Skip to main content

I took a test for my teaching license in Denver yesterday and went to a bridal shower and then fell asleep after putting Magnus to bed at 8. Which means I woke up at four. Sleep is stupid. There's never enough of it and I always screw it up.

I miss crapping by myself.  Now there's this toddler who wants to come sit in the room with his snacks which is just gross.  And since he's allowed in the room, the dog and the cat have to come see if the rules have changed for them.  They haven't.  Or shit, I don't care, whatever.  I just miss not subconsciously echoing Magnus "poop!"  "Yes, mommy's pooping."  "Pee, pee."  "Yes, you go pee pee in the potty."  And on. 

I got to use a babysitter to go to the OB the other day though.  That's totally what I want to do with my kid-free time.  Here's what I think is weird about the twat doctor trip: when they walk out of the room for you to take off the bottom part of your outfit.  Then you sit for an indeterminate amount of time with a paper blanket on your bottom half but looking all normal and reading a book on the top half.  Makes me feel like one of those children's books with animal parts.  You know, where you turn the page and get an ostrich's feet and a giraffe head?  I feel like that. 

A lot of my identity feels split like that.  Formal on top, silly bottom.  My favorite tease-Rob tactic lately is a dramatic bottom shaking.  It's a stylish dance I'm perfecting over time.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Where'd the monkeys in my hair go?

I promise I will post Wednesdays' Weirdos again next week, but the pictures for this week got trapped on my camera with a dead battery. Sorry. I suck. Instead I'll tell you a drinking story. We were in St. Louis visiting for the holidays and a rare opportunity to get annihilated with my girlfriends presented itself. I started out with two beers while I was waiting for the girls with Rob's friends. Then, when we got to the fancy-pants bar I switched to whiskey on the rocks. I'm at sea level so I think I can drink like a champ. Hmmm. After about three of these and I-don't-remember-how-many shots, I switched back to beer. Damn, I'm bright. At some point in the evening I realize that we're in a bar that used to be my favorite bar in the whole world. It was called Tangerine then. They had Go Go dancers on the bar and let you climb on it and had hand shaped chairs so your butt got held. They had trucker night where you got your drinks in mugs. They ha...
6 comments
Read more

Dear Book Pimp

So I wrote this book and I think it's pretty decent. That's the feedback I'm getting anyway, which is bitchin' really since I have a degree in Education, NOT writing. Plus, this is my first try, so really I should be happy, right? But, turns out writing the book is maybe the easy part. The publishing is another story. You have to find a Literary Agent. To do this, you have to write a 1-3 page letter to many literary agents to convince them to read a sample chapter. Send it with a Self addressed stamped envelope (SASE) and wait. there's more but I'm already experiencing a high level anxiety just writing about this part. In my letter, I'm supposed to explain who I am, what my book's about, why I'm qualified to write it, why its sicky illy good, who'll read it, and on and on. AHHHHHhhhhh! This shit scares me. Also, I'm supposed to be witty, clever, literary, and junk. Oh and explain a 300 page book in a sales pitch. I'm not a frea...
10 comments
Read more

Past tense

I work with this really kickass lawyer. She's been all crazy over this guy lately. He worked for probation. Past tense. Did you see it? Over the weekend he killed himself. Enter past tense, the unwelcome jerk. And I feel soooo terrible. And guilty. Because I tried it to. I talked about it a little in this post . Try #17 and on. That's where I talk about it. A little. And now when someone kills themselves, I feel guilty. Like what I did when I was 17 somehow makes me responsible for everyone who ever does it. Like because I tried it, I should know how to fix it. But there are tons of recovering drug addicts that can't tell you how to get sober. There are great thinkers that can't explain their ideas. And the fact is, no one can explain suicide.
6 comments
Read more