The Pitiful Personage

I took the Oldest to piano lesson and fell asleep in the car. I keep thinking that youth has escaped me. 

My sister in law left nearly a whole cheesecake in my fridge from Memorial Day and it says on the box that each slice is five HUNDRED calories. I am still steadily eating a piece a day and feeling slightly guilty although I have been eating less since I can't eat with these blasted braces on. But the fat intake is a tad alarming. Let's not talk about it. 

I get excited every time my favorite time of day hits: around four o'clock. I think that this is the time when I start to make dinner, pour myself a glass of wine and enjoy the sun while I grill. But I realized what was missing, why it never meets my expectations. I feel the excitement but then it slowly streams into a dull ache that ends in a headache from the wine--- I miss all my friends from Idaho that I used to chat with before and during the making of meals. That is the sort of emptiness I feel when I see a wine bottle and no one to share it with. Or a comfortable patio set with no one to sit in it with me. The Professor does what he can----he will help me out and drink a beer (or even a glass of wine) to give me the same sensation as in years gone by, but again, it is not the same. He is a part of me, and WE are missing THEM. 

I know I always sound depressing, but I am of the miserable lot that enjoys a little bit of dreariness at various times of the day just for effect. The Professor calls me "dramatic". 

This past weekend the man took the crew to the pool while I was at work and they enjoyed a little sun while there. Well, the Prof. got a good deal of sun. He was so burned that he could not walk down the stairs, or move too quickly. He was so burned he had to have his food brought up to him for two days. To lessen his misery and loneliness he had to sit on the bed with his laptop to communicate with people. He would yell down the stairs if he heard any ruckus from the children and say something like, "Be nice to your mom!" And I am finding that I am heavily influenced by Lemony Snickett at the moment. We are currently listening to the Hostile Hospital. Oh, those poor orphans. 

Nevermind.

How are you all doing? Fill up my comments area. I am missing all my friends. Take pity.

And don't forget to listen to my sad, bleak and dreary songs here. 

My New Stuff is Up

Thanks to the Oldest I was able to figure out how to record some songs without it sounding completely fuzzy (they are not perfect, but please listen) and dreadful. I am going to change some things most likely at one point, but I thought I would at least put some up for your listening enjoyment.

And get this---the song called "A Sign" is not a Christian song! So there. I can do it.

I'm so wicked.

Look here for all the silliness.

Morbid Song

This is my cover of "There is a Light that Never Goes Out" by the Smiths. Yes, Morrissey really does sing, "...to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die..." I always loved it since I was a kid.

I played with my thumb instead of a pick because I wanted to help you out with hearing the lyrics. I think it is pretty funny. Morrissey must have been deliciously depressed when he wrote this song.



Now that I hear the song I think I will type out the lyrics for you:

Take me out tonight where there's music and there's people who are young and alive
Driving in your car I never never want to go home because I haven't got one anymore
Take me out tonight because I want to see people and I want to see lights
Driving in your car oh please don't drop me home because it's not my home it's their home and I'm welcome no more

And if a double decker bus crashes into us
to die by your side, such a heavenly way to die
and if a ten ton truck kills the both of us
to die by your side, well the pleasure the privilege is mine

Take me out tonight, take me anywhere I don't care I don't care I don't care
and in the darkened underpass I thought oh my chance has come at last
And then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask
take me out tonight take me anywhere I don't care I don't care I don't care
driving in your car I never never want to go home because I haven't got one anymore

and if a double decker bus crashes into us
to die by your side such a heavenly way to die
and if a ten ton truck kills the both of us
to die by your side well the pleasure the privilege is mine

There is a light that never goes out....

Cheers

Happy Birthday, Americanspark!!!!!

You have now reached the morbid age of thirty. Let's have a moment of silence in your honor.

Metal

Today I officially get braces. I mean, I just get them on the bottom half of my mouth. I am not looking forward to it and I don't want to explain it to all of you, but I have some straightening issues way in the back that need attending to. As the dentist and the orthodontist say, it is imperative. I just don't look forward to it at all because I hate metal. Metal in my mouth is worse. Not only do I have to close registers lately and touch coinage, I have to have metallic cords and whatnot in my mouth. This is going to sound ignorant, but will I be able to sing or eat?

I dread this. And I imagine it will not feel good either, contrary to what the ortho says. They are going to drill a screw or two in my gums today. Actually, in about an hour and a half they are going to do this. I can handle root canals and tooth extractions, but I am not sure I can handle a little Home Depot in my mouth. I just hope they don't think of some way to put gauze in there. That is worse than metal or blood everywhere, which is sort of better than all of it put together. But of course if there is blood everywhere they will insist on using gauze and then all of my nightmares, metal, gauze, drilling in my gums, will come true.

Yesterday I missed my chance at kissing Dear Sir (I mean, the Professor) for the last time without this metallic rampart in my mouth. I think he told me that he will have to refrain from kissing me for a year (please, I hope it is just a year I need this grossness in my mouth!). And I hope he was just kidding (I am still not sure if he was or not). And if so, I am going to kick his butt. A thirty year old woman with braces never happens. Relish the moment, enjoy it, my friend.

Can you tell I am not looking forward to this? Ugh!

Must I Wait

I am experiencing a lot of bad news lately. I am not going to talk about it here though, but good grief, I am sure you guys don't want to hear it all. In fact, I should not write at all, I am very upset. I find this song appropriate because I feel like dying and want God to just split the heavens open so I don't have to think about this utter silliness.

Anyway, this is my version of Phil Wickham's song called "Must I Wait" that I have heard a billion times over and over because it is one of my favorite running songs. Eventually you wonder if there is another way to sing it. And if you don't know Phil Wickham, you need to. He is in my links under "Mr. Wickham."

Breakdown II

Not much is going on. I have been schooling the kids like normal---we just do a series of "intervals" now and that seems to be doing the trick. Maybe. I don't know. I still lose my cool far too often. Maybe it is because I am a racist and am mean like that. Sorry, Leesburg Reader, I just had to say it. Ha ha. Maybe if I knew who you were I would not joke around like that.

In other news, I am working on more music. At some point when the Prof. gets something up I can put my finished music files up for you to download. That is, if you want them.

In other news today I
*ran six miles
*lost feeling in three of my right toes and then later the pad of my foot
*ate ice cream for lunch (I am on the "ice cream diet", Professor)
*lost my mind breaking up a fight between Eraser Eater and the Oldest, later telling the Professor that I was tempted to gnaw on their necks with my bare teeth (chilling, I know)
*bought a plethora of books at a curriculum sale
*experienced such extreme cold upon getting myself in the shower that I yelled at the faucet to hurry up and get me some warm water
*solved many algebraic equations that the Oldest had gotten wrong
*forgot to use a decimal point at one instance leaving the Oldest in doubt of my abilities. He said, "Do you need food mom? Perhaps some exercise? Your mind is not clear today."
*told the Oldest to put the dishes away four times now---wait---five times now and he still has not done it---excuse me while I put the smack down...
*realized that I am inconsistent, irrational, annoying, out of it, and perhaps a racist (I just couldn't help myself)

Doozie style, I will say, "over and out."

Fat Intake is Always Good For You

I accidentally poured in a little too much heavy cream in my coffee just now. It made my eyes go a little wide when I saw it. Oh well. I only made enough coffee for one cup and that's all I got, baby. Tastes nice.

I am officially addicted to Nutella. Do you know what that stuff is? Let's see if I can get a picture up here. No, I can't or just something won't work and I don't have time to use my brain and figure it out. Good grief, I love Nutella. Why has no one told me of this insanely delightful slop of chocolate goo? To all of you who have left me in my ignorance, I am angry at you.

"I LOVE Nutella!" I shouted to my daughter while we were grilling chicken outside.

"I know mom! It is wicked!"

"No, it is beyond wicked. I'd eat it on bread. I'd eat it on beef. Heck, I'd eat it on chicken."

"Yes, it is beyond wicked---it is so vile and evil!" she shouted.

"Absolutely," I said, "I think Nutella is going to make me Nufatta."

She laughed and shook her head. "You're crazy, Mom."

My greatest friend told me last night that I could buy Nutella at Costco. Can you imagine? Two mega jars in one shrink-wrapped pack? When I learned this I gasped because I just had returned from Costco and must have skipped that aisle.

Lack of Dinner

After making dinner for the kids, I headed out the door yesterday to get to work. I was sort of in a hurry because I even went without eating or drinking so much as a protein shake. The vitamin water I threw in my bag leaked all over and once in the car I had to grab the reserve of napkins in the glove compartment and wipe up the seat and the bottom of my bag. Even my name tag got wet.

Then when I went to make my right turn I hit someone from behind. Barely, actually. He was going about two miles an hour and since it was raining (I think) my foot slipped on the break and then I bumped him. We got out of our cars and he stared at me---just approached me as I got out. He was a gnarly old man. "What were you trying to do?" he asked.
"What? What do you mean?" I asked, squinting.
"What were you trying to do?" I almost told him that my foot slipped but he would not have cared. I got out of the car.
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Your car looks fine."
"Yeah, it's fine."
"So does mine."
"Yeah." He got in his car and took off.

Once at work I was relating the story to someone: "When I bumped him, I said 'crap!'" I realized that I was talking to a person that cusses. A lot. I forgot about that. I was thinking of how the bad stuff comes out of me when bad things happen. I was tipped a little and here I was, not thanking God that everything was fine and I was ok, I was shouting crap at the top of my lungs and putting my car into park.

"You mean you didn't say something with an 'sh' before it?"
"Uh, no," I said, realizing now I was pinned. Lack of dinner will do that to me.
"You don't cuss, do you?"
"No, I don't," I said.
"I say cuss words in front of you all the time! I have such a terrible mouth!"
"I don't expect you to be like me," I said.

The pastor at our church just preached a sermon about we as Christians being incognito all the time. I feel I am that way at work sometimes. I am usually pretty bold about some things, but this work setting is a little different. I am working with homosexuals, Muslims, and many people that do not care for children. And even though I do not agree with these people, I like them, and I think they are very pleasant. It is funny how God uses the loss of dinner for me to slip up. If I were to be tortured by my enemies because of a want of information, all they would have to do is starve me.

It's either lack of dinner or lack of brains. Most likely both.

Dresser Worship

Read here to see what it was that I did last week. We sat two seats away from each other. Somehow we still shared food a little bit, but often our way of talking was looking at each other from that distance and smiling. That's what ten years does for you.

Last night I spent my whole night organizing Eraser Eater and the Oldest's room. It was pretty horrible. I got so overwhelmed at one point I almost fainted, but then I realized that I should quit and make dinner. That was a good thing to do.

Eraser Eater kept saying that he wanted his "Aneboda" over by the window so when people walked in they could see its beauty. We had to rearrange some things as well. It was a sort of nightmare. So---the Oldest was organizing his shelf and putting things on the bottom. He was in such a position that when I went over to clean off the surfaces, I had locked him in down there, stuck, without my knowing it. I was just cleaning the shelves. And the boys are always afraid that if they make one complaint while I help them that I will leave, so the Oldest just patiently waited, crouched down, until I was finished.

Eraser Eater yelped, "I haven't seen this in ages! {Oldest}! Come look at it!"

I was still cleaning the surface of the Oldest's shelf, so he was glued to his dungeon beneath me.

"I very well can't," mumbled the Oldest, "I am bowing down to this thing," he said, meaning the shelf.

I looked down, realized that I had pinned him in in a bowing position and laughed my sides off.

"What?" he asked, "was that funny? How was that funny? Mom, wait. How was that funny. Please tell me how that was funny."

"Stop asking her that!!!!" belted out the Professor from our bedroom. I imagine he was playing my hand held Tetris game. The scoundrel.

I kept laughing. The Oldest, in his frustration, was a little miffed.

Eraser Eater kept going on about his "Aneboda"at that moment. "Look at its beauty! I could put all my things on it. People could see it when they come in!"

"I could care less about your anaconda," the Oldest said.

"It's an "Aneboda", not a snake."

"Whatever," he mumbled, aware that he biffs up every word known to man.

Racism Has Many Forms

I am pretty irritated. I guess not eating lunch and going to the post office never mixes well. I would blame myself but there was a real piece of work behind the desk who barely glanced at me when I asked for a flat rate box.

"We don't have a flat rate box," she looked down at some papers and tape and refused to look at me.

"Ok," I looked at her. She would not look at me. Some people in line looked at me shaking their heads.

"We have flat rate boxes!" another postal worker cried out, overhearing my exchange. "They are over here," she said, pointing, "in the back. We walk by it."

"As far as I was concerned, we didn't have them," she said lazily, not bothering to look at me, treating me like crap.

"Well, can I have one?" I asked.

She looked unwilling to move. In fact, she sort of winced down into her papers and tape.

"I'll get it," the other lady hollered.

"No, I will," my mean lady said.

I almost blurted out that I would rather the other lady get it since she seemed helpful, but I didn't, I just waited.

"We have these ones. The ones without the tape," she said, handing me one.

My mean lady barely looked at me. Well, she didn't.

"Can you give me some tape?" I asked, since the one I wanted (with the tape provided was not available).

The mean lady shook her head. "We don't provide tape to the customer." She gave a snotty look.

I almost reached over and smacked her.

It was all body language too. She acted like I was scum. She would barely look at me, roll her eyes, not even move to help at all. I guess she is racist. That is the only thing that makes sense. A bad day does not cut it at all. It looked to me that she did not like the look of me and she had no intention of getting me a box even though she knew there were some. Her answer was a little too quick for my taste.

New Song II

Excuse my cold; my vocals are not the greatest. But my Martin sounds nice! :)