just for laughs

Poor George. Whenever I need a giggle he gets to wear a hat.

Hope you all have a great Halloween! I’ll try to be back tomorrow with a picture ofย Josh’s Jedi costume.

If you aren’t going to BlogHer, well, I’m sorry for this

It seems like everyone is writing a pre-BlogHer post this week. I’m of two minds about writing one of my own. As much as I am giddy with excitement, I know my non-bloggy friends really don’t understand the concept of going to a conference for blogging. Of all things. Blogging? Wha??

Beyond that, I remember what it felt like last year, (heck, and the year before too) when I stayed home while every blogger I read and wanted to meet was headed for San Francisco. Can you say burning flames of jealousy? I don’t want to make anyone reading here feel that way. Just know my friends, that I wish ALL of you were able to go to Chicago so I could meet each and every one of you.

In any case, most of the BlogHer posts I’ve read have basically been about angst. As in; don’t have any and you will be fine. Good advice, I can live with that. For some reason I’m not at all nervous about flying to Chicago on my own and meeting some 1,000 or so other bloggers. (Mostly) Women bloggers. Geeky (mostly) women bloggers. There’s no reason to have angst about meeting other geeks/dorks/nerds, right? Right. I mean I know I’m one anyway.

Anyway, here is my list of what I will be doing at BlogHer:

And now here’s the list of what I will not be doing at BlogHer:

There. That’s it. I did it. That’s my first real pre-BlogHer post. I hope it was good enough. (Oops, that was my angst showing.) Kidding!!

Seriously, though, you all know I’m KIDDING. I really don’t have angst. I’m just a little snarky.

black out

I’m a fainter.

When I’m in pain my brain shuts off and my vagus nerve takes over. And I pass out. Vasovagal syncope. Out cold.

<Disclaimer: If you’re either squeamish or male you might want to skip this post. Trust me.>

The earliest time I remember it happening was in the dentist’s office when I was first in braces. My mouth was already pretty sore and when the dentist started telling my mother some last minute thing to do with my teeth he didn’t just point toward my gums, he poked them. I’m sure he didn’t mean to, he was the nicest dentist I ever had, but yeah, dang that hurt! And down I went. Right in front of the receptionist’s desk. Scared the crap out of everyone! My poor mother!

My family and friends got kind of used to it but it was always shocking, not to mention, frankly, pretty freaking funny, whenever it happened.

Like the time I was at my neighbor’s house and we were all playing in the woods. I slipped on a rock and landed on my tailbone. Ouch! I leaned against a tree for support but it didn’t help. I woke up lying on my back in a small stream of water mud with my friends standing over me. I certainly wasn’t more than nine or ten and they were younger than me! I can’t imagine what they thought happened but they sure were laughing their butts off!

Truly the funniest one was when I had my ears pierced. My mom and my 2 older sisters with me. Like a rite of passage or something. Typical mall kiosk, typical ice cream shop for lunch afterward. What wasn’t typical was the conversation – which was my oldest sister Lisa telling us about piercing her own ears with an ice cube and a needle. Eww!

I woke up under the table.

It’s okay to laugh. We still do.

I think can hear Carolyn laughing right now.

I even passed out at school in 7th grade. But no one knew. I didn’t feel good ~ahem~ because of the “cramps” <don’t say I didn’t warn you guys> and I was sitting in the principal’s office waiting for my mom to come pick me up. The principal and his secretary had both stepped out for a few seconds. Just long enough for me to find myself waking up on the floor, face down, right in front of the open door. I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and sat back in my chair. Right before they walked back in. Gee, I don’t know why he told me I looked pale!

The most embarrassing, (yes, there was one more embarrassing then sliding off my seat under the table at a very busy restaurant) was when I was about 16 or 17 and working at a summer job at at pizza place/variety store. I told my manager I didn’t feel well, (those pesky cramps again) and instead of sending me home she sent me to the basement to shred humongous blocks of mozzarella cheese. You know, so I wouldn’t be around customers. Duh.

Do you know incredibly bad massive quantities of shredded cheese smells? Especially when you don’t feel well to begin with? Ugh. So gross. But I finished my task and went back upstairs to tell her I was worse. She was flirting with the bread man and ignoring me so I leaned against the soda cooler. And BAM. On the freaking floor. Only they couldn’t get a hold of my mother. (These were the days before cell phones, of course!)

So guess what they did? They called a freaking ambulance. And then kept sitting me in a chair instead of letting me just lie down! Dumba$$es. So I kept fainting, over and over! After they called the ambulance they then called my poor father at work to meet me at the hospital, FOR CRAMPS!! The horror. Oh, the horror.

Can I just say one thing here? Does anyone else see a pattern? Really, am I the only one who uses the word cramps as a euphemism for BEING STABBED WITH AN ICE PICK STRAIGHT INTO MY UTERUS???? Because seriously if “cramps” just means like just a little discomfort or some $hit to you all then I really hate everyone right now.



Can you tell I have cramps?

And that I had vasovagal syncope recently? As in Monday. Because of a dang pap!!! And the ensuing effing CRAMPS!!!!!!

I really did warn you.

I’m probably going to really regret hitting publish.

ps. I can give blood with no problems whatsoever. Go figure.

friday blah

It’s Friday, blah blah blah. I’m trying to pull another post out of my butt thin air, blah blah blah.


Why the blahs? Cause every single day I do the same things:

Get up,

take a shower,

trip over the cat,

make coffee,

pack snacks for the boy,

put the boy on the bus,

avoid cleaning,

work frantically,

drop everything to pick the boy up,

feed him lunch,

forget to make my lunch,

work frantically,

realize I never drank my coffee,

realize am dehydrated,

work frantically,

avoid cleaning,


throw snacks at boy,


realize it’s time to defrost something,


work frantically,

oops – can’t cook until I clean kitchen,

trip over the cat,

cook dinner,


realize I never finished my coffee,

am dehydrated again,

throw snacks at the boy,

read to boy,

boy goes to bed,


look at stats,

want a drink,

only have water,

avoid cleaning,

watch tv,

read blogs,

try not to snack,


realize twitter only gets good after my bedtime,

go to bed too late,

pee three times before I can sleep since I drank all that water at the end of the day.


Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

The regular variations are the occasional load of laundry, cleaning up cat puke/poop, and forking over wads of cash at the dang grocery store/target/wal-mart.

Seriously, yesterday at 4:30pm I went to defrost turkey sausage to make a quick spaghetti sauce with, and in the microwave I found the water I had boiled for the stupid cup o’ ramen I was going to have for lunch because I didn’t have time for anything else. Apparently I didn’t have time for that either.


I need a life. I need a cure for my twitter addiction. And I’m not nearly as funny as the voices in my head think I am.

did I mention I hate driving anywhere I’ve never been before?

Sometimes you have to admit you’re wrong.

I was wrong.

I was adamant that I didn’t need a GPS. Boy was I ever wrong!

I had to drive down to the Framingham MA area for the wedding. Only a little over an hour, but….holy moly….the traffic. And the confusion. Going North to go South. One way streets. Three different towns in one day, and only highways connecting them. The church to the hotel, the hotel to the reception, the reception back the hotel. My sisters following me. Me – the one with the driving anxiety. But also, the one with the GPS.

Dear Tom-Tom, I love you. Thank you for saving my life yesterday. Because I’m pretty sure if I had tried to read the directions while navigating those crazy-a$$ roads, while making sure my sisters were still behind me, I would have died.

Dear Greater Framingham Area, I be back, um, NEVER AGAIN.

Dear DH, I love you too. Thank you for making me take my new best friend Tom-Tom with me, and for programming in all my addresses. Next time I’ll take your word for it. Maybe.

silly search strings

If you’re a blogger you’ve discovered that some people will find your blog using very strange search terms. I can’t help but post some of my favorites (completely unedited!) that have appeared since I started this site.

and my favorite:

ps. Chapter 4 – coming soon.

I’ve horrified myself

If you’ve read much of this blog, or if you know me irl, you are well aware that cleaning is my least favorite thing to do on the planet. Seriously. When I told DH I was going to be working on the Homemaking Channel for Blog Nosh Magazine he actually laughed and said “well, maybe you’ll learn something.” (Don’t condemn him, it’s no worse than I thought myself AND he helps around here way more than most husbands!)

Anyway, DH took the boy to t-ball awhile ago and I decided to stay home and try to accomplish something. Something immensely productive. I needed to clean the family room. This is the room where the boy and I spend most of our time during the day. Many of his toys and craft items are here, and my work stuff is all here. This fact will be important later – I work sitting in the middle of the couch with all my shit stuff spread out around me. (Mostly because my desk is too cluttered to actually work at. Sigh.) You might already know, but I am a freelance photo editor. That means I always have manuscripts, layouts, pens, highlighters, a water bottle, a coffee mug (well balanced of course), paper clips, date planner, etc. next to me at all times. Yeah, on the couch. It drives DH crazy because he can never come sit next to me. I digress.

I needed to clean because I have overnight company coming it was dirty. As I’m vacuuming it occurred to me that someone might need to sleep on the couch later this week, and god forbid someone might pull the cushions off of it. So I bit the bullet and decided to clean under the cushions. Oh. My. God. Needless to say I am sitting on a very clean couch as I type this.

Confession time. Here is the horror list of what I found, not including Hershey Kisses wrappers just regular trash.

I’m pretty sure I deserve a second cup of coffee for all of that. Or a nap. Or a cleaning lady.

life’s little irritations #6

I guess I haven’t been too irritated lately, it’s been awhile since I posted one of these!

Today’s irritation: tailgaters.

Now this post is going to make me sound like a goody two shoes old fogey fuddy-duddy, well that’s fine, cause I am. Or at least I am now.

I have a history you see, of speeding. I KNOW! I’ve been a leadfoot since the day I got my license. There was the time in high school when I sort of made my cute little Dodge Omni “fly” and my passengers both hit their heads on the ceiling – and they were wearing seatbelts. I was pretty sure by the loud crack we heard that I had snapped my undercarriage in two – but no.

There was also the time back in 95 when I rolled the same bestest car ever cute little Omni over, because wha? yeah, I was speeding, (and there were deer involved, but really huge moose-like Maine deer!) and hey, I didn’t snap the undercarriage in two then either! Just everything else. I digress, that’s really story for another post….

Now I am a leadfoot in recovery, mostly because I’ve had a few too many speeding tickets over the years, and I’d really really really like to not have anymore for a very looong time and my insurance company would probably really like that too I’m trying to be a responsible mother. My biggest problem now is if others are speeding I can’t help but speed too, but somehow I’m the one that gets caught.

My cure for this is my cruise control. Especially if the speed limit is really low. Like 25 mph. I don’t ever get caught going 78 in a 65. Nooooooooo, I always get caught going like 37 in 25. So I set the cruise, like any good fogey, at about 4 mph over the limit. I know, you hate me, you really really do, cause you’re the one stuck behind me. I’m so sorry, but really believe me when I say, I do it because my checking account can’t take another fine I’m doing you a favor by not letting you speed either. Because…I KNOW where all the speed traps are, don’t you people pay attention to these things?!!

Anyway, I just want to know, why oh why do people have to TAILGATE? Let’s be clear here – I’m not even talking about teenagers who I understand are still in their stupid phase. I’m talking about other adults, usually with one ear in a cell phone, and driving much much larger vehicles than mine. Really, no matter how close they get, I’m not going to go any faster. Do not try to guilt me! Dude, all that tailgating does is it really makes me want to slam on the brakes and and then sue them for rear-ending me. (Just not when the boy is in the car with me, I swear.) I worked for an insurance company once, I know very well who would be at fault here, and it’s not the old fogey chick in front. Just sayin’.

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