On writing: I'm trying to get back in the groove, but sometimes it's hard not to think about what else needs to be done around the house. (Insulation in the attic, the stopped up drain pipe from the upstairs air conditioner, insulation in my daughter's room.) I feel like a great big goofy goony bird trying to fix up her nest. I'm not going to be happy until it's right and I'm not tripping over cardboard boxes every five minutes. (A personal note to the three women who packed up all of our shizz in boxes and then used extra packing tape like the boxes were Egyptian mummies: please tell me where you hid the wires to my printer, for the love of missing melancholy micromanaging misogynists. I know that doesn't make sense but it had all the 'm's so I went with it.) Anyway, just finished one outline and now about to start on another one, so I can start writing next month. (Yea! Writing good = crack to my brain.) (Not that I've done anything remotely illegal like that and I don't mean writing, except it could be illegal in some states. Probably illegal in the District of Columbia, too.)
On my daughter's hair: Cressy, our angel, got her hair cut short. She looks adorable. Doesn't she look adorable?
|This kid is totally cute.|
Her: "Mommy, two boys were mean to me at science camp."
Me: "What did they do?"
Her: "They asked if I was a boy or a girl and then they said I was a boy who was lying."
Me: "Did you tell the teacher?"
Her: "I tried but she wasn't paying attention."
Okay, my problem isn't so much with the walking, talking butthead little boys, although they're bad enough, but with the teacher who isn't paying attention. (Science camp has a bunch of teenagers who are in charge, which is good and bad.)
Me: "Tomorrow you can tell those boys they're being rude and lots of girls have short hair cuts. I'll talk to the boss."
Her: "You mean you'll talk to the boys' parents?"
Me: "Oh, I don't mess with the small fish. I'll just go to the top."
Her: "Okay, Mommy."
The next day the two little boys were in a different class. It turns out they had other complaints about them. Cressy was very happy but I have to keep telling her that things like that will happen and it's better just to ignore the people or blow them off.
On humidity: Today the weatherguy said it was 100% humidity. I'm going "How can it be 100% humidity without it actually be raining or some sort of liquid pouring in from the heavens?" I do not know. All I know is that when I went out my hair did something like this, except it didn't look that good. (HIM's pants are still on fire concerning his tall tale telling on the comparison of the weather in Alabama versus the weather in Virginia. The local fire chief called yesterday to discuss our ongoing clothing issue and it wasn't a pretty conversation.)
But I discovered another problem. I shall draw a diagram, because it's funny.
|The blue box is, in fact, a litter box, in case anyone is confused.|
So I got some wetwipes (they were good enough for my daughter's tushie when she was a baby) and I got most of the cat nuggets up with the first try. I also got a very good whiff while actually holding his dirty sinful business. (Well, technically I was holding the wetwipes that was holding the doodoo bomblets but I could still tell they were the consistency of microwaved tootsie rolls.) Then I threw up in the sink. I literally barfed in the kitchen sink. Which led me to the observation that my vomit was blue. Really, I mean bright blue, the color of the sky and I was all "What the hell is that?" Then I remembered we ate some of Cressy's summer themed Oreos the night before. (They've got a bright blue middle. Apparently the dye was long-lasting. Good thing I'm not going for an X-ray anytime soon.)
The moral of the story is to never eat blue Oreos before cleaning up stinky cat poopoo.