Get Off My Lawn!

26 04 2010

In case you’re wondering, I am wearing pants tonight. I’m sure you’re all kinds of relieved.

I live across the street from a high school.  Today, as I pulled weeds (I know! I think I have some kind of neurological condition that’s completely changing my personality.), I took a moment to observe the high school kids across the street and spent the rest of the day humming “I’m Glad I’m Not Young Anymore.” (It’s from Gigi, people. If you didn’t know that, it’s time to brush up on your 1950s musicals. Also? Stop judging me.)

The one thing I hate about living across the street from the high school is the amount of trash that blows into our yard. Apparently none of the students understand the purpose of a garbage can, which brings me to the moment I realized I’m an old fart: I actually considered collected all the garbage from my yard for a month and taking it to the high school administration.

Holy crap. I’m pretty sure the next step is to start spraying kids with a hose every time they pass my house. That actually sounds kind of awesome. I might just enjoy this whole “getting old” thing.

*Even WordPress knows Gigi. Is WordPress smarter than you?

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I Can’t Find My Pants

25 04 2010

Seriously. I think they’re in the laundry but I’m too lazy to go look, so I’m blogging with no pants. I am wearing underwear, though. I don’t want you thinking I blog commando, because…eww. Of course, now you’ve all stopped reading because you’re too busy vomiting. Let me know when you’re back.

Okay, then! Let’s move on (even though I’m still not wearing pants). Today I’d like to you to take a gander at a sign I photographed for you last week.


Let’s review, shall we?

Am I missing something?





How Do You Sizzler?

19 04 2010

Before I get started, I just have to say how much I love you guys. You have no idea what your comments mean to me. (If I actually replied to comments, you might have an idea, but this is a lot easier.) I’m happy to report that today is a much better day. I also have an appointment with my therapist next week. Hurrah!

There’s a billboard I’ve seen several times that annoys me on many levels. Take a gander:

There are so many problems here I barely know where to start. No, that’s not true–let’s start with Sizzler is not a verb. Sizzler will never be a verb. When I see Sizzler used as a verb, I feel like I’m looking at the Engrish website.

Also? This guy used to Sizzler with his dad? If Sizzler were a verb, I don’t think it would be something you’d want to do with your dad.

Then there’s the superfluous ellipsis. Oh, superfluous ellipsis, how I love thee. You make every sentence wonderful! Whenever I use you, I feel like a teenage girl again. A teenage girl with a cell phone and a twitter account. (OMG…@JustinBieber…ur so hott…cu l8r!)

Seriously. What purpose does this ellipse serve? Is it building suspense? He Sizzlered* with his dad and now his…therapist’s kids are attending Ivy League schools?

I have a better idea:

Don't try to steal this. I will totally Sizzler you.

Yes, I did spend an hour learning Gimp just so I could doctor that photo for you. I wanted to add in a mutant baby peeking over the guy’s shoulder, but it’s 2 a.m. and I need my beauty sleep. FYI, do yourself a favor and never do a Google image search for mutant baby.

*The only thing better than a fake verb? A fake verb in the past tense!
**The only thing better than the past tense of a fake verb? The WordPress editor’s suggestions for an alternative. It’s like reading the lyrics to a Snoop Dogg song!





My Self Keeps Slipping Away

18 04 2010

I want so very, very badly to be funny tonight. I even have a hilarious post brewing in my twisted noggin that’s had me giggling all weekend.

I’m not in a very funny mood.

Intellectually, I can recognize that I’m in a depressive swing. First clue? I started crying on the way to work yesterday when “Dust in the Wind” played on the radio. Holy crap, people. I cried over a Kansas song. Are you kidding me? If you mock me for this, I swear you will be dead to me.

Saturday night I had the opportunity to meet a roomful of beautiful, talented, funny women. Fun, right? I was so excited to have a girls’ night out. I arranged to get off work early, Car had the kids under control, and I even finished the ward programs early! I covered all those bases, not realizing my crippling social anxiety would make an appearance.

The only thing worse than being in a crowd of amazing women and feeling completely alone? Knowing I have nobody to blame but myself.

And the only thing worse than feeling completely alone and blaming myself? That would be finding the whole situation triggering and spending the drive home talking myself off the ledge.

I hate being depressed. I hate being a recovering addict. I hate being insecure. I hate blogging about it and worrying that people will either judge me or worry about me.

I. Hate. This.

*Thank you for bearing with my self-indulgent, depressing posts from time to time. I promise to stop listening to Lisa Loeb at 2 am. Please return tomorrow for our regularly scheduled funny.





The Bunny Militia

6 04 2010

Apparently one of you ratted me out to the Bunny Militia. Whoever you are, I will find you, and you will pay dearly. 

I rounded the corner at the grocery store today and was greeted by this disturbing sight: 

All lined up, just waiting to attack.

Yeah. I was (understandably, if you read my recent Easter Bunny post) alarmed. If you need me, I’ll be in my bunny-proof bunker. I’d tell you where that is, but obviously at least one of you can’t be trusted with the location of my root cellar. 

Seriously.

*Props to my coworker Heidi for the phrase “Bunny Militia.”





Easter Bunny Angst

3 04 2010

A few people have been shocked that I don’t do the whole Easter Bunny thing. I hide eggs, do candy, etc. but I don’t claim it’s from anyone but mom and dad. Here’s my big secret: I hate the Easter Bunny.

I admit, I have a few religious objections. I don’t lean to the right politically and I’m not a nutjob (at least, not concerning religion), but we celebrate Easter as a religious holiday rather than the start of spring, and the Easter Bunny seems to detract from that.

So that’s my holier-than-thou version of why I eschew the Easter Bunny. But really? He freaks me out. Behold:

"What's he do? Nibble your bum?"

Okay, seriously? I’m going to tell my kids that sneaks into our yard while they’re asleep? Look at his soulless eyes! His nasty, big, pointy teeth! Those paws reaching toward you as you desperately try to escape! Run away! Run Away!
 
But even if he didn’t look like the result of genetic engineering gone so very wrong, the whole concept of the Easter Bunny is creepy. I don’t particularly want any large animal skulking around my yard with a basket full of eggs, even if they are filled with delicious chocolatey goodness which he uses to lull you into complacency. It’s just not right.
To make matters worse, while looking for photos of the Easter Bunny, I ran across this gem:

"Oh, it's just a harmless little bunny, isn't it?"

It’s like somebody dressed as a bunny escaped from a psychiatric facility. This horror came from a website that offers singing telegrams and balloon deliveries. “The Easter Bunny will bring a full basket of Easter Treats for your kids, spouse or special friends along with Magic, singing, stories, and optional musical accompaniments.” And a lifetime of therapy. And I just noticed that Magic is capitalized, so now I’m thinking she brings a box full of Magic: The Gathering cards with her, which catapults the whole experience into something truly surreal.

I’m not a total ogre. I’ll do the Santa thing and probably end up playing the tooth fairy. But giant empty-eyed, egg-bringing bunnies? A girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere.





I Might Need to Up My Concerta

31 03 2010

I sat down at the computer at 3:00. It’s now 3:15, and I’ve started typing. Not because I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to write. Silly people. That implies I put some kind of effort into this. No, because I had to check comments and then look at other people’s blogs and then oh look, WordPress has something up about Ada Lovelace, and I have absolutely no idea who that is, so I really ought to click that link and read about her. Yeah. It might be time to tinker with the ADD meds.

So now it’s 3:15 am and I’m writing my post for the day even though technically it’s a new day. But obviously I had Very Important Things to do if I stayed up this late. Like…you know…erm…well. I did make considerable progress on the Wii Barnyard game. You know, the one I bought so Big G would have something to play. Oh, and I did two loads of laundry! Where’s my gold star?

Logic apparently holds no place in my life. I have a miserable headache. I’m exhausted. I’m coming down with a cold. I have to get up in four hours. WHY AM I AWAKE? I can’t even blame insomnia. The minute my head hits the pillow, I’ll be out. It’s obviously not because I have so many things to do (even though I do, but they aren’t getting done).

Lucky for all of you, I know exactly why I’m awake, and I’m going to share!

I’m never alone. Ever. I sometimes lock myself in the bathroom (with the fan on to drown out the boys) just to have five minutes by myself. So to sit here in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by silence, is an indulgence of the richest kind–second only to Sunday afternoon naps. Once I go to bed, it’s over. See, God, in his infinite wisdom and completely wack sense of humor, blessed me with a child who very possibly hates mornings more than I do. The smallest thing leads to a tantrum of epic proportions. You think I’m exaggerating how bad it is, but I don’t think that’s possible. Here’s a small excerpt from this morning:

Big G: Mom, get up! It’s morning!
Me: Glearbeahtng
Big G: Mom! It’s MORNING!

Normal so far, right? So I reach for a shirt. It’s laundry day and I don’t have any big plans in public, so I grab an orange-striped shirt that I don’t wear very often.

Big G: I don’t like that shirt.
Me: Well, it’s a good thing you’re not wearing it, then. I put the shirt on.
Big G: Mom! I DON’T LIKE THAT SHIRT!
Me: You can’t possibly be serious.
Big G: YOU CAN’T WEAR THAT SHIRT! Big G throws himself on the bed, sobbing.

The rest of the morning is pretty similar: Mom! I want to sit on that side! Gideon needs to be over there! And my personal favorite: I WANT TO PLAY DUCK-DUCK-GOOSE!

Really. I couldn’t make these things up. Who could possibly envision a 4-year-old who goes into near-epileptic fits when I tell him I won’t play duck-duck-goose before breakfast?

I’m rambling now, and I’ve already written more than I intended–and not even on the topic I planned.

I am curious, though–how do you balance?

And on a completely unrelated note that I have to write while I’m thinking about it: My hormones are totally out of whack. I think I must be going through perimenopause or something. Today I watched The Princess and The Frog for the first time and I fricking CRIED when the bug died. That just ain’t right, people.

Also? STOP ASKING ME IF I WANT TO RESTART MY COMPUTER, WINDOWS. I’m happy you’ve decided to update yourself, but I’m kind of busy here. And now I’m talking to software. I’m just going to stop typing now.