Jul
27
I have something like 18 months’ worth of video on our camcorder, mostly because 1) it’s a pain in the butt to get it onto my Mac and 2) I’m lazy, but I managed to pull a few recent clips and string them together into a too-long-for-Flickr movie featuring some revealing shots of our shamefully messy family room, the fact that Riley often runs around with no pants on, and one of the many scintillating lyrics in that well-loved singalong, “All the Babies Go to the Mine (Lowered in Buckets)”:
Random family goofiness from Linda Lee on Vimeo.
In other news, hot dogs are apparently off the list of things I can talk about at ParentDish along with every-fucking-thing else, sheesh; JB made me watch The Bucket List with him the other night and then he begged me not to tell the internet but HA HA HA my husband made me watch a pussy suck-ass Rob Reiner movie oh wait the joke’s on me; Dylan has been sleeping like a champ in his swing but not nearly so well in the crib and I don’t know, do you think there’s anything wrong with continuing to cram him in the Nature’s Touch Baby Papasan at night or are we just creating a maaaajor problem for ourselves?
Jul
24
Good lord, it’s been a busy week. I’ve been at work, home with the kids, then back to work again; I’ve been dragging children to pediatrician appointments and changing diapers and writing website copy and answering email and trying to meet freelance obligations and staring at the enormous amounts of housework that needs to be tackled with a stifling sense of despair and throwing together half-assed meals and playing with LEGOs and there has hardly been any time for bad television.
(Oh my god were Cat Deeley’s nipples on half-dollar-sized, oh-so-prominent display in that black dress during last night’s SYTYCD or was it just ME?)
I forced myself to go running tonight and I am pleased to report I am getting marginally better at it. Instead of stopping every three minutes in order to walk, wheeze, and fight back the urge to projectile vomit, I only have to slow down a couple times during my outing. I have no idea how far I’m going, but it takes me about 40 minutes to complete the loop, including warmup. I am moving at a very slow pace as evidenced by my experimental trotting on a treadmill at the gym recently (I had it in my head that a 10-minute mile is practically standing still, and hell, maybe it is, but running with the machine at that setting was PLENTY BRISK), and I am surely not prepared to take on anything with the letter K at the end of it, but incremental improvements are being made.
I need to find some better running gear, though, because things that work just fine for regular gym activities or DVD workouts or whatever seem fraught with challenges once I’m engaged in the violently jiggly act of running. My shorts somehow fall down my hips and cram themselves up my ass at the same time, my underwear creeps around to all sorts of problematic areas, my iPod cord works itself loose from my shirt and flies around my face, my sports bra rides up, and individual hairs (ah, from my head) lay themselves firmly across the surfaces of my eyeballs. Annoyances, all of them, and it makes the act of deliberately torturing yourself for the sake of physical fitness all the more, well, tortuous.
While I was puffing along, batting wildly at my shorts/underwear/bra/iPod/hair/etc, a seedy-looking guy drove past me and peered out the open window of his truck to take a careful look, and I actually saw him completely dismiss me as unworthy of one solitary leer. It made me realize — and this is kind of goofy to admit and is going to sound like I am fishing for compliments and you will just have to believe me when I say I’m not — but it made me realize that it’s been, um, FOREVER since I’ve seen a guy Check Me Out. Like, hey there’s a marginally hot chick over there, I think I’ll rudely stare her down for a second as I go by. Okay, I’m not saying I MISS it, exactly, but it does make a person wonder just how matronly and frumpy they have become, you know what I mean?
(JB is going to read this and be all, what do you care about other guys checking you out when I have SO MUCH BEEF JERKY FOR YOU, and listen, it’s not about that, it’s about feeling a little like any mojo I had left got sealed up in a wet, smelly diaper bag and tossed to the curb.)
Anyway, I need to get back to my Regularly Scheduled Craziness (blogs to write! Laundry to ignore! SYTYCD results to watch!), but I’ll leave you with a little Thursday joyousness:
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My product review site:
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