That's what the kid just said to me; no joke. And then there was this:
"Mumma? If Orack Obama wins, can he change the rules?"
"Well, yeah, sort of."
"Can he say it's okay for kids to vote?"
"Um....well......it's not really that simple."
"But he could say it, right?"
"Yes, he could say it."
And yes, she says his name without the "B" and yes, she might be the only 8-year-old on the street that can't wait to put her campaign sign in her bedroom window and her bumper sticker on her bike.
Bless her heart.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Three Types of Weight Watchers
After attending Weight Watchers Meetings for the last month or so, I've realized that there are three distinct types of people that attend these meetings.
1. The average joes. These are the people just like me and my WW buddy. While not overweight, we're not underweight. We know that the mid-thirties spread is just around the corner, and we're not yet mature enough to tell each other to "put the donut down." We eat arrogantly and constantly promise ourselves that "tomorrow, I'll exercise." We actually need a stranger to put us on a scale each week and give us a scornful look when we've gained 2/10ths of a pound. We are the worst possible candidates for any sort of nutritional program because we are so damn good at justifying what we put in our mouths. We have yet to admit that we have a problem.
2. The attention whores. These are the folks that are, clearly, far too thin to be at Weight Watchers. They sit smugly at the meetings in their tiny little clothes that are shiny and attention-getting. They spend the meetings eagerly raising their hands and volunteering information like, "You know, if you get on your ellipticle machine and crank it up to 10, you'll burn 1,100 calories in an hour." They like the fact that all the other women are bitching about how thin they are. In some sick and twisted way, they find pleasure in being hated by others.
3. The co-dependants. These are my favorites. These are the folks who are truly dedicated and they show up to the meetings religiously - often attending multiple meetings in a week. And they do it, Every. Single. Week. They tell the group how they go out to dinner and take their very own measuring cups and spoons, and some sort of spork like utensil that goes above and beyond the call of duty because it offers a knife feature too. They often speak of that excruciating activity called, "exercise." Yet they only loose 2/10ths of a pound every single week. These are the women that I think secretly eat Little Debbies and Ho-Ho's, just to stall their weight loss. For to be without a Weight Watchers Meeting might be worse than death itself.
Sometimes, even I am ashamed of myself. My sheer mockery of the human life around me is clearly a sign of my truly shallow, bitter, and bitchy character. I think I'll go console myself with some Ho-Ho's now.
1. The average joes. These are the people just like me and my WW buddy. While not overweight, we're not underweight. We know that the mid-thirties spread is just around the corner, and we're not yet mature enough to tell each other to "put the donut down." We eat arrogantly and constantly promise ourselves that "tomorrow, I'll exercise." We actually need a stranger to put us on a scale each week and give us a scornful look when we've gained 2/10ths of a pound. We are the worst possible candidates for any sort of nutritional program because we are so damn good at justifying what we put in our mouths. We have yet to admit that we have a problem.
2. The attention whores. These are the folks that are, clearly, far too thin to be at Weight Watchers. They sit smugly at the meetings in their tiny little clothes that are shiny and attention-getting. They spend the meetings eagerly raising their hands and volunteering information like, "You know, if you get on your ellipticle machine and crank it up to 10, you'll burn 1,100 calories in an hour." They like the fact that all the other women are bitching about how thin they are. In some sick and twisted way, they find pleasure in being hated by others.
3. The co-dependants. These are my favorites. These are the folks who are truly dedicated and they show up to the meetings religiously - often attending multiple meetings in a week. And they do it, Every. Single. Week. They tell the group how they go out to dinner and take their very own measuring cups and spoons, and some sort of spork like utensil that goes above and beyond the call of duty because it offers a knife feature too. They often speak of that excruciating activity called, "exercise." Yet they only loose 2/10ths of a pound every single week. These are the women that I think secretly eat Little Debbies and Ho-Ho's, just to stall their weight loss. For to be without a Weight Watchers Meeting might be worse than death itself.
Sometimes, even I am ashamed of myself. My sheer mockery of the human life around me is clearly a sign of my truly shallow, bitter, and bitchy character. I think I'll go console myself with some Ho-Ho's now.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Things You Just Don't Want to See
It's a Friday and it didn't snow today; by all accounts, that's a pretty goddamn good day in Maine. So why is it then, that my day was tainted by sights normal people just should not have to witness? Case in point ::
1) Mullet Mom dragging her two kids out of a minivan at 8:30 in the morning, screaming to holy H-E-double-pixie-sticks. Seems Thing 2 bitch-slapped Thing 1 and breaking up a brawl wasn't in mommy-dearest's morning plan.
2) White kids who think they're gangsta's....."whacha say biz-nitch?"
3) A dog smaller than my cat, humping a greyhound. I'm assuming I don't need to elaborate here.
So, how did I soothe myself? In bed with last night's episode of Cashmere Mafia, 3 hours of Sex in the City and a pint of Half Baked. Happy Friday Friends.
1) Mullet Mom dragging her two kids out of a minivan at 8:30 in the morning, screaming to holy H-E-double-pixie-sticks. Seems Thing 2 bitch-slapped Thing 1 and breaking up a brawl wasn't in mommy-dearest's morning plan.
2) White kids who think they're gangsta's....."whacha say biz-nitch?"
3) A dog smaller than my cat, humping a greyhound. I'm assuming I don't need to elaborate here.
So, how did I soothe myself? In bed with last night's episode of Cashmere Mafia, 3 hours of Sex in the City and a pint of Half Baked. Happy Friday Friends.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Raking the Roof
Lately, we've had a lot of snow 'round these parts. And my someday spouse has spent his time plowing all of it - not our driveway of course.....he's been plowing for other people. Which has left me home alone with the kid, the dog, and a shovel for most of the winter.
Now, I've paid my dues. I've been out there shoveling the driveway during every single storm. Sometimes, I even shovel more than once. And I only complain occasionally about it - most often when I'm standing at the end of the driveway that I just spent three hours shoveling, only to watch the City plow truck turn the corner and bury me again. I've contemplated flipping off the driver, but he's just so damn friendly, waving and smiling at me when he goes by, that I just can't seem to do it. Instead, I start shoveling again, and I swear a lot.
This week, the someday spouse worked for 26 hours straight. I knew he was exhausted, and I did my best to keep up with the snow here. What I failed to do was rake the roof. There are a number of reasons that I didn't do it.....that damn thing is huge, our roof is really tall, and damn it, I just didn't feel like it. So Saturday morning, over coffee, he says to me, "You know, now might be a really good time for you to learn how to use the roof rake."
I'm sure the comment was meant to be innocent. I'm sure it was meant to mean "you know, in case I'm not home for 26-hours and you want to get ahead of the ice damns that are now so heavy they're ripping the gutters off of our half-a-mil-hobbit-house," but, of course, I'm a woman, so I didn't take it that way. Instead, my response was, "Oh, you think so? Well, that's fine. I'll rake the roof. Don't you worry. And I'll shovel the driveway, and the patio, and the deck. Oh, and I'll make sure you have a hot meal on the table too. Don't you worry one little bit honey, you'll never have to ask ME to rake the roof again."
I'm sure you can already see where this is going.
I geared up, got the roof rake, and headed outside. What I didn't realize was just how damn heavy and awkward that thing is. So, as the someday spouse stood in the kitchen with his cup of coffee, I stood on a snowbank behind the house, wildly wielding a 20-foot roof rake. I'm not sure if it was because I almost broke the kitchen window or if it had something to do with the shutter I ripped off the house, but he came outside in a hurry.
I'm pretty sure he won't be asking me to rake the roof again any time soon.
Now, I've paid my dues. I've been out there shoveling the driveway during every single storm. Sometimes, I even shovel more than once. And I only complain occasionally about it - most often when I'm standing at the end of the driveway that I just spent three hours shoveling, only to watch the City plow truck turn the corner and bury me again. I've contemplated flipping off the driver, but he's just so damn friendly, waving and smiling at me when he goes by, that I just can't seem to do it. Instead, I start shoveling again, and I swear a lot.
This week, the someday spouse worked for 26 hours straight. I knew he was exhausted, and I did my best to keep up with the snow here. What I failed to do was rake the roof. There are a number of reasons that I didn't do it.....that damn thing is huge, our roof is really tall, and damn it, I just didn't feel like it. So Saturday morning, over coffee, he says to me, "You know, now might be a really good time for you to learn how to use the roof rake."
I'm sure the comment was meant to be innocent. I'm sure it was meant to mean "you know, in case I'm not home for 26-hours and you want to get ahead of the ice damns that are now so heavy they're ripping the gutters off of our half-a-mil-hobbit-house," but, of course, I'm a woman, so I didn't take it that way. Instead, my response was, "Oh, you think so? Well, that's fine. I'll rake the roof. Don't you worry. And I'll shovel the driveway, and the patio, and the deck. Oh, and I'll make sure you have a hot meal on the table too. Don't you worry one little bit honey, you'll never have to ask ME to rake the roof again."
I'm sure you can already see where this is going.
I geared up, got the roof rake, and headed outside. What I didn't realize was just how damn heavy and awkward that thing is. So, as the someday spouse stood in the kitchen with his cup of coffee, I stood on a snowbank behind the house, wildly wielding a 20-foot roof rake. I'm not sure if it was because I almost broke the kitchen window or if it had something to do with the shutter I ripped off the house, but he came outside in a hurry.
I'm pretty sure he won't be asking me to rake the roof again any time soon.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
PreTween Hormones
The strangest thing happened today. The kid went grocery shopping with me and was actually helpful. No whining. No spat over Fruit Loops vs. Cheerios. Not even a "but mumma....." when I told her to put back the Hannah Montana magazine that was $10! What?!?
It was then that I realized, she is beginning down that treacherous path of female horomones. Sweet and nice one minute; crying and screaming the next.
I'm scared shitless.
It was then that I realized, she is beginning down that treacherous path of female horomones. Sweet and nice one minute; crying and screaming the next.
I'm scared shitless.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Commitment-Phobic
What's worse than one commitment-phobe in a relationship? Try two. Now try asking them to plan a wedding. ha!
The engagement is now a little over a year old, and people are starting to ask questions; particularly the kid. In fact, just the other night, someone asked us when the big day was and she snorted, replying, "Um, by the time they get married, I'll be old enough to be a witness."
We were slightly mortified and truthfully, a little taken a back. We didn't realize that she had such strong feelings about it. And we've used every excuse in the book not to start planning this: we're in a better tax position this way......we're happy with the way things are.......it's worked for Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn, why not us? But after that comment, we decided it was time to sit down and make a decision, for better or worse (pun fully intended).
So, I went out today and bought "Real Simple Weddings: Your personalized plan for a stress-free, beautiful celebration." I nearly vomited at the counter, thinking about what this meant; it meant I was trying to plan a wedding. So you might be asking, "did you actually set a date?" Well, sort of, we set more of a season......fall of 2009. And yes, it's a ways off, but I suppose that means lots more entertaining crap to happen between now and then to keep all my readers happy and coming back for more.
Plus, what's the rush? We've been together for so long now, I'm not sure anyone will even attend the ceremony. And do people that have been together for so long actually do a registry? I feel like that's so "1st marriage" material - and we all know that I've been there and done that already......
The engagement is now a little over a year old, and people are starting to ask questions; particularly the kid. In fact, just the other night, someone asked us when the big day was and she snorted, replying, "Um, by the time they get married, I'll be old enough to be a witness."
We were slightly mortified and truthfully, a little taken a back. We didn't realize that she had such strong feelings about it. And we've used every excuse in the book not to start planning this: we're in a better tax position this way......we're happy with the way things are.......it's worked for Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn, why not us? But after that comment, we decided it was time to sit down and make a decision, for better or worse (pun fully intended).
So, I went out today and bought "Real Simple Weddings: Your personalized plan for a stress-free, beautiful celebration." I nearly vomited at the counter, thinking about what this meant; it meant I was trying to plan a wedding. So you might be asking, "did you actually set a date?" Well, sort of, we set more of a season......fall of 2009. And yes, it's a ways off, but I suppose that means lots more entertaining crap to happen between now and then to keep all my readers happy and coming back for more.
Plus, what's the rush? We've been together for so long now, I'm not sure anyone will even attend the ceremony. And do people that have been together for so long actually do a registry? I feel like that's so "1st marriage" material - and we all know that I've been there and done that already......
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Part-Time
Wow. This working part-time thing is really kicking my ass. lol.....
As some of you know, I've taken a p/t job outside my home office and outside my career of choice - which happens to be writing. But when the ideal p/t gig lands in your lap, it's hard to pass up, right? I mean, the problem with freelance writing - or freelancing of any sort - is that you never know how steady the money will be. And although the past few months have proved to be incredibly fruitful for me (with the exception of the computer crash that cost me a $3000 job,) this time of year tends to be pretty slow.
So, anyway, I took the p/t gig. It's been alright. And it's one that I don't have to worry about when I leave for the day. But working two full days outside of my home office has really thrown off my writing schedule and it's making it really hard for me to balance my clients. Hm.....what's a girl to do?
The boy says "to hell with the p/t gig - just write full-time! It's what you love! It's what you're great at!" I say, "you're sure not complaining about that steady paycheck, now are you?" Whatever happens, I know one thing for sure: the summer is going to be really hard - especially when I'm used to sitting on my deck with a laptop and a cold beer.
In other news, the kid had a swim meet this weekend. And it was a big one. She desperately wants to qualify for New England's so she can swim at Harvard. She's already got State's, but NE's seem to elude her. This meet was in Lewiston-Auburn - or LA as the common folk 'round here call it. The thing I love most about "LA" is this: no matter how hard they try to pretty that town up, they're going to have to put a court-ordered mandate in place to get rid of the mullets. Never in my life, not even when I went to my brothers wedding, did I see such mullets. It was truly amazing. And the beauty of a mullet? Not even the humidity of the pool can touch it.
As some of you know, I've taken a p/t job outside my home office and outside my career of choice - which happens to be writing. But when the ideal p/t gig lands in your lap, it's hard to pass up, right? I mean, the problem with freelance writing - or freelancing of any sort - is that you never know how steady the money will be. And although the past few months have proved to be incredibly fruitful for me (with the exception of the computer crash that cost me a $3000 job,) this time of year tends to be pretty slow.
So, anyway, I took the p/t gig. It's been alright. And it's one that I don't have to worry about when I leave for the day. But working two full days outside of my home office has really thrown off my writing schedule and it's making it really hard for me to balance my clients. Hm.....what's a girl to do?
The boy says "to hell with the p/t gig - just write full-time! It's what you love! It's what you're great at!" I say, "you're sure not complaining about that steady paycheck, now are you?" Whatever happens, I know one thing for sure: the summer is going to be really hard - especially when I'm used to sitting on my deck with a laptop and a cold beer.
In other news, the kid had a swim meet this weekend. And it was a big one. She desperately wants to qualify for New England's so she can swim at Harvard. She's already got State's, but NE's seem to elude her. This meet was in Lewiston-Auburn - or LA as the common folk 'round here call it. The thing I love most about "LA" is this: no matter how hard they try to pretty that town up, they're going to have to put a court-ordered mandate in place to get rid of the mullets. Never in my life, not even when I went to my brothers wedding, did I see such mullets. It was truly amazing. And the beauty of a mullet? Not even the humidity of the pool can touch it.
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