Archives for November 2012

What I’m doing on a Saturday night.

So I’m sitting here on a Saturday night trying to find something to watch on TV. I settled on Angels and Demons because I thought I hadn’t seen it and then I realized that I’ve seen it like a 1,000 times because it’s one of those things their air on cable all the time. I think my memory is starting to go.

I’ve been texting some friends and it seems that everyone is out doing something. Not me. I’m sitting here with my cat watching The Nanny (I switched it after I realized I HAD seen Angels and Demons) on Nick at Night and I may or may not be wearing pants (I’m not.)

My morning was spent fighting with my toddler over the Christmas tree. We decorated it yesterday afternoon and Bella seems to think that ornaments go on the tree like this:

I disagree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I tried to show her the correct way to hang ornaments, you know, not all on one branch, but she didn’t understand my argument. Every time she walks away from the tree, I sneak over there and rearrange everything to look normal because I’m a control freak. Then when I’M not looking, she goes over there and messes it up all over again because she is also a control freak, apparently. I have a feeling that December is going to be a long month for the both of us.

Then I spent some time cleaning out her nose with a Q-tip because it was seriously grossing me out and I couldn’t find her booger sucker outer thing. I also took photos of that occasion but I’ll spare you those images because they will make you want to yak. I did, however, text them to my husband. I’m sure he appreciated that.

Then we went to the Sesame Street Live show downtown with my best friend and her little girl. I truly love taking Bella to shows because she enjoys them so much but sometimes I am just so freaking bored when they are singing about the number “8” and the letter “J”. I could probably never be a teacher.

Anyway, that was pretty much my day. Please send wine.

 

 

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My Barbies were trapped in boxes.

I’m trying to finish my Christmas shopping for Bella. I hope to be done before November is over because I really don’t want to have to deal with the Christmas shopping madness this year. I’m also trying to buy everything online. The fewer interactions I have to have with actual people, the better.

Anyway, that’s not the point of this post. I was Christmas shopping for Bella and remembering what Christmas was like when I was a kid. My younger sister and I had great Christmases. No complaints. Except one little thing: every year my mom got each of us the special holiday edition Barbie doll. The were always the BEST Barbie dolls. They had the fluffiest dresses and the prettiest hair and came in the fanciest boxes. But guess what? We weren’t allowed to play with them. They had to stay in their boxes because they were “collector’s items.” They would be “worth money one day.” It was complete and total torture. We tried to play with them in their boxes for a while; we would have all our “free” Barbies strewn about and then a row of these creepy trapped holiday Barbies in boxes.  I think we pretended they were in observation tanks or something, preserved behind cheap plastic to insure the survival of the Barbie race. Maybe in case of zombie Barbie apocalypse. Has Mattel made Zombie Barbie yet? I’m getting off track.

After a while we just couldn’t take it anymore and so we started taking them out. We carefully opened their boxes and unwrapped their twist tie restraints and freed them from their plastic prisons of isolation, but when we were done playing, we had to return them to their boxes and retie their twist ties and reseal their boxes as best we could to avoid angering my mother. It was a pretty sad set up.

Since I’m complaining about things, I might as well bring this up: there was something else that was sad about our Barbie set up: my parents never got us a Barbie Dream House. OH WHOA IS ME AND MY CHILDHOOD.

Do you know what we had to use as our Barbie house? No, you don’t. So I’ll show you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah that’s right. Our Barbie dream house was this foot stool. I like to call this an “excellent example of an active imagination.”

 

I totally plan on using this in future arguments when Bella hands over her Christmas list: “You want an iPod? Oh, that’s too bad. I had to use a foot stool for my Barbie house. Here’s a cardboard box. Pretend it’s an iPod.”

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Nyquil, Huffington Post and a video of me singing to a cat.

Where have I been for about 3 weeks? Oh, nowhere special. First I got knocked down for about a week with what I would call the plague and you would probably call “THE COMMON COLD” but whatever. I pretty much stayed on the couch in a Theraflu and Nyquil stupor and whined to anyone that would listen to me and waited for impending death. It was a pretty productive week.

I still managed to get in some Halloween activities because I didn’t want to deprive Bella of the excitement. We went to a fall festival and two Trunk or Treats the weekend before Halloween and by the actual holiday I was finally feeling better and we were able to take her trick or treating, which she loved. I would post pictures but I already posted a ton to Facebook so….nah.

Other than that I’ve just been working, cleaning and chasing my kid around. Oh and also getting notifications that I have fans on Huffington Post. For a day or two I kept looking at these email notifications like “????”

And then suddenly something seemed vaguely familiar. I may or may not have had a few drinks, created an account and started leaving snarky comments on articles here and there. MAYBE. Okay, definitely. So now I have fans.

Tonight I went to dinner with my parents for dinner and videotaped their cat, Walter, because he had some nasty black sore on his ear and he kept wanting to rub on me and I didn’t want to touch him. Walter is this random stray that wandered in through the cat door like a decade ago and never left. You can read more about him here. Basically, this cat is always covered in wounds, so before you look at that thing on his ear and start being all “OMG that cat needs to go to a vet,” keep in mind that my mom practically keeps a local vet in business in her attempt to keep this cat and all her other animals alive. I apologize in advance for the creepy song I am singing in the background. I felt the need to narrate and sing song is way better than regular talking.

Visit Walter on YouTube here. 

 

You are welcome.

 

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