I’m trying a few things to help this nasty cough syrup go down better. Walgreens was out of the tablet form (super!) and gave me syrup (damnit!). Tea doesn’t make it better. Coffee makes it taste like burnt chocolate. Ginger ale makes it taste like a bubbly form of the nasty cough syrup. Bourbon. That’s the ticket. Bourbon will make it all go away…
In order not to push people down in front of me when the holiday shopping madness begins, it’s important that I figure out ways to entertain myself.
Like teasing my husband when he accidentally shoplifts a bracelet. (Merry Christmas, Mallory! We hope you like it!) It’s fun to shop with him because he is a no-muss, no-fuss kind of shopper and since I know what I want before I go out, we work well as a team. This is to his credit. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work the other way when he needs to work on a home project.
A what? A screwdriver? Huh? I don’t know how this works. Is that a paint can? A packet of tulip bulbs? You want some Kool aid?
When he does home projects I turn into Helen Keller and pretend that I can’t understand him as I mouth “WATER” which actually comes out as “ANG-ARRGGLLL”. I’ve learned my lesson on such things, but normally I will start a project that I wanted him to finish.
I’d leak all my secrets about how I get him to do things, but he does read me and I don’t want him to know. (Ok. One thing: playing R.E.M. very loudly makes him want to work on house projects. I’m not sure why that is. It just does. Hence, today’s post title.) (Oh! If you’re an R.E.M. virgin, go check out that song on iTunes and while you’re at it, download the free Sufjan Stevens song “That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!” because it’s hilarious. And sorta sweet. All at the same time.)
People watching is a great pasttime, but making up stories to go with them is one of the things that helps me not push them down. On the hard ground. To make them bleed. There’s never any warning to this game, either. It’s an organic process.
Ready? Two young girls and the baby between them. Who is the older guy with them?
Umm. Mormons. Those are his two wives. I just can’t figure out who the baby belongs to. The one in the red? The white? They look like they’ve never had kids. What are they? 12?
Are you sure he’s not the grandpa? He could be.
No, he’s got that I’m-virile-and-don’t-you-forget-it look about him. He’s banging those broads.
Aaaaannnndddd….he’s bringing them home to meet his mother.
You don’t “bang” someone and bring them home to momma. You bang them and then run into your mother at the grocery story and hurriedly introduce them. Then, you run into your mother at several other places until she insists that you bring Mr. or Miss Bangable around for dinner so your mother can formally reject them. That’s how this works.
Hmm.
Yep.
Ready to shop again?
Uh-huh.
Kick ass.
My work here is done.
*Tomorrow I promise to post about the final count of donations (They are still coming in - I’m still getting e-mails. Holy donations, Batman! You people rock.) along with pictures of the gifts. Did I mention to y’all that someone sent me a $150 e-card from Target? Or that Chicago Dave also sent me 2 bags of coffee? Or that I love you? Yeah, I mentioned that last one, I’m sure. Thank you, everyone!
*GAH. One more thing. I made a total elf of myself. Dancing. Shaking my groove thang. You know, getting into the holiday spirit. Go see. Geez. I’ve gotta get well soon and get back to work.
Dear Santa,
Allow me to explain…
Actually, I’m not sure I should be addressing Santa. Perhaps it’s Mother Nature. I’d just like to know who to blame for this virus I’m housing and allowing to grow and fester in my body. Get thee out, icky germs. (I have an English degree. That there is some serious Shakespeare. Umm. Or maybe it’s Christopher Marlowe.)
So today is Day Three of staying home from work. I asked her for vicodin and she refused. But I did get some cough medicine with codeine. Sweet. Also, she won’t let me go in to work and had to write me a note. A note.
Oh, I have a note that I’m supposed to write for Kennimus:
Dear Kennimus,
I’m sorry I made inappropriate references to Barack Obama. I promise not to mention him again. Or Common. Or Mos Def.
Just because I didn’t have to wash my hair last night (the evil germ virus bugs are making it really icky, but it’s not like I’m going in to work so I’m going with some serious Pocahontas braids this morning), I decided to do something I found here.
How special am I? Well, let’s see…
So, I’m no one special to listen to about blogging, but I do know how to shop. There are some general rules to this before going out to shop such as 1. eat a good meal full of protein and complex carbohydrates, 2. wear comfortable shoes, and 3. get a blueprint of the mall or shopping center or department store so you can plan your attack. Not necessary, but helpful nonetheless, is making sure you are hydrated. If you can find a place where they serve cocktails whilst you shop, God bless you. If not, stick with sugary, sickly sweet ice cream-masking-as-a-coffee-drink.
This is my latest obsession and it makes a great gift for that special someone who is difficult to shop for because they seem to have everything. My suggestion is that you know them well because you’ll have to come up with a quote. I like this one, but I’d customize my own for my refrigerator that reads, “Go away, Fat Ass. There’s Nothing In Here For You. Have Some Fruit.” This one? Well, I want a room just like this.
Because everyone needs kitschy toast with the blessed Virgin Mary staring back at them when they’re crunchity crunching, you need this. Need, I say. At 40 calories per serving, this makes a delightful present for the person who likes both candy and bras. When combined, well, just slap my cheeks and call me Lollipop. Boobs! Candy bra! You can’t go wrong! Candy bra - not just for breakfast anymore. I won’t be getting one as underwear becomes optional during the holidays. I like for them to be able to take a vacation, too.
The only reason this appeals to me is because it’s made of glass. When I smash this to bits because I’m pissed at it, the sound it will make will be glorious. Seriously. You have to be callous and perverted to want this. But, hey, I’m trying to help you out, so you’re welcome.
For the socially conscious, this might be something of interest. Last year, my mother got me something similar. She bought a well in Africa for people to have clean water for a year on behalf of my family. It was fun to answer the question of “What did you get for Christmas?” with “A well in Africa. My mother bought me a well. Don’t hate.” Who wants a series of Botox injections for Christmas anyway? This is a much better idea.
Here’s the scenario: you want someone. You love them with the burning passion of a thousand balls of gas stars. You want this immortalized on paper so you go here, write in your names and places of those hot, steamy rendezvous (that’s already plural, don’t give me any shit about it - because “rendezvouses” doesn’t work) and viola! You have a novel about you and that special someone! Now, don’t go putting “Mocha” in there as your love interest. That’s flattering creepy and I don’t know you that well.
I hope that helps your holiday shopping. I felt that I owed it to you after posting Angry Eyes pictures yesterday. Let me work on the t-shirts and mugs for a while to see where I can find the absolute best price. One would think I did that prior to searching the Internet for a candy bra.
I’m sickly today. I really want the chocolate raspberry Kona I had yesterday, but I should stick with tea & honey. Bigelow’s Constant Comment (an orange, spiced black tea) is really good for when I’m sick. Touch of honey, slice of lemon, and cuppa after cuppa later…. I’m peeing all the damn time.
Not too long ago I was contacted about reviewing a product through TiVo called KidZone that uses closed-captioning on their programs as well as gives parents greater access to monitor what kids watch. As a parent, I’m all for this. As a teacher, even more so.
KidZone has great benefits. We use a code that keeps the boys from watching unapproved shows when we’re not there in the room to monitor them. Family Guy, for example, is funny for me, but not so much for them. Well, it’s funny for them, but I just don’t want them to watch it. It’s clearly mature and they are not. When they can wake themselves up with an alarm clock in the morning without their father going in their room to wake them, then they can watch it.
Everyone else in the house has had more opportunity to work the damn thing blessing than I have, so on Monday when I was draining mucusy liquid from my head from the cold that Mason gave me (Dear Mason, Did you forget it was so close to Christmas? Why did you do this to Mommy? WHY? Whyyyyyyyy?) I was up at the ass-crack of dawn trying to breathe. I turned on the tv and couldn’t figure the damn thing lovely remote out, so I woke the boys up early. They were surprised to see me in their room waking them instead of Kennimus.
Me [said in a raspy voice]: Time to get up! Chop! Chop! (Was I channeling my father here? I hated it when he said that.) Mason, you’ll be late for school if you don’t get up right now. Morgan, come downstairs and help Mommy. I’ve been watching Arthur for over an hour.
Both of them looked up at me from their beds and pointed at me and laughed. Punks.
Oh, shut up. Come change the channel from PBS please.
Have I mentioned my obsession with Barack Obama? It’s rather unnatural and most definitely inappropriate, but it might be time for me to stop referring to him as my second husband. Especially in front of the kids. They’re not sure what to call him. Poppa Obama? Step-Barack? In any case, even he endorses KidZone.
Who am I to argue? I’ll bet Poppa Obama would find a way for my boys to wake up in the morning. It probably shouldn’t be because he’s making wild love to their mother, though. That would disturb the kids.
See? I can’t stop with the inappropriateness and Barack. Gah. He’s so pretty.
Click on that link over to the left in the sidebar to learn more about KidZone. If you should decide to get TiVo… well, maybe I could get some credit that I can apply towards helping my students on a regular basis. Oooohhh. That’s a good idea! I like it! Whaddya think? And how about some “Mocha Momma” t-shirts and “Cuppa The Day” coffee mugs? Profits for my students, fashion and hot beverage containers for you! Win-win, eh?*
The t-shirts might look like this. Angry eyes not included.
You can’t read it very well on the t-shirt in the above picture. Best look at the cuppa below. Also, can you tell I love the vignette and edge-blur effect from iPhoto? I’ve been playing with that a lot lately.
The coffee mugs might look like this.
I dunno. I may redesign and then we’ll all be sorry because I’m at suckiness supreme with my design skills. I’m wishy-washy today and I blame it on the fact that I’m hyped up on the ‘Fed (That’s Sudafed, you virgins), but the cuppas have just about everything you need to start your day.
Minus the exquisite coffee and the divine Barack.
*update on the donations and kids coming soon
