April Fool

Today is the last day of March. And while most people are scheming and planning the pranks that they will play on their loved ones and co-workers tomorrow, I am planning how to avoid them. I hate practical jokes with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. I think it's mostly because they work really well on me. It's because I am so trusting. So literal. So gullible. Plus, I startle easily.

And so tomorrow I will spend the entire day on Joke Alert: threat level fuchsia.

I will not believe anything anyone says to me all day, nomatterwhat.
I will double and triple check all chairs before I sit on them.
I will look in my shoes before I put them on.
I will walk through all doorways very very slowly.
I will not put any condiments that have not been in my possession all day on any of my meals.
I will be hyper-aware of everyone's facial expressions. If your eye is twitching even a tiny bit, like you might be holding in a smile while you are talking to me, I will probably just turn and walk away from you.

Picture me stumbling through my day, hollow-eyed, shivering and muttering to myself. Must not be gullible... must keep guard up... never relax.

In the Eye of the Beholder

I've heard* a lot of people complaining recently about how everyone is taking pictures with their hipstamatic filters on their phones and calling it art. Kind of like how, when I was working at the art supply store in college, women would come in with fabric swatches from their couches and buy six pots of acrylic to match their decor and a canvas and go to town with their sponge brushes. I'm sure that none of those pieces ended up hanging in the National Gallery. But who really cares? It's about making things that make you happy.

My Hipstamatic pictures though? High art.

*read on twitter

My Impending Brilliance

I've been slacking here this week. I've had a headache since Monday and now I have an earache. I'm pretty sure I have a brain tumor. But I hear that having a brain tumor can make you really smart (right before it kills you.) At least that's what happens on TV. That's where I get most of my medical knowledge: doctor shows.

But apparently, that's not a reliable way to diagnose yourself. I know because when I was in the operating room having a c-section, right as they were about to slice open my abdomen and pull out a tiny tiny baby, I asked all the doctors in the room if doctors watch doctor shows on TV. The answer was a resounding, "NO! They're so dumb and unrealistic. Except for Scrubs. That one's funny. Congratulations, it's a girl."

I also once knew a forensic scientist who couldn't say enough bad stuff about shows like CSI.

But you know what? I work in an office. An advertising office. That doesn't stop me from watching shows like Mad Men or, you know, The Office. I don't watch those shows, but not because they're not realistic. I have completely different emotional issues that prevent me from enjoying them. But that's a story for another time. Or never, because, really? How high do I want to fly my neurotic flag?

But the point is: This brain tumor thing is going to make me really smart, or give me super powers any day now. So bear with me here. This blog may become brilliant at any moment.

But just in case it doesn't, I've created a tumblr page. I haven't posted a single thing there yet. I don't even really know how it works. But I discovered a few people using it to blog that I needed to follow and you have to have an account to follow people and it's all very confusing. So, someday you might find me at everandanon.tumblr.com. 

Or my chiropractor will get back from vacation, crack my neck, cure my headache and I will go back to pain-free mediocrity.

New Bed

Finally. No more propping the bottom of the bed up with bricks. No more rolling toward the center. A real grown-up bed.

Things I am currently geeking out about, Part 2

Duh.

Things I am currently geeking out about, Part 1

A couple of my nerdy D&D friends (thanks Horton, thanks Squeeks) introduced these books to me a few years ago and I ate them up like so many bags of dill pickle potato chips.  They're currently being made into a series for HBO.

I don't have HBO.

Yet.

Night Cap

This is Lydia and me in another life, I think. And why I didn't sleep well last night.
I am a pit bull's pillow.

And, through and over everything, A sense of glad awakening.

It was 50 degrees here yesterday and so for the first time in months, I wolfed down my lunch, crammed my earbuds in and set out on my lunch hour walk through the office park. I was listening to a new audiobook as I slipped on the icy spots, detoured around snow boulders and slogged through 20 foot wide puddles.

A phrase in the book caught my attention. Something about a triangle of a family... I don't remember exactly. And an idea for something I wanted to write started buzzing in the back of my head. But unfortunately, my attention was split between trying to follow the story line and trying not to fall on my ass in a puddle of half-frozen mud.

When I tried to reconstruct the idea today, I had lost the thread and it ended up just sounding random. But my point is, spring is almost here. And with spring comes sunshine and sure-footedness.

And then?

Then I will be a force to be reckoned with.

I'm stumped

I feel like I need a teaching degree to help Lucas with his homework. No, not because the material's over my head.  Because he is alternately extremely stubborn and ridiculously distracted. And he gets frustrated so easily. That boy must. learn. to read.

(He says he'd just as soon not.)

The Mary Poppins School of Plumbing Repair

Nothing brings a couple together like shared toilet repair.

Eric: "Do you think it's fixed?"
Me: "I guess we have to wait till somebody poops and see if it all goes down."

Both: (begin humming) "A Spoonful of Sugar"

Crackers

Substances I like to dip saltines in:

1. chocolate frosting
2. applesauce
3. tuna fish
4. soup
5. peanut butter & jelly
6. banana pudding





*not (generally) at the same time.

Without You

Dear the Internet,

Oh, dearest the Internet, without you I would be lost. Without you I wouldn't have pictures of a the girl who sat across from me in 7th grade science's fourth wedding. I wouldn't know which celebrities were getting divorced and which ones were pregnant. I would be unaware of the music the cool kids are listening to and I would not be able to watch people running into walls on their skateboards. Without you, the Internet, I would not know which parts of my body I should be waxing and which parts I should be bleaching.

But, the Internet, I'm afraid I have failed you. How could I be so careless as to neglect your obvious need to see my new haircut? To not update you on the non-event that I had last week? Oh, my the Internet, I do not deserve you. I didn't check my email or Facebook or Twitter all weekend. I didn't even once check the stats on my blog or post, or even read anyone else's posts. The Internet! How can I make this right?

I will try to do better. Do you think you can forgive me?

A peace offering:

All my best,
Elizabeth

In the Car

Me: Oh my goodness, traffic is terrible, it's going to take forever to get home.

Merry: Darnik! What a bitch!

Most of my jobs have involved wood glue

Tomorrow, I have one of those things that shall not be named on the internet, lest I tempt the gods and jinx myself. I learned my lesson last time, thank you very much. And for this thing that must not be named I have to look nice. Like I don't get dressed in the dark every morning.  Like my clothes aren't made of dog hair.

Honestly, it would be easier to make new clothes from scratch than to try to scrape together something presentable from the stained, pilled, ill fitting pieces that are currently hanging in my closet.

So I just up and bought my first suit.

Who wants to take bets on how long till I find it smeared with peanut butter and being used as a dog bed?

Tuesday (the fat one)

Watch this, I guess.
It's Tuesday. I am not fond of Tuesdays

One Day

New Song

Kristin Hersh is kind of one of my heroes. I first heard Throwing Muses as a kid, and loved it. I talked about that here. Then she had a solo career. Which was awesome. She tells funny stories between her songs at shows and always has great opening acts. That's where I first heard Andrew Bird and Vic Chesnutt. And she wrote a book. About her music and being bipolar and being a pregnant teenager and recording her first album. It's funny and beautiful. But of all the things she's done, I think I love 50 Foot Wave the best. They have a new song out today.  I love it. It makes my blood feel bubbly.


Go listen to it. It's free to stream or download. 
http://50footwave.cashmusic.org/






* I am now ashamed of the quality of writing on this post, but I was all in a tizzy about the awesomeness, and couldn't be bothered to think of better adjectives.

More about Hair

I'm pretty sure the photo booth application on my macbook is my kids' favorite toy in the world. The second Merry sees me open my computer she is in my lap asking to watch streaming cartoons on Netflix or wanting to take pictures.

But check it out. Remember this post where I told you about her hair pulling and resulting baldness? Look at that. A head full of hair and she even let me put pony tails in it for a couple hours. Unfortunately, since she's nearly four years old and has been bald up until a few months ago, the feeling of anything in her hair is too weird for her and she won't leave them in. But still, yay! Hair.

Is my daughter cross-eyed?

And that's me and my practice bangs behind her.

Bangs

I got an iphone a few months ago, my first smart phone. My first introduction to hand-held twitter and video games. Oh my goodness: those angry, angry birds. I cannot put it down. And, whether it's from being slightly far-sighted and squinting at the screen, or from making my concentratey face (basically the same thing) I have developed a nice new deep vertical wrinkle between my eyebrows.

So I either need to start wearing low-slung sweat bands every day or get a new haircut with bangs, right?

The other day, I'm trying it out in the mirror: taking the front section of my hair and twisting it under at eye level and then tucking it behind my ear. Practice bangs. I get it looking about right and then go out to my computer to take a picture of myself with photo booth. Because I will need to look at it for a few days to see if I like it.

I remember really regretting it the last time I had bangs, like fifteen years ago, but I can't quite remember why and I don't have any pictures to remind me. Maybe it's because of my wicked cowlick that will give me mall claw bangs no matter how much I try to mash them down.

Anyway, as I'm walking through the house to my desk, Lucas sees me and his eyes light up.

"Mom! You look beautiful! Just like [Eric's ex-wife]."

Crap.