Three more days. Thank God. I am ready for some unfettered party excitement that *doesn't* involve three-year-olds tearing apart my house, which is the kind of unfettered party excitement we had going on yesterday.
I've got a funny story that makes me look like a total chump but ya know, I don't think I need to go there right now.
In other news, it's 1:21 p.m. and I'm eating my first food of the day. Lasagne. Not dirt. 🙂
What are some things that you're not certain whether they're cool or not? The top two in my mind are Matt Roloff and Twitter. How about yours?
I'm writing a glossary today. It's *really* fun. I'm like Ambrose Bierce without the bitter.
It's been a Saturn return kind of week. Yeah, I'm not kidding; it started balls-out at 11:00 Monday morning and didn't ever stop. Lex's ear infection(s) and baby's stuffy nose and, uh huh, teething. The thing is, though, the kids were the least of it. And this week we have a three-year-old's birthday party, which will be featuring salt dough, food coloring, and, uh huh, acrylic paint, because that's fun, and Saturday night is the night before my birthday, and dammit we're going to have a party if it kills us because I've earned it. And then Sunday I'm the lay reader (puns about my first trip to Chico can be left to your own devices, thanks) at church, plus we're providing the flowers *and* the coffee-hour goodies. And I'm pretty sure I'm leading the Bible study that evening. I'll probably have the chance to make up a quick ukulele song about Fibonacci, too. And then it's Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas, neither of which have I begun to shop for. Yee.
So Monstro's been bugging me for suggestions of what I want for my Fibonacci birthday and Christmas, and after putting a Nikon D80 and corresponding SB-600 strobe, and some Jake Shimabukuro stuff on the list I kind of stalled out, so I went to gifts.com and did the “gift personality” quiz. Here's what I am, according to them:
Gifts for The Hipster hand-picked by our Gift Gurus
Morning Ritual: Decaf soy latte at a local independent coffee shop.
Uniform: Vintage, alternative, original — no head-to-toe trends for her.
On her iPod: Indie rock, downtempo electronica, local DJ mixes, YouTube videos.
Reading List: Art, film, music and fashion pieces.
Ride: If the sun is shining: her Vespa. If not: her Mellow Yellow Mini Cooper.
Mantra: Friends don't let friends drink Starbucks.
Famous Examples: Sofia Coppola, Maggie Gyllenhall, Chloë Sevigny.
I have way better eyebrows than Sofia, but other than that, it's pretty close.
Other than that, this week has been wretched. On the plus side, though, I no longer wish to eat dirt.
I post something in support of (President-elect) Obama and you give me no end of s**t, but I tell you that I want to eat dirt and it's nothing but crickets, and once — in the distance — a dog barks.
Is unagi umami?
On Election Night, NBC's ice rink map of the United States was better than CNN's holograms.
I called some friends on Election Night. Marian was drinking red wine and eating nachos. Kris spiked a chocolate SlimFast shake with Kahlua and chased it with a low-fat ice-cream bar.
And me? I awoke the morning of Election Day with an overwhelming desire to go out into the backyard and eat me some dirt.
Apparently, I'm flirting with pica. It happens sometimes to nursing women and denotes an iron deficiency.
Two mornings in a row I awoke with the thought that I could go out and eat dirt. Or maybe chalk. Yummy.
After I voted, I bought a Rice-Krispie treat, and as I was eating it I swear I thought to myself, “well, this is almost the consistency of dirt.”
Yes, it's weird. Yes, I'm back on my prenatal vitamins. Even better, Theo only nursed one time last night, which meant five hours of uninterrupted sleep for Mommy.
Even better than that, I did not awaken with the desire to chow down on some loamy topsoil.
