our normal programming already in progress. He probably didn’t know that he’d started something.

Something that doesn’t end until September 26th. Or actually, let’s just say we’ll ride this birthday deal all the way through September. So we can be done on September 30th. Or, like, September 34th.

Also? It wasn’t some crappy present where I was like oh, yeah, this is um…super. [Now what in hell am I going to do with this craptastic junk?] It was a good present. A good suede present. A good, suede, fur-lined present. A good suede, fur-lined present with tags written in some awesome Arabic language. Because the Sailor? Bought it in Dubai. Which I imagine? Is like one big Bloomingdale’s.

So not only has he begun the birthday? He’s set the bar high on the birthday. And it’s only just now that he’s figuring out what all this means.

He’s lucky though, because I am a cheap date. The other night we went out to do something and he went somewhere to get something for him. (Don’t worry, these details aren’t important.) And about two hours before he went somewhere to get something? I said something about being all out of gum.

And he? Bought me gum.

And not just any gum either. He bought me the brand of gum I always buy. And? He bought the right flavor. And it’s not like I go on and on about what kind of gum I like, I just buy the blue Trident. The Sailor noticed this at some point. And bought me the right kind of gum. (And very likely knows what flavor the blue kind of Trident is.)

And the right kind of gum? For me, this is nearly as good as suede, fur-lined things with Arabic tags. So he’s lucky. Right? You kind of want to date me now too, don’t you?

The Girl: MAMA CAN HEAR YOU! AND SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER YOU AT ALL!

2009-08-21T14:15:00.001-07:00

My kids are weird. The Girl called me yesterday.

Me: Hello?

The Girl: Hi Mommy! Hehehehe.

The Girl: The First Grader said to tell you that he can’t remember you at all and so he doesn’t want to talk to you. Hehehehehe.

Me: Tell him I said First Grader who?

The Girl: MAMA SAID FIRST GRADER WHO?!? Hehehehe. SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER YOU!

The First Grader [in the background]: SHE DOES SO REMEMBER ME!

The Girl: NO, SHE DOESN’T! SHE SAID FIRST GRADER WHO! Hehehehehe. He said you do so remember him.

Me: I know. I can hear him. Do I need to be here for this?

The First Grader [in the background, half singing, half yelling]: Mommy, Mom, Mama, Mom, Mom, Ma-Mom-Mom, Mommy!

The Girl: He’s going Mommy, Mom, Mama, Mom, Mom, Ma-Mom-Mom, Mommy!

Me: I know. I can hear him.

The Girl: MAMA CAN HEAR YOU! AND SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER YOU AT ALL!

The First Grader [in the background]: SHE DOES SO REMEMBER ME! Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom-Mom-Mom-Ma-Mom, Mommy, Mom.

The Girl: He’s going Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom-Mom-Mom-Ma-Mom, Mommy, Mom.

Me: I know this. Because I can hear him.

The First Grader [In the background]: Let me talk to Mom-Mah-Mom-Mom-Mommy-McMommy-Mom.

The Girl: NO! She doesn’t remember you.

[Tussling noises]

The First Grader: Hi Mom-Mah-Mom-Mom-Mommy-Mommerson. Hahahahahaha!

Me: Who is this?

The First Grader: It’s the First Grader.

Me: The First Grader who?

The First Grader: Knock knock.

The Girl [in the background]: WHO’S THERE?

Me: Oh, Jesus Christ.

and then? at about 5:45? i realized that 1830 isn’t 8:30. it’s 6:30. frick.

2009-08-17T14:58:00.001-07:00

Sunday:

Me: I could make chicken parm or meatball parm tonight. Want me to?

The Sailor: Sure.

Me: Okay. What time?

The Sailor: 1830.

Me: Okay.

And then? At about 5:45? I realized that 1830 isn’t 8:30. It’s 6:30. Frick.

And then? I texted him from the grocery store at 1815, which isn’t 8:15, it’s 6:15.

Me: Do you have eggs? I will need one or two.

The Sailor: Yes.

And then? I walked into his house at 1829 (which isn’t 8:29 pm) carrying a bag of groceries with which to make chicken parm. For dinner. For us. At 1830. Which isn’t 8:30 pm. And he? Was in the middle of making stir fry for dinner. And I? Was like what the heck? And then I might’ve actually re-read our texts to be sure I hadn’t misread no, I’ll make stir fry for dinner for sure, you can make chicken parm for dinner.

Me: I thought I was making dinner.

The Sailor: Yeah, you can make dinner.

Me: But isn’t that what you’re doing?

And then? I think he changed the subject. And finished making the stir fry. For dinner. For us. At 1830. While I put the groceries for chicken parm away.

Monday afternoon:

And now? He just texted and said that maybe I could come over and make dinner tonight. And so I’m thinking he’s making me dinner tonight. Right?

But God, I have no idea what time.

the spitwads have been on the ceiling of my shower for quite some time

2009-08-12T23:37:00.000-07:00

These are the spit wads on the ceiling of my shower.

Please note that I did not say there are spitwads on the ceiling of my shower. Instead, I said these are the spitwads on the ceiling of my shower. This is like saying this is the spider that lives in my bathroom rather than there is a spider in my bathroom. One implies permanent residency while the other implies recent discovery.

The spitwads have been on the ceiling of my shower for quite some time. And I noticed them quite some time ago. Yet, still, there they are. I only remember they're there when I rinse the shampoo or conditioner out of my hair. And then I can't focus on formulating a plan to remove them, I just wonder about how they got there.

I mean, I know how they got there. But I wonder about the process and planning of getting them there.

You see, there isn't paper in the shower, so that leaves one of three options:

a) one of the Little People saw some paper somewhere in the bathroom, got out of the shower, grabbed the paper and shot the spitwads at the ceiling instead of washing his hair, or

b) one of the Little People thought of this while in the shower, got out of the shower to find some paper and shot the spitwads at the ceiling instead of washing his hair, or

c) one of the Little People pre-planned this and brought the paper with him into the shower and shot the spitwads at the ceiling instead of washing his hair.

Frankly, I'm not sure which is true. But I'm pretty sure that one of the Little People is the First Grader.

[and here i leap out of bed because jesus christ, no coffee?]

2009-08-09T18:54:00.001-07:00

The Sailor took me to Las Vegas for the weekend. Which was totally fun. Except this one thing. Which made me kind of want to kick his ass. He woke me up on Saturday morning, thusly:

The Sailor: Get up. You’ve 13 minutes.

Me: Thirteen minutes until what?

The Sailor: To get your coffee.

Me: What? Why do I only have 13 minutes?

The Sailor: Starbucks closes at 10:30 for an hour.

Me: What? Why?

The Sailor: All casinos do that. Twice a day. Didn’t you see last night when all the vendors closed for a change over?

Me: A what?

The Sailor: You have 12 minutes.

Me: Or what?

The Sailor: Or you can’t get coffee until 11:30.

[And here I leap out of bed because Jesus Christ, no coffee?]

Me: I can’t get ready in 11 minutes. My hair is a mess.

The Sailor: Put it up. You’ve got 8 minutes.

Me: What the hell? Why the hell would Starbucks close for an hour!

[Somehow I managed to get myself up and dressed and out the door, checking my watch all the way down the elevator.]

Me: Fuck. It’s 10:32. If they’re already closed what are we going to do?

The Sailor: I’m messing with you. Starbucks doesn’t close. But you got out the door in 13 minutes.

Me: ?

In my defense, we’d been out late the night before, I hadn’t had any, like, coffee yet, I haven’t spent a lot of time in casinos and the Sailor said change over like it was some damn official military term.

Starbucks Barista: What can I get you?

Me: Grande drip in a Venti cup with an add shot for me. And for him? Nothing. Ever. But charge mine to the room.

hello? it’s kelp. for the record I also don’t like shoe, ants or windex.

2009-08-05T20:38:00.001-07:00

The Sailor: Now that I’m home I can answer your questions and tell you about what I do. I just can’t do it over the phone or email.

Me: Oh. Okay. Let me think.

The Sailor: Here, while you think, try this.

[Here he feeds me something on chopsticks.]

Me: Grmmpph. [Moving the thing around my mouth trying to figure out how to swallow it without having to chew it. ] Grmph. Bleh. No. I don’t like what ever that is.

The Sailor: Okay, you don’t like kelp.

Me: Hello? It’s kelp. For the record I also don’t like shoe, ants or Windex.

The Sailor: So ask me questions. I can tell you stuff now.

Me: Oh. Okay. So what do you do?

The Sailor: Yeah, actually that’s classified.

Me: You just said…

The Sailor: Try this one.

Me: I’m not going to like it.

[More feeding me things on chopsticks.]

Me: Okay, I like that one. What was that?

The Sailor: Eel.

Me: You’re making that up.

The Sailor: Try this one, I took the kelp off. Ask me another question.

[More chopsticks.]

The Sailor: How’s that one? What’s it taste like?

Me: Grmmmph. Kelp.

The Sailor: I took the kelp off.

Me: Don’t care. Still, kelp. So, fine, what’s your job on the ship?

The Sailor: It’s classified.

Me: You just said….

The Sailor: Have you ever tried sashimi?

Me: That’s classified.

In the end, I still don’t know what the Sailor does on the ship, and we determined that I like eel and things that might contain pearls. Read whatever you like into that bit of information.

If mahi mahi can grow a really nice tourmaline or sapphire, I might try it.

i am not making this up

2009-08-01T11:08:00.001-07:00

The Sailor is home. It’s been a really good two days. Really, really, very good.

He’s really nice to me. Really, really, very nice. Which I will tell you about at some point, but right now? I need to tell you about towels.

The Sailor will not use a pink towel. I keep a stack of towels in my bathroom. They are all different colors. When he arrived the hot pink one was on top. There were three shades of blue towels and a red one under it. The first day I noticed the pink was still on top.

Apparently, he’d gone under the pink one and grabbed a blue. I thought this odd, and wanted to see if it was intentional, so I haven't used any of those towels and have taken the ones he has used and put them in the laundry, so he can't reuse them. I am not making this up.

Last night, he again went under the pink one and took a blue one. And again this morning, same thing. Only the pink one and red one are left. I am not making this up. So today? While he’s out? I am going out to buy ten towels in all different shades of pink and I'm going to hide all the other towels. Just to fuck with him.

And right now? My wife is mustering all of our friends to drop off their pink princess towels, Hannah Montana towels, and flowered towels at my house.

I am not making this up.

where awesome means holy fucking hell, i hope they don’t fire me.

2009-07-27T17:22:00.001-07:00

Did you ever have that day where you find a mistake in a letter you already mailed?

Yeah? Me too.

But did you ever have that day where you find a mistake in a letter you already mailed to 4000 people?

No? It’s awesome. Where awesome means holy fucking hell, I hope they don’t fire me.

This was such a stupid mistake. And it’s going to be seen by all the right people. It’s this little fucking typo in our annual appeal letter. A letter which is bulk mailed to 4000 people. Not a big deal, they will probably barely read it. Probably no one would ever know.

But I also gave each of our board members a stack of anywhere between twenty-five and two hundred letters that they personally sign and mail to all their very best friends. Asking for money.

Slightly bigger deal.

And also? My boss. She got 500. Which she already personally signed. And noted. And mailed. Asking for money.

It was also maybe the best letter I’ve ever written.

Fuck me.

that might be everything. just the quiche and sleeping naked.

2009-07-23T21:27:00.001-07:00

Okay so the whole having no kids around all summer thing that I’m doing? Is going really, really well. Except the part where there are no kids around all summer. That part? Kind of sucks.

What I mean to say is that the things I’m able to do now that there are no kids around all summer are sort of okay. Like sleeping naked. I don’t really like it that much, but I can do it. So I’m gonna. So, suck it, pajamas.

Also? I made quiche tonight. Not only did I make quiche? I made quiche with feta cheese. And spinach. And I never had to explain to anyone about feta cheese being, like, food. Or spinach not being swamp grass. Not one person walked into my kitchen the whole entire time and said you’re not putting THAT in the dinner are you? So I was just all hello, spinach, I’ve missed you baby.

That might be everything. Just the quiche and sleeping naked.

And I don’t really like the sleeping naked that much anyway. So…what else…

Oh…I can watch The Office without the First Grader bugging the living hell out of me about it. Is it funny, Mama? Is this the news? Who’s that guy talking to? Do they vote someone out at the end? He just doesn’t get The Office. He doesn’t know if it’s like Dateline or a PBS documentary or a reality show being filmed in an office or what. What’s that guy doing, Mama? Who’s that guy talking to?

Actually, I’m not sure that I get The Office either. It seems like it should be funny, but really? Meh, who cares?

So that’s it. The sleeping naked, the quiche thing and The Office. So you can see how the whole having no kids around all summer it’s going really, really well, right? Whatever. Shut up.