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Archives from 2002-2006

Naturally, after all my scurrying around like a chicken with its head partially detached from a bad axe blow leaving the gory wound to geyser steady pulses of blood into the air while the body runs hither and yon cut off, things have already gone to hell with regards to Workplace’s booth at the Macworld Expo this week. This is why I hate tradeshows, or any event that requires multiple balls to be thrown in the air and successfully caught by multiple, disassociated entities. Something always take a big greasy dump on the dance floor, no matter how many faxes you send or voicemails you leave. HATE.

The idea that some people actually enjoy events management and sometimes specialize in horrifying things like weddings totally blows my mind. Man, if I had to be even partially responsible for someone’s wedding going off without a . . . well, obviously with a hitch, but without any major problems, I’d flee the country. Spraying a trail of terrified urine behind me like an unbalanced Sheltie.

At any rate, this may not be my finest hour to say a temporary farewell from Workplace (always leave them with a bad taste in their mouth, that’s apparently MY motto!) but the time for doing so is looming. I think next week will be my last, and the final week of the month I’ll reserve for trying to get some R&R before Smalltopus arrives on the 4th. Maybe cook some casseroles. Well, maybe learn how to cook casseroles first, and then—ah, fuck it, who am I kidding: the only thing I’m likely to produce from the kitchen is more cookies, which we will then eat too quickly to freeze for later.

(Side note: I gave Riley part of a brownie the other day for the first time, and I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of being so utterly delighted by someone else’s facial expression. He put it in his mouth, chewed for a moment thoughtfully, and then it was as though a rich beam of joyful sunlight spread over his entire face and shone out his eyesockets. “Mmmm!” he said, with pure enjoyment. “Chocwate!” Yes, my boy, and I’m proud to see that you are in fact your mother’s son after all.)

In other news, I love my Personalized Google Homepage but I think it’s time to take the CNN.com headline feeds right the hell off of there. CNN loves to come up with provocative headlines and I think they’ve got an entire creative team working on how many awful ways they can sum up the ongoing search for bodies in that horrible unthinkable murder case in Alabama. Can the words “tossed from bridge” be worked in there? Or does “thrown from bridge” sound even worse? How about “tiny corpses”, have we used that yet? OH GOD CNN STOP IT. I don’t want to know any more about that story unless 1) a child has been found alive, or 2) the father has been sentenced to 59378 consecutive years of being ass-raped on an hourly basis by an entire prison’s worth of sadist disease-infested inmates with ten-foot-long spiked penises.

Uh, moving on from that subject, how about a picture of The Boys, hanging out in this giant crazy tent thing that has taken over our living room:

Riley: “SHHHH. Riwwy hiding.”

I feel kind of bad for slagging JB about his Vegas trip and insinuating that he’s a heartless bastard who never gives me nice things, when in fact he’s a heartless bastard who sometimes gives me very nice things indeed (and not just Muhdik, JOSH) (PS: HAAAAA).

Witness:

Those are two pretty pretty bracelets I got at Christmas, one with Riley’s birthstone (peridot) and one with Smalltopus’s (amethyst). Sure, that amethyst might end up being not quite 100% correct, depending on whether Small makes an earlier appearance, but no biggie. Before Riley was born JB gave me a lovely necklace with a sapphire for Riley’s September due date, then of course the boy went and arrived on the very last day of August, so we have a history of children screwing up their father’s thoughtful gemstone purchase. Somehow I have managed to deal with the burden of having a beautiful necklace with a funny backstory, so if STP ends up being a garnet baby, that’s okay.

(Although, memo to child: you are supposed to stay put a while longer, dammit, so Mama can have her much-looked-forward-to pre-baby spa day. Don’t make me show up in the hospital with chipped toenail polish, kid.)

In other news, I keep trying to come up with something other than OMG YOU GUYS I AM SOOOO PREGNANT to write about, but I can’t. Maybe because I look like THIS:

No more room for brain and thinky-type activities. All is Belly. Must do what Belly commands. Must . . . get . . . Haagen . . . Dazs.

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