feeling auld it is 2

feeling auld

it is 2 pm
already feel exhausted
must stay up til when?!

lonely new year’s eve
made the whole family sick
banished forever

better than fireworks
eat candy cane, hack out lungs
gorgeous snotty spray

Advertisements

the most wonderful day of

the most wonderful day of the year

up at crack of dawn
but not to greet Santa Claus
greeting puke instead

I expected to be awake early on Christmas morning, but I didn’t expect to be up at 5 am, sitting in the bathtub with a puking wee one.

Misery.

The poor baby was hurling his guts out all day. He couldn’t stand up. His fever finally broke at 104 late in the afternoon. Possibly the saddest thing I have ever seen in my life was a feeble, puking, 2-year-old reaching out for his Santa presents, while laying prostrate halfway on the floor and in my lap.

By about 6 pm he was able to unwrap some presents and have a bite of applesauce. By the next morning he was good as new. For that, I heartily thank the baby Jesus.

Other than the uncontrollable vomiting, the scary fever, the sad baby, the horrified houseguests, the Christmas dinner we never cooked, and the newly discovered lack of towels in the house, we had a fine holiday.

How was yours?

oh CRAP should have sent

oh CRAP

should have sent a card
I could overnight candy
is that stalker-ish?

Got a holiday card from The Agent Who Is Not Yet Mine! This is a good sign, no? The fact that I not only didn’t send him a card, but DELIBERATELY decided against it, irrationally fearing that it would overstep what I perceive as a tenuous, yet promising relationship, is a sign that I:
a) way way WAY over think stuff like this
and
b) am a crazy moron who should have sent a card

Or I could just get off my ass, finish editing my revisions, email the manuscript and say something witty about not sending a card because I was too busy hacking 68 pages out of my book.

That’s not very witty is it?

Damn.

hahaha my brain is queso

hahaha

my brain is queso
but it’s queso supremo
with ground beef and guac

I was watching TV last night (who am I kidding, I watch TV every night) and I saw about 40 different commercials for cars that have 10-year, 100,000 mile warranties. So I thought that if I was an unscrupulous used car dealer I might see if I could get away with a 100,000 year, 10-mile warranty. a-ha HA. Thank you. I’ll be here all week.

retirement watch out for bad

retirement

watch out for bad guys
they always seem to know who
is retiring soon

My father-in-law is retiring. Wednesday is his last day at work. Though I’m excited for him I’ve had to issue a note of caution. Anyone who’s watched any movie knows that when you go around saying “Only three days til I retire” it means something bad may befall you. A drug kingpin may rig a bomb to your toilet. You may get caught up in a bank heist. Possibly one of your arch enemies (or their spawn) will reappear and demand that you try to foil their plot to conquer the world.

The last three days before retirement can be very event-filled. Especially if you have to save the world (or even just your hometown). There’s not a lot of sleeping, and you have to keep muttering things like, “But I’m retiring in three days!” while you ride your motorcycle from rooftop to rooftop in search of the commie pinko nuclear weapons specialist who may or may not have stolen some government secrets from your briefcase while you two had an early morning tryst.

I hope my father-in-law realizes what’s in store for him over the next few days. It’s gonna be craaaaaazy.

clip clip clip found a

clip clip clip

found a nice new home
though eviction notice served
my poor, sad clippers

The only thing my hubby wants for Christmas is for me to stop keeping my fingernail clippers on the kitchen counter. I’m sure from the outside this seems like a reasonable request. But if you have seen the amount of fingernail clippers I’ve lost over the years you’d be shocked and horrified. You’d realize that the money I spend on fingernail clippers is roughly the same as the GNP of a small country. So by leaving my clippers on the counter I actually know where they are and don’t need to buy new ones every other day. This, in effect, saves a lot of money and can actually afford me to buy a nicer Christmas present for my husband (though maybe not as, I don’t know, personal).

But he would rather me spend Zimbabwe’s GNP on fingernail clippers and get them off the damn counter.

Fine. But there goes that Mr. Clean automatic car washer I was going to get him.