Friday, June 12, 2009

this isn't what I thought 35 would look like.

I have vowed to start taking things people say at face value. The internal hamster running on the wheel of "what did so and so really mean" is exhausting. I am after all now 1/2 way to 70 (happy birthday to me) and trying not to listen to the bullshit that piles up in my head.

It really only gives me a headache.


We have been looking to adopt a dog, but it has to be the perfect dog. I'm kind of disillusioned by the whole process. Petfinder finds plenty of pets and if I lived in Arkansas or Tennessee that would be just grand, but I don't. I live in New England where none of the pups listed reside and the pounds are filled with bully breeds and not so much with the fluffy cute little pups one would seek to expose her 18 month old to. Spouse and I are going to meet one mix this Saturday and maybe go to the pound. A place thus far I have avoided because I just think it's too much for my heart to take.

My short list of dog requirements.
Must be a mixed breed.
Must not have squashed in face to encourage snoring.
Must be under 1 year of age and not the size of a house or a shoe box, respectfully.

I didn't think that was so much to ask. The hunt goes on and on.


I went to my first dance recital last weekend. The 3 1/2 minutes of my BF's little darlings twirling and tapping was a dream!! I love these girls as if they were my own and I bubbled over with pride to see them perform.

The other 3 hours and 12 minutes made my eyes BLEED. At the end of the debacle every other adult had the same glazed over dazed expression on their faces that my companions did. Human rights violating torture, thy name is dance recital. I will do everything in my power to steer my girl away from them.


I'm the accumulation of 6 generations of Gemini woman. All of us, one after the other on my mothers side. Crazy Twins. Except for my girl. My girl is a Sagittarius. I broke the cycle. She has a chance to be normal.


I am going to admit something huge.

I can't stop watching the Real Housewives of NJ. Gack, I know!
Totally not my type of reality TV. Think Top Chef and Project Runway. Swoon.

But Real Housewives? Again, I say Gack!

That was until a friend of mine from Rhode Island asked me "Is that what people from NJ are really like". So I had to watch a couple of minutes to see right? Well a couple of minutes turned into the whole episode which turned into me setting my DVR and gleefully awaiting new episodes.

Because you know those are not what people from NJ are like because them bitches (love the phrase btw) are from New York. They just live in NJ. Except for one of them. One of them, I will not validate my obsession by naming her, is from NJ....and her accent? OMG, I can not get enough of it. Its like this fucked up cure to any home sickness I might have. Her voice and emphatic hand waving is like a warm cozy blanket that makes me feel like I'm home nestled among the strip malls and McMansions.

Because that's what Jersey girls really do sound like.

It's like butta.

Thursday, June 4, 2009


After only a year and a half, I feel like she has always been with me.

Funny how such a short time can feel like forever.

Monday, June 1, 2009







Or something like that....

Monday, May 18, 2009

before and after.

Our long awaited furniture has finally arrived! In preparation we feng shui'd the house and made the best use of the pieces we had. Because really, this house was just not working for us.

**All before pictures taken by Spouse while I was in NJ and he had the inspiration and drive to just move everything without talking to me first me and the baby under foot.

Before: Eat in kitchen.

After: It's a playroom!

Before: Playroom/Office (desk already removed).

After: Dining room! Spouse and I have no idea why it took us 2 years to use the dining room as a dining room.

Before: Living room.

After: Furniture that is not being held together with duct tape and no cats allowed!
So far...

Please note I have no idea, how or why, I bought red couches when I was specifically looking for blue couches. This caused 6 weeks of total consumer remorse and panic until they finally arrived.

And I love them! This is one of those cases where my sub conscious takes over and makes the exact right choice for me because the path my conscious is heading down is just so wrong.

Other things on this list include; going away to college, seriously dating Spouse, and having a baby.

Three cheers for sub conscious!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

the fine print.

Competent? That's a stretch.

Monday, May 4, 2009


So has anyone else had a day where they are looking for a specific shirt to wear and can't find it? So they tear through their closets and drawers with no luck. So that leads them to the spare room where ALL the cloths from like, the last 10 years are stored in clear plastic bins, to look. And after about the 8th bin you realize that, hey, like none of your old clothes actually, erm, fit you. So you start making piles of "will fit in soon after new dedication to eating right and exercising", "totally out of style anyways" and "not a chance in hell ". Then you come across the shirt you were wearing the night your Spouse first hit on you and you could just cry because you couldn't even hope to get it over your head now and dang you used to look so HOT what were you complaining about all those years ago?? The toddler whose birth process single handedly (yeah I don't care if its a word or not take that Scrabble) destroyed any hope you ever had of fitting into those (you know the ones) jeans again is having a field day with all these piles so you start to tear up a bit at the muffin top that you hate even though its not so much a muffin top as a layer cake but you have to laugh at the same time because the kid is so freaking cute and was worth it after all. But my God the CLOTHES that DON'T FIT that you need to part with but want to keep as a reminder not to eat that Geneva cookie which will only increase your layers. Then the whole thing ends brutally with you just shoving it all into black trash bags and throwing them into the garage because you need to get on the phone with Weight Watchers and you are running out of time in the day? Oh and you never find the freaking shirt that started it in the first place and where the freak is it anyways because you know that would fit.

No? neither.

Friday, April 24, 2009

its not me its you.

I went to the movies the other night with a couple of my girlfriends.

The theater we went to was one from my younger years; top of the line circa 1992.

The last time I was there was the winter of 2005 when I watched a Gummi bear travel across Middle Earth.

When I took my seat I was shocked at how, erm, small it seemed. I wondered...had they made the seats smaller or had my ass just become that much bigger....

At the end of the show the lights came on and I absorbed my dated surroundings. Examining the seats, I rationalized and justified.

It was the seats fault. It had to be.

Cause' you couldn't possibly be my ass.