My sister’s new crib bedding is cute as all get-out.*
It almost makes me want to have another baby. Almost. Except for that whole we-don’t-want-to-be-outnumbered rule. I am totally wanting to sleep under that blankie.
One time Cecil slept in a crib in college.
*The baby sleeps in the crib, not my sister.
I’m pretty sure that when I was watching last night’s episode of American Idol just now, I saw Gene Simmons watching in the audience. I was more embarrassed to see him than I am to admit how much I like the show, and that is a whole lotta shame, people.
Okay, after that requisite cool comment, let’s cut to the chase: Who watches? How sucky was Brooke? Dreads wasn’t that bad, but geez, it was a terrible song to pick. Arch, Carly, and Syesha killed their songs. Waiting to watch Sir Pomposity next, so that review will have to wait.
Friendship is more important than proving oneself right. Note: I did not believe this ten years ago, and it still does not come easily or naturally to me this day. But I am trying.
Do not, under any circumstances, run with the partner shown below, ever, ever again.
This is Emily. Emily is a Jack Russell Terror. Er, Terrier. She belongs to my sister, Lisa, who is pregnant and sciatic, and didn’t seem to mind trading the spaz dog for my two-year old for an hour while Emily took me for a run.
Emily is scared of cars, I think, or at least loud ones, so she veers widely away from the road when one comes towards her. This puts her right in the path of me, her walker. I am sure that the folks on Briarcliff road who witnessed the gymnastics involved in me navigating the sidewalks, crosswalks, fire hydrants and street signs with the Terror in tow were howling in laughter. The best part was when I got off the main roads and onto the side streets. There? There they have huge trees. Trees have squirrels. Emily LOVES her some squirrels. Enough that she will literally launch herself four feet in the air, on a diagonal, straight across my path, in hopes of snagging a squirrel; She continues to do this, even when the short, short lead i have her on snaps taught, gives her whiplash, and she gets that panicky look as she plunges to the ground, where she inevitably lands on her four freakish paws.
She then starts looking for the next victim. And the whole scenario repeats all over again.
What I didn’t realize, in my frustration at running with the equivalent of a pissed off cat in a hatbox, is that my run would result in sore forearms. My arms got seriously tired.*
I can just see it now: The latest fitness craze in LA and NYC – Terrier Leading!
*Disclaimer: yes, there were moments when I thought the whole run would be a lot easier if I just let her run into traffic. I didn’t. But I thought about it.
When those you love very much, whom you would do just about anything for, and whom you know would do the same for you, affirm their love for you.
There is something so powerful about old friendships, the ones where you have ridiculously funny memories of growing up together, of fucking up together, of grieving together and for each other, and of rejoicing in each other’s meaningful life moments.
I love you too, Mealby. But then, I was forced to: Take a look at my choices.
P.s. I love you too, Jason B., even though you will probably call me tomorrow with the cackle laugh and make fun of me for my sappiness.
Baby, I found the perfect new sofa for the new basement.
Thanks to Maigh for introducing me to this black hole of a time-wasting site. I’ve made like ten motivational posters for my kids already. Addictive. Might have to do some for myself, too.
For reals. It is crazy how much moving entails when you have kids. School changes, freakouts over missing stuffed animals, ten minute tasks taking forty minutes because you can’t find a damn pair of scissors anywhere, and near-death experiences for husbands who forget to keep the coffee maker off the moving truck when leaving the old house. All of this running on no sleep, paint fumes, and takeout.
We are in, though, the kids are back in school, and i have the essentials: My mattress. My internet. My DVR (Bret Michaels, how I missed you.) Anyway, I am back now, and feel like I have tons to write about (leaving the hood, living at the lake, being a temporarily mostly single Mom minus the hot sex with near strangers, and moving to the burbs. I am a little sad about leaving my old life, a lot excited about my new community, and really, really tired.
I am back to blogging on Metroblogging Atlanta, too, which I have missed. While I was gone, they went and revamped the whole site and it looks pretty darn cool. I wrote a post about why we left the city there this a.m. And as always, you can find links to my latest Metblogs posts over on the right side of Dogwood Girl.
That is all.
p.s. Dirty Girls, I completely forgot to snap a picture of my knight in shining armor (a.k.a. Comcast guy.)
This one’s for Dorothy. . . I give you Barbie Beach:
