It's been a while since I did one of these; I guess Ainsley just hasn't said a lot of funny things here lately (of course she has; I'm just getting old and can't remember them the next morning.) I remember this one, though.
Last night in the tub, Ains told me how the "bossy" girls at the "red table" told her that they weren't her friends because she wasn't in the red table group. (Ahh, kindergarten politics.) I told her that was fine, and that she has other friends, and that she didn't really need to be friends with a bunch of bossy girls, anyway.
"I told one girl she was bossy," said Ains. "And then she told me my mommy and daddy were bossy."
So, the whole "Yo' mama" series of comebacks starts at age 5 now? Lovely.
She continued. "But I told her you're not bossy at all. I think you're really nice, mommy."
Awww.
And here I am thinking the world in general sees me as a bitch on wheels. Good to know someone thinks I'm nice (though I know the first time I put her in time out for something this weekend, she's going to sign a different tune.) It was a sweet moment, and I had to give her a big ol' hug for saying that.
So for today, think of me as...The Nice Librarian.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
It Starts.
So long, life. It was fun having you while it lasted. We had a good summer together, reading, writing, and accomplishing things around the house. But we both knew it couldn't last. Your after-summer competition is just too strong.
Now that the new T.V. season is underway, I no longer have a life. I have been sucked into the black hole of the LCD. My DVR is already backing up, and it's only Thursday. And we all know Thursday is the best night for T.V. viewing, so I won't be able to hack away at my back log. I guess Bionic Woman will have to wait until the weekend.
So far, I have enjoyed Chuck and Reaper among the new shows I have checked out. Unfortunately, they are both hour-long shows, so each pretty much sucks up the dollop of down time I get between Ainsley's bedtime and mine. If I add Bionic Woman and Pushing Daisies to the mix, and stick with last year's formula of Desperate Housewives, How I Met Your Mother, The Office, My Name is Earl, Scrubs, 30 Rock, and later this year, American Idol and (can't wait!) Lost, then I am...pretty much a T.V. stoner.
I know something will have to go, just like last year when I sacrificed The Nine and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip to keep my sanity. I was almost glad when those shows were cancelled when episode after episode had clogged up my DVR; I purged them from my TV's electric memory with no regrets. Why watch all those old episodes and risk really liking them only to have the network pull the rug out?
I know the odds are that one of the new shows I like will suffer in the ratings and die an early death (the smart money seems to be on Pushing Daisies, even though it hasn't premired yet; it's a favorite among critics, which never bodes well.) That's why I hate it when I really like a new show. That, and the fact that these new shows are life-suckers.
For now, I will keep on keeping on and try to find a precarious balance between live-viewing and DVR-playback, and stick to my tight after-8 schedule to keep up with everything. But I want to apologize in advance to any of the above-mentioned new shows that I might be axing later. After all, Cranky can't live on T.V. alone. I've gotta have some book time, some clean-the-house time, and some watch-the-Netflix-movies-that-we've-had-for-two-weeks time. If I let one of you all go, just know it wasn't you. It was me.
Now that the new T.V. season is underway, I no longer have a life. I have been sucked into the black hole of the LCD. My DVR is already backing up, and it's only Thursday. And we all know Thursday is the best night for T.V. viewing, so I won't be able to hack away at my back log. I guess Bionic Woman will have to wait until the weekend.
So far, I have enjoyed Chuck and Reaper among the new shows I have checked out. Unfortunately, they are both hour-long shows, so each pretty much sucks up the dollop of down time I get between Ainsley's bedtime and mine. If I add Bionic Woman and Pushing Daisies to the mix, and stick with last year's formula of Desperate Housewives, How I Met Your Mother, The Office, My Name is Earl, Scrubs, 30 Rock, and later this year, American Idol and (can't wait!) Lost, then I am...pretty much a T.V. stoner.
I know something will have to go, just like last year when I sacrificed The Nine and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip to keep my sanity. I was almost glad when those shows were cancelled when episode after episode had clogged up my DVR; I purged them from my TV's electric memory with no regrets. Why watch all those old episodes and risk really liking them only to have the network pull the rug out?
I know the odds are that one of the new shows I like will suffer in the ratings and die an early death (the smart money seems to be on Pushing Daisies, even though it hasn't premired yet; it's a favorite among critics, which never bodes well.) That's why I hate it when I really like a new show. That, and the fact that these new shows are life-suckers.
For now, I will keep on keeping on and try to find a precarious balance between live-viewing and DVR-playback, and stick to my tight after-8 schedule to keep up with everything. But I want to apologize in advance to any of the above-mentioned new shows that I might be axing later. After all, Cranky can't live on T.V. alone. I've gotta have some book time, some clean-the-house time, and some watch-the-Netflix-movies-that-we've-had-for-two-weeks time. If I let one of you all go, just know it wasn't you. It was me.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Sky is Falling!
The weirdest thing happened during dinner last night.
The sky got kinda gray, and I heard this strange rumbling sound, and this stuff starting falling from the sky. I can't be sure, 'cause it's been so long since I last saw it, but I think it might have been...rain!
By the look of it, more of the wet stuff may be on the way. Hooray! There's hope for our grass after all.
Of course, today's sprinkles aren't going to make a dent in our 13-inch rainfall deficit, but I'll take what we can get. I've never seen my little corner of the world look so apocalyptic. One of the best things about living in Kentucky (when it's not the height of allergy season) is how green it is. When we flew back from our Vegas adventure summer before last, I was actually comforted to be back in a verdant world. These last few months, Kentucky has looked liked that brown Vegas landscape, just without all the neon and mountains to keep in interesting. I want my Kentucky bluegrass to be blue again.
I've lived through a flood, so I know to be careful what I wish for, but...I wish for more rain.
(Distant rumble of thunder)
Ahh...I love it when wishes come true.
The sky got kinda gray, and I heard this strange rumbling sound, and this stuff starting falling from the sky. I can't be sure, 'cause it's been so long since I last saw it, but I think it might have been...rain!
By the look of it, more of the wet stuff may be on the way. Hooray! There's hope for our grass after all.
Of course, today's sprinkles aren't going to make a dent in our 13-inch rainfall deficit, but I'll take what we can get. I've never seen my little corner of the world look so apocalyptic. One of the best things about living in Kentucky (when it's not the height of allergy season) is how green it is. When we flew back from our Vegas adventure summer before last, I was actually comforted to be back in a verdant world. These last few months, Kentucky has looked liked that brown Vegas landscape, just without all the neon and mountains to keep in interesting. I want my Kentucky bluegrass to be blue again.
I've lived through a flood, so I know to be careful what I wish for, but...I wish for more rain.
(Distant rumble of thunder)
Ahh...I love it when wishes come true.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Price We Pay for Neat Eyebrows
It's tough being a woman.
In order to meet society's standards of feminine aesthetics, we must bleach, wax, pluck, exfoliate, blow-dry, condition, moisturize, curl, spray, lacquer, conceal, highlight, and for those of us that use mineral makeup, let us not forget swirl, tap, and buff. We do this mostly without thinking about it. Until our own beauty regimens come back to bite us in the butt.
For years, I've read scary articles about the millions of bacteria that thrive in our face brushes, clippers, razors, and tweezers, and how careful we're supposed to be about keeping things clean and sterile. As with many things in life, though, I figured it could never happen to me. So when I saw a stray eyebrow hair, I just plucked it. No alcohol. No sterilizing. Just pluck and run.
No more.
Yesterday afternoon found me sitting in the doctor's office, feeling like an idiot, nursing an extremely red and sore upper left eyelid. The diagnosis? Cellulitis, a skin infection, caused by bacteria entering a hair follicle after a rushed eyebrow-plucking session last week. The cure? Ten days of strong antibiotics.
I am a compulsive plucker. You have to when you have eyebrows like mine, which on a good day are Brooke Shields-ish and on a bad day are more Alf-ish. If I didn't pluck the strays on an almost daily basis they would get out of control and form their own ecosystem. When I see an errant hair, I immediately reach for my trusty tweezers that stay out in our bathroom. I don't take time to use alcohol. More often than not, I do this after a workout while I still have gym germs on my face. I see the folly in that now.
My infection is pretty mild, and already has responded to the antibiotics, so I guess I am pretty lucky. Even though it's mild, it still caused me a lot of discomfort for a couple of days and it made me look like I was a fan of red eyeshadow, but only had the urge to apply it to one eye. My doctor said they've seen a lot of multiple antibiotic-resistant staph skin infections in the office lately, and I can't imagine stressing through that right now simply because I couldn't take a few extra seconds to run some alcohol over my tweezers.
I've learned my lesson. Ladies, please learn from me. Don't pay for your good looks with a course of Bactrim.
In order to meet society's standards of feminine aesthetics, we must bleach, wax, pluck, exfoliate, blow-dry, condition, moisturize, curl, spray, lacquer, conceal, highlight, and for those of us that use mineral makeup, let us not forget swirl, tap, and buff. We do this mostly without thinking about it. Until our own beauty regimens come back to bite us in the butt.
For years, I've read scary articles about the millions of bacteria that thrive in our face brushes, clippers, razors, and tweezers, and how careful we're supposed to be about keeping things clean and sterile. As with many things in life, though, I figured it could never happen to me. So when I saw a stray eyebrow hair, I just plucked it. No alcohol. No sterilizing. Just pluck and run.
No more.
Yesterday afternoon found me sitting in the doctor's office, feeling like an idiot, nursing an extremely red and sore upper left eyelid. The diagnosis? Cellulitis, a skin infection, caused by bacteria entering a hair follicle after a rushed eyebrow-plucking session last week. The cure? Ten days of strong antibiotics.
I am a compulsive plucker. You have to when you have eyebrows like mine, which on a good day are Brooke Shields-ish and on a bad day are more Alf-ish. If I didn't pluck the strays on an almost daily basis they would get out of control and form their own ecosystem. When I see an errant hair, I immediately reach for my trusty tweezers that stay out in our bathroom. I don't take time to use alcohol. More often than not, I do this after a workout while I still have gym germs on my face. I see the folly in that now.
My infection is pretty mild, and already has responded to the antibiotics, so I guess I am pretty lucky. Even though it's mild, it still caused me a lot of discomfort for a couple of days and it made me look like I was a fan of red eyeshadow, but only had the urge to apply it to one eye. My doctor said they've seen a lot of multiple antibiotic-resistant staph skin infections in the office lately, and I can't imagine stressing through that right now simply because I couldn't take a few extra seconds to run some alcohol over my tweezers.
I've learned my lesson. Ladies, please learn from me. Don't pay for your good looks with a course of Bactrim.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Whew.
I presented my little Movie Maker workshop, and it went well, methinks. They laughed. They cried (really, some of them did when I showed a sample video of Ains as a babe. Weird.) It was better than Cats.
Some of the sessions I wanted to attend this afternoon have been cancelled, so I may head home here soon. Thanks for the fun, Louisville. It's been real, it's been fun...yada yada yada.
(Can you tell I haven't really slept? The toilet in my room ran ALL NIGHT LONG and occasionally made loud swishing noises that woke me up every two hours. Cranky...needs...coffee.)
Some of the sessions I wanted to attend this afternoon have been cancelled, so I may head home here soon. Thanks for the fun, Louisville. It's been real, it's been fun...yada yada yada.
(Can you tell I haven't really slept? The toilet in my room ran ALL NIGHT LONG and occasionally made loud swishing noises that woke me up every two hours. Cranky...needs...coffee.)
Friday, September 21, 2007
River City
Greetings from Looavul, KY! I'm here for a school media conference, and after trolling for a parking spot for 30 minutes, and going to my first session at 10:45 this morning and not having another one until 2:45, and hauling my laptop and projector around because my room isn't available yet, I am in a FINE mood. Oh, yeah.
I am stressed out about the parking thing because the attendant in the hotel garage said it was full and directed me to a lot across the street where there are these big, "Monthly Parking Only: Violators Will Be Towed" signs. She assured me it was fine, and would even be cheaper, and I put the "After 4pm" fare into the correct slot for my car, but I am trotting out to that lot every half an hour to make sure I'm not being towed. And I sure as hell wasn't leaving the laptop and projector for my presentation tomorrow morning out in the car in that lot. It looks downright seedy. I am going to move it to the hotel garage as soon as the crowd here starts to thin a little later in the day, and until then, I'm just gonna sweat bullets and pray that the garage managers don't start looking too closely at the cars parked there.
The good thing about being so stressed about my car is that I am not feeling remotely panicked about presenting a session in front of my colleagues from across the state tomorrow morning.
The other good news? I am a short walk away from many nice bars at "4th Street Live", and at 5:30 when today's final session wraps up, I am going to have a cold one. I am, after all, sans kid and responsibility tonight. I can be that librarian who looks and acts all stodgy during the day, but rips the glasses off and takes her hair out of the bun at night and becomes a wild woman.
Look out, Looavul! Here come the librarians!
I am stressed out about the parking thing because the attendant in the hotel garage said it was full and directed me to a lot across the street where there are these big, "Monthly Parking Only: Violators Will Be Towed" signs. She assured me it was fine, and would even be cheaper, and I put the "After 4pm" fare into the correct slot for my car, but I am trotting out to that lot every half an hour to make sure I'm not being towed. And I sure as hell wasn't leaving the laptop and projector for my presentation tomorrow morning out in the car in that lot. It looks downright seedy. I am going to move it to the hotel garage as soon as the crowd here starts to thin a little later in the day, and until then, I'm just gonna sweat bullets and pray that the garage managers don't start looking too closely at the cars parked there.
The good thing about being so stressed about my car is that I am not feeling remotely panicked about presenting a session in front of my colleagues from across the state tomorrow morning.
The other good news? I am a short walk away from many nice bars at "4th Street Live", and at 5:30 when today's final session wraps up, I am going to have a cold one. I am, after all, sans kid and responsibility tonight. I can be that librarian who looks and acts all stodgy during the day, but rips the glasses off and takes her hair out of the bun at night and becomes a wild woman.
Look out, Looavul! Here come the librarians!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Who's On Your List?
Have you all heard about my big celebrity crush, Viggo Mortensen, and his nude fight scene in the new movie Eastern Promises? I read an interview with him where he admits that the scene in the steam room where he brutally fends off attackers wearing nothing but skin will make for popular DVD-pausing moments when the movie goes to disc. If I didn't respect him so much as an actor, I would be trying as we speak to make a super-advance Netflix cue for that movie. Oh, who am I kidding. Respect him or not, my own morbid curiosity combined with his standing on my "List" demands that this movie eventually be rented and paused. Over. And over. Again.
We all have a "List", right? Remember the episode of Friends when the gang discussed their Lists, which was each person's fantasy listing of the 5 celebrities they would most like to fling with, and by putting them on the "List", their spouse/significant other had to forgive and forget should some miracle happen and the opportunity to fling with said celebrity ever present itself? In the episode, Ross wanted to put Isabella Rossellini on his list, which he went through the trouble of laminating, but chose not to waste a spot on her because she was out of the country or something. Later in the episode, he actually ran into her in the coffee shop, and tried to explain to her that she was on his list, so their flirtation was OK, but when he pulled out his little laminated card, she saw that she wasn't on there. Classic Friends.
For years now, hubby and I occasionally joke around about our own Lists. We know that we would be more likely to get struck by lightning, win the Powerball, and hit nothing but green lights all the way to work all in the same day than to ever actually meet any of these people, let alone have said person be so desperate as to want to make out with a complete stranger. But it's fun, and you can learn a lot about someone by who he chooses. Does he go straight for looks, or do personality and something close to a brain matter? Brunettes, or blondes? How thin is too thin, really? Do his crushes age as he ages, or will it always be the sweet young thangs?
The two I know for sure on Jason's current List are:
1. Halle Berry (She's held that spot for a loooong time, so that shows loyalty and, in my opinion, good taste.)
2. Beyonce (I have no idea what that shows.)
My List changes every so often, but the overwhelming type on my List looks something like this: thin, dark hair, strong jaw, funny. Not different at all from my husband, really, except that these people are famous. I definitely married my type.
Here is my most current group:
1. Jon Stewart
2. Bono (Though if he tried to woo me with "With or Without You", it would be more than my heart could take and I would pass out cold, and that would be the end of that.)
3. Viggo Mortensen (Preferably dressed as Aragorn, and with the Aragorn hair, but, ya know, I'm not picky.)
4. Jim Carrey (Don't judge me; this is my list, not yours.)
5. Christian Bale (A newcomer!)
Mr. Bale knocks off former perennial favorite Bruce Campbell, who I still love dearly but, because I have actually seen him in person twice at book signings, seems much more "real" than the others and thus not a good candidate for a fantasy list. David Duchovny also held a top spot for many years during the Mulder era, but I haven't seen him in anything for so long, and for something like this out of sight really is out of mind. Show me a rerun of an X-Files episode, though, and I feel a little blush coming on.
Whew. Is it hot in here?
OK, so I've had a lot of fun with this this morning. 'Fess up: who's on your list? Don't be shy! So many of you are friends of mine, and I'm dying to know. And, you know, drool.
We all have a "List", right? Remember the episode of Friends when the gang discussed their Lists, which was each person's fantasy listing of the 5 celebrities they would most like to fling with, and by putting them on the "List", their spouse/significant other had to forgive and forget should some miracle happen and the opportunity to fling with said celebrity ever present itself? In the episode, Ross wanted to put Isabella Rossellini on his list, which he went through the trouble of laminating, but chose not to waste a spot on her because she was out of the country or something. Later in the episode, he actually ran into her in the coffee shop, and tried to explain to her that she was on his list, so their flirtation was OK, but when he pulled out his little laminated card, she saw that she wasn't on there. Classic Friends.
For years now, hubby and I occasionally joke around about our own Lists. We know that we would be more likely to get struck by lightning, win the Powerball, and hit nothing but green lights all the way to work all in the same day than to ever actually meet any of these people, let alone have said person be so desperate as to want to make out with a complete stranger. But it's fun, and you can learn a lot about someone by who he chooses. Does he go straight for looks, or do personality and something close to a brain matter? Brunettes, or blondes? How thin is too thin, really? Do his crushes age as he ages, or will it always be the sweet young thangs?
The two I know for sure on Jason's current List are:
1. Halle Berry (She's held that spot for a loooong time, so that shows loyalty and, in my opinion, good taste.)
2. Beyonce (I have no idea what that shows.)
My List changes every so often, but the overwhelming type on my List looks something like this: thin, dark hair, strong jaw, funny. Not different at all from my husband, really, except that these people are famous. I definitely married my type.
Here is my most current group:
1. Jon Stewart
2. Bono (Though if he tried to woo me with "With or Without You", it would be more than my heart could take and I would pass out cold, and that would be the end of that.)
3. Viggo Mortensen (Preferably dressed as Aragorn, and with the Aragorn hair, but, ya know, I'm not picky.)
4. Jim Carrey (Don't judge me; this is my list, not yours.)
5. Christian Bale (A newcomer!)
Mr. Bale knocks off former perennial favorite Bruce Campbell, who I still love dearly but, because I have actually seen him in person twice at book signings, seems much more "real" than the others and thus not a good candidate for a fantasy list. David Duchovny also held a top spot for many years during the Mulder era, but I haven't seen him in anything for so long, and for something like this out of sight really is out of mind. Show me a rerun of an X-Files episode, though, and I feel a little blush coming on.
Whew. Is it hot in here?
OK, so I've had a lot of fun with this this morning. 'Fess up: who's on your list? Don't be shy! So many of you are friends of mine, and I'm dying to know. And, you know, drool.
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