• Previous posts

  • Two new delights
  • Less noise, more me
  • Good times
  • Not Ken’s Dream House
  • The joy of different
  • This must be the place
  • All of the feels
  • Life update: endings and beginnings
  • Adapting to the lasts
  • At the same time
  • Take a picture it’ll last longer
  • Horsin’ around
  • Surrender, Dorothy
  • College let-go
  • End of summer this-and-thats

Archives from 2002-2006

Two posts in two days! What! Bee tee dubs: if you would like to discontinue email notifications, you can easily do so at the bottom of this page, exactly like how you signed up. No muss, no fuss, no need to send me a terse one-word email to UNSUBSCRIBE. I am not spamming you, I promise! I don’t even send those emails! It’s a plugin thingie which means as far as I’m concerned it works via tiny elves that live inside my WordPress installation.

Today I am feeling sorry for a football guy. Specifically, the football guy who came out during the few remaining seconds of the Ducks game last night and tried to kick a … what, a field goal? I’m not really sure how football works, either. (Elves?) Anyway, the score was like 35-38 and he had to try and kick that ball what look like about twenty million miles, and he missed, and the Ducks lost. And today the paper had this enormous blaring headline, MISSED KICK COST OREGON, something like that, and I kept thinking how shitty that is for that guy since it’s not like he lost the game all by himself, and can you even imagine the insane pressure he was under as he was out on the field staring down that ball? And how terrible he probably felt afterwards? GAH. This is why I can’t watch sports. Also on account of most of the games being brain-meltingly boring and taking at least five hours too long.

The other thing happening today is that I am wearing the world’s most comfortable pair of boots. I escaped the house for a while this morning and found myself in a DSW—that’s Discount Shoe Warehouse, don’t you know—and I came across a pair of Børns (Martinas, I think they’re called?) that I’ve been eyeballing for months:

Cute, and better yet, they feel amazing. Best of all: they were marked down about 40%, so now they are mine. Retail therapy, for the win!

Also immensely cheering: it has been freezing here in Seattle lately, but today was crisp and clear and cold rather than wet and depressing and cold. A glorious day for soaking up city views:

Now I have a question for you. My assignment for Thanksgiving next week is to bring cranberry sauce and rolls to JB’s brother’s wife’s parents’ house, where we’re having dinner on Thursday. (Wow, that was ridiculously complicated. My sister-in-law’s parents’ house, how about that.) Can you recommend any super-easy, super-delicious recipes for rolls? Preferably something that doesn’t require waiting around for yeast to do its mysterious thing, because I always seem to fuck that up? (“HERE ARE YOUR ROLLS I AM VERY SORRY THEY LOOK LIKE HOCKEY PUCKS.”) Or if you have a no-fail, everyone-loves-it cranberry sauce recipe, I’d love to hear that too.

I think I’d like to try writing here more often. The less I write, the harder I find it is to think of something to write about, and I end up feeling like I should have some Meaningful Sort of Parental Essay in mind. Remember online journals, before they were blogs and then mommyblogs? I miss my online journal.

There! I kept my self-obsessed masturbatory blog-related musings to three sentences. You’re welcome.

I am typing this from my bedroom, where I recently dragged the long-ignored nursery room rocking chair and shoved it next to the closet. It’s pretty much the lamest writing space ever (I love when I see people’s cheery little suggestions for private, spacious home offices. HA HA HA MUST BE NICE), but there is this: I can lock the door.

Sadly there is no soundproof barrier on said door, but that’s where these things come in handy:

Ear plugs: strong enough to somewhat muffle the cacophony of your children’s feral shriekings, but made for a woman. You can tell it’s for women because … uh, they’re pink. Also “silky soft,” unlike regular earplugs, which are coated in sandpaper and burlap.

JB and I went and saw Immortals last night and I was left wondering how it is that some movies can be terrible and leave you thinking, Jesus, what a waste of time and ticket money THAT was (Captain America, Cowboys vs. Aliens), and some movies are terrible yet remain thoroughly enjoyable. Anyway, Immortals: sort of terrible, but also sort of rad? Maybe it was the abs? Or the epically gory ridicuawesome battle at the end?

(I’m also not sure why Immortals is a 3D film. It seemed like some of it was and some of it wasn’t, yet you have to wear those annoying glasses the whole time. I would bet money that film wasn’t filmed in 3D, but was instead converted afterwards. The visuals in the movie are so over the top it seemed like they could have been made absolutely breathtaking with 3D, but in this case the sense of depth provided by that extra dimension was pretty much limited to just a few scenes, so what was the point? ENDING EBERT-ESQUE RANT NOW.)

This morning I ordered holiday cards. I decided to skip the whole photo-capturing ritual this year, which feels a little lame, but also maybe like a happy little present I’m giving myself? I also gave myself a time limit with regards to dicking around with card designs and now it is DUNZO. Man, what a relief. I got an absolutely gorgeous TinyPrints catalogue in the mail the other day and I could tell within about about two seconds of looking at it that it had the capacity to make me craaaaaaaazy (MUST! MAKE! MOST! BEAUTIFUL! CARD! EVER!) so into the recycling that went, along with any frustratingly unattainable expectations and budget-annihilating ideas, and hey look at that I totally discovered the secret of holiday sanity. Boom.

I also ordered a lightweight running belt that will hold my cell phone, so I can maybe go for a mid-morning run on the days when Dylan’s in preschool. It would require shoving around my work schedule, but I think it might be doable. Better than waiting until the end of the day when it’s pitch dark and dreary, right?

Finally, would you like to hear about something that sounds insanely repulsive but is, I swear to god, magically delicious? Here. You can adjust that bad boy all you want, or make it with peanut butter and banana instead. I don’t know what happens to all that spinach, but you cannot taste it. I also add a scoop of vanilla protein powder and ice, so it’s both BURLY-NUTRITIOUS and like a milkshake. Try it, seriously. You will look at your glass of green slime and be all I HATE YOU LINDA and then you will drink it and we will be best friends.

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