Suck it, Dr. Seuss

I am an avid reader. I'm also a loyal person. But I have to betray one of my favorite authors today. You are dead to me, Dr. Seuss. You have ruined my entire week. In celebration of your birthday, my son's school has "celebrated" all week. Crazy hat day (we have no crazy hats), silly sock day (we're lucky we have clean socks, let alone silly ones), Wacky Wednesday (dressed my child like a weirdo but apparently he simply needed to be mismatched and kids made fun of him), we nailed Thursday since he dressed up like the soccer player he wants to be as a grown up (Oh, The Places You Will Go), and today left us in a bitter battle over how kids would make fun of his crazy hair. As the parent of an only child, I try to participate in everything. It's sort of the point of only having one. But I have failed miserably at this during Dr. Seuss week and, were this medicine man to still be breathing, I would shank him. Happy NOT YOUR ACTUAL BIRTHDAY ALL WEEK, Dr. Seusshole. I am going to go home and set Green Eggs and Ham on fire.

Side note: This is not the first time in this blog that I have sworn to set fire to things, is it? It's okay because I have been assured that I am a polite sociopath so I will apologize while that effing Fox in Socks floats away on his funeral pyre. You're welcome, Seuss.

Side side note: This is also not the first time I have written of shanking someone in this blog. Again, I defend myself with the polite sociopath thing. I will say sorry as I Hop on Pop with a sharp object.

It's Friday. It's clearly been a trying week. I am out of energy to keep ranting. It's time for One Fish, Two Fish, Red Wine, Blue Fish. And I am not celebrating this stupid Dr. Seuss week next year.

*throws mike and walks away*

Rut Roh...

I am officially in a huge rut. The conundrum of this is that I hate change and it even aggravates my anxiety disorder. But I am bored out of my damned skull and I am not sure what to do about it. I started this blog but that's such a small thing. Yes, I had been planning to do it for years so it's great that I got off my ass but, still, it adds 20 minutes of "new" to my life once a week if I am lucky.

Here are some of the things I have been considering:

1. Exercise... LMAO! Have you met me? But I lead off with this idea to show you just how DESPERATE I am for a change. I actually thought of starting running!!!!!!!!! This line of thinking is nothing more than a cry for help, people. Now I think we all understand the dire gravity of my rut.

2. A new pet. Namely, a dog. (Hubby won't allow another cat.) But I don't have time for a new dog (nor do I think Hubby will allow a canine either). The biggest reason that I want another pet is that another baby is so unreasonable at this point. Because a baby would be awesome (and keep me too busy to worry about my rut which is why people have babies anyway, right?)!

Side note: A baby would be awesome BUT kids do hinder a lot of your options. For example, running away to Tahiti was nixed because I can't leave Blake. As was doing whatever the Hell Reese Witherspoon does in that movie "Wild" (which my therapist keeps telling me I need to see for some reason). I guess, technically, a new puppy would also hinder the whole "Wild" thing... I'm starting to see a pattern to this rut. TOO MUCH RESPONSIBILITY.

3. New career. Okay, not a terrible idea. But I think that working at a jewelry store would not bring in the money my household needs (even if being surrounded by sparkly things all day would be great and I would totally try on fancy jewelry when my boss was at lunch). I am, above all, too practical to risk losing my house for happiness. That health insurance thing is also pretty awesome.

4. Write a book. I am too damn busy wallowing in my self-pity rut to be creative. You are assholes for suggesting that one.

5. A tattoo. Ugh. So 2001 for me. And the high only lasts a day or so. I can get out of my rut for a day or two with wine, so this idea is dead in the water.

6. Taking a class. Sure, with what time and/or money? And the only thing I really care to learn about is making my own wine. I can already cook. And why bother learning Italian when I can't run away to Italy (see Side Note above)?

7. Travelling. Awesome idea. If I had money. I am lucky I get to go nuts and stock up at Costco, let alone buy a plane ticket ANYWHERE.

So, here I sit. This rut is getting muddy... Maybe I can pretend I am at a spa... *sigh*

Snap out of it!

I need some serious Cher bitch-slapping today. My "baby" is 8 and I have been working on not crying hysterically since 6am. I should be ecstatic that I have a healthy, happy, smart, amazing child and I AM but... he is 8!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was supposed to have more than one so I could keep that whole baby thing going. Life screwed me on that plan. I will be honest, I hear my neighbor's (4th) baby crying when I let the chickens out each morning and I feel a wee bit stabby. It's probably a good thing I am seeing my shrink today.

Side note: I am also self-medicating with Cheetos. They are not the same as having more than one child. But I think the Torula Yeast is a close second.

I played the 20th anniversary CD of Dirty Dancing on my way to work and that didn't help either. I plan to take my "baby" to Red Robin for dinner tonight but will I be able to taste anything but tears???

Side note: Red Robin isn't that great so maybe the tears will help. I am a foodie raising a tasteless EIGHT YEAR OLD. *deep breath*

My mom always told me not to be in a hurry to grow up. I totally didn't listen (sorry, mom) but she was right (yay for mom, lol). The problem is that I can see his future unfolding. I remember 10, 15, 16, etc... I'm pretty sure he is going to leave me at some point even though I try to cripple his independence daily.

Side note. If you love it, set it free is total bullshit.

I'm not sure I can go on. "Blank Space" on endless replay is doing nothing for me. What do you do when Taylor Swift and Dirty Dancing don't help????????? It's the freaking Apocalypse at this point. Happy Friday, peeps. 8 years ago today I was close to having a gorgeous little boy named Blake (born 5:45pm). Today, I am just a mom feeling old and working on my Baby Squishinator (get caught up on your Phineas and Ferb).

Love you, "baby"! You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, even if you are aging way too rapidly!

Shingle bells, shingles bells, shingles all the way!

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Do NOT get shingles.

Sure wish someone had given me that announcement before I received the lovely gift of shingles for Christmas... I know this blog isn't widely popular (yet) but why didn't one person who loves me add a "PS - Don't get shingles" to their Christmas card?? I would have listened to this sage advice. Instead I woke up with a weird rash the day after Christmas and started throwing some Benadryl at it. Took some photos and sent them to various friends for their advice (which I'm sure they loved me for). At first, shingles was ruled out due to lack of pain. Silly me. Little did I know that the pain was on its way. Merrily meandering towards me so I could ring in the New Year with pain pills (not actually the worst NYE plan that one could have now that I think about it).

SHINGLES SUCK. When the pain finally arrived, it came with force. Keeping me up at night kind of force. Making me realize that I needed to go to the doctor finally. "Yep, that's shingles and they are extremely painful and Motrin won't help at all." Thank you, Dr. Obvious. So, I was prescribed an antiviral and some Norco. And just to make sure that I suffered some more, the antiviral meds bottle told me to take all 4 pills for the day at once. So, I went home and downed 3,200 mg of Acyclovir. And then promptly threw up and lay, writhing with nausea, for the remainder of the day.

The next day, I eyed the Acyclovir warily and decided to employ my pharmacist connections (thanks, Mom!). Um, you are supposed to take one pill, four times daily, with milk or a snack. In other words, I had OD'd on antiviral meds the day before.

Side note: I bet you all thought if I OD'd on anything, it would have been the pain pills. Shame on you for thinking badly of me. This gal knows how to handle her narcotics, thank you very much!

Anywho, I am now done with the antiviral meds (and, sadly, the pain pills) yet the pain and rash are still there. They were not kidding when they said this shit takes forever to go away. I got the gift that keeps on giving for Christmas this year. Santa is a real asshole. It was terrible to have to put on a bra and real clothes to come to work last week. And it hasn't been any better this week. I would apply for a job at a nudist colony but I am hoping by the time that I would get hired that these damn shingles will be gone. Plus, no one wants to see this hot mess bod that I am rocking.

So, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I slacked on the blog over my break but promise to be back to posting at least once weekly.

I am attaching some pics of my Christmas present. Look at your own risk, people! (And that's the area around my armpit in case you are curious.)

This is serious, people...

I am being threatened daily. I wake up every day feeling bone-chilling terror. Yep, it's another day and that means one less day I have to prepare for Christmas. Our Christmas countdown calendar has Santa Clause on it and, at this point, he looks like Pennywise to me as I change 07 days until Christmas to 06. 06???????????????????????? I get to work and anxiously check my 5,000 Amazon orders. So many of them say "guaranteed delivery by December 24th at 8pm". THE FUCK? Amazon better come through.

Side note: Will I be wrapping everything after 9pm on Christmas Eve? I'm supposed to be long drunk before then. THIS MAKES ME FEEL STRESS AND I AM ALREADY NOT A CALM PERSON.

In addition to my Pennywise countdown calendar, my son remembered that we made Christmas cookies with Grandma last year and expressed his immense interest in experiencing this joy again. (Thanks, Mom.) In my last post I declared that no baking would be done. DAMN IT. I think I am making cookies with the kiddo on Monday since I have the whole week off and, therefore, the time to make Christmas as merry as effing possible. I will not be using Mom's fabulous (and labor intensive) recipe. I plan to buy one of those sugar cookie mixes and some cheap frosting. Hell, I might even just buy already made sugar cookies.

Side note: Baking will require a box of wine. I have needs and standards.

At some point, I will be making the reindeer food. This is actually pretty easy but I am still pissed that this has become a thing. There was no glittery reindeer food scattered in the front yard in my day and I turned out just fine (right??????).

I will remember to set out cookies and milk for Santa. Then, after the child goes to bed, I will pretend to eat the cookies and leave a thank you note. I will sneak Santa's presents down under the tree, along with the presents from Rudolph and Poof.

Side note: This is all super fun because for the last two years my child has refused to sleep so all the Santa crap has to be stealthier than that whole catching Bin Laden thing that happened. Christmas Eve after the child is "sleeping" is like Zero Dark Thirty in my house. I'm asking for night vision goggles for Christmas next year.

One Christmas Eve chore that I don't mind is sending Poof back to the North Pole. Farewell, you little pain in the ass!

For all my complaining, I do love this time of year. I love that I can create magic for my son. I know it won't last forever and I will be sad when some of the magic is gone. So, I will be Santa and Rudolph and Poof and whatever else it takes to make my son feel the joy oh the holidays for as long as possible. Even if that means being threatened by a countdown calendar and baking...

My little Christmas corner where I snuggle with the kiddo and the pets. Makes it all worth it. Merry Christmas, everyone!

The Damn Elf is Back

Yep, it's that time of year. The wonderful holiday season that translates into almost nothing but more work for me. I know, I know. I sound cranky. And I really am not as bitter as this blog post will make me appear BUT the month of December is nothing but hosting an endless party for my 7 year old. The "fun" begins with the return of our Elf on the Shelf on the night of Thanksgiving. I love the joy that my son shows when he sees that Poof has come back from the North Pole. I do NOT love that I have to remember to move him every night, especially when I forgot to move him the very first night of his return. Elf fail already? Some creative Pinterest Mom is going to show up and kick my ass for that faux pas.

I try to get creative with Poof, I really do. I know all the lists about "101 and 1 Things to do with Your Elf" and some of them are awesome. Congrats to the Moms who think these genius ideas up! I'm super grateful for feeling subpar with my Elfing skills. One of the times I tried to really mix it up with the damn spy from the North I had him taken hostage by Scooby. Taped that little tattletale sucker to the wall... with GORILLA TAPE. It didn't occur to me just how sticky that shit is until I was at the office and showing co-workers what an awesome, creative Mom I was and they pointed out that I would probably need to repaint my living room after I freed Poof. I will admit, I seriously considered telling my son that Poof had committed a great Elf felony (like wanting to be a dentist instead of making toys) and was sentenced by Santa to imprisonment on the wall forever just to avoid damage to my living room. Luckily, it turned out that I hadn't been very overzealous with my hostage-taking so the tape came off with paint intact.

Side note: I bet that Gorilla Tape would be an excellent way to hold one of those overachieving Elf moms in my basement and make her do all the Elf work until Poof hightails it back to Santa this year.

Back to Creative Elfing. A lot of the things on those lists look like nothing more than creating a mess for me to clean up. WTF? Who needs that??? Let me put this into perspective for you. Here is my day BEFORE 7am: up at 5am, get myself ready, pack two lunches and snacks (don't forget the toaster strudel and sweet tea for Hubby's breakfast), feed the cat and dog, let the chickens out and feed and water them, advance the dishwasher to whatever stage it needs to go to next, take out the trash, get the child ready, take him to school, and then head into work. Does it sound like I have time to deal with a Christmas tree that some heathen tp'd? Or wipe up flour snow angels?  Um, yeah, not so much.

And Elfing is only the beginning. I have to get the tree done, the indoor and outdoor decorations put up, take the kiddo to see Santa, write and mail a letter to Santa (even though we already saw him in person, grrr), contribute something to the school Christmas party, make some reindeer food that won't kill any animals that try to eat it, buy and wrap gifts, and probably a few other things I am forgetting. I draw the line at baking. I don't like sweets and I don't much like baking. (Mom, if you want to fly out like last year, I will gladly watch YOU make Christmas cookies, lol.)

Side note: If you want some Christmas mac and cheese, though, I am open to making an effort for that. Or Christmas beef stroganoff. Or Christmas fettuccini alfredo. I think you get the drift. Can you tell I am still on that damn diet???

Wow, I am tired just from writing this post and already feeling a bit defeated about the month ahead. I think I know where Blake will find Poof tomorrow morning - next an empty box of wine and his passed out mother. Happy Holidays, folks!

Starvation is the New Black

I know that recently I bowed down to the reality of Spanx as my future. That truth has not changed. But I have gone back to my commitment to diet and lose some weight. I'm almost 36, so a little weight loss isn't going to cancel out the necessity of shape wear. So, alas, I sit here starving AND cruising the Spanx website.

Side note: Technical writer usually thinks of nothing but murder every day but now technical writer thinks of nothing but food all day.

I lost about 20 pounds a couple years ago. I was in the best shape I had been in in a long time at age 34. Then cancer happened and I decided to comfort eat my way through it. Oh, and the effing steroids they gave me didn't help. I had the cravings of 12 pregnant woman thanks to those meds. So, I gained all the weight back and maybe even a little extra. While I haven't been pigging out, I haven't been a slave to My Fitness Pal and I decided on Sunday that it was time to chain myself to that evil mistress again. I bought some Special K diet breakfast sandwiches and some Lean Cuisines and dragged them to work with me on Monday. I was elated to fill the freezer here at the office with a bunch of crap that will never sate my appetite. Yay? Winning?

I'm on day 3 of behaving. I've only thought of eating my own arm once or twice. I've only thought about stealing change from co-workers for Doritos from the vending machine about 7 times. I've only daydreamed about going nuts in the new Snarf's when it opens right next to work about 53 times.

Side note: I will totally go ape shit when Snarf's opens. Everyone deserves a cheat day (week?), right? Damn you, Snarf's for creating sandwiches so good that they taste like are made with crack and baby tears.

Do I miss food? Maybe... I may or may not have wept when I passed a McD's yesterday. I may think longingly of a Philly cheese steak from Bogey's. I may think about giving up all my TV shows to be able to eat anything I want without any caloric repercussions. I may want to shank the co-worker walking by with a real meal from the cafeteria.

Side note: Hey! Technical writer DOES still think of murder all day!

But I am determined. I did it once before and I can do it again. I will just pretend all food is a copy of the Chicago Manual of Style because we all know how I feel about that bitch. No one wants to eat all that proper grammar. My own form of aversion therapy!

And for those of you wondering... Yes, I know how many calories wine has. But I firmly believe that rehab is for quitters and I am already stabby enough, so don't touch my Pinot Noir for the safety of the human race. Besides, when you look at the pic below, you will see that my lunch is SO depressing that I deserve a treat at the end of the day and, in Brook's world, treats always come in the form of wine.

Side note: What asshole decides to commit to a diet the week before Thanksgiving? This one, apparently. *sigh*

My lunch:

 

Just for fun: