The boys are into a show called Merlin. It isn’t animated, doesn’t sell toys or cereal, and doesn’t feature coked up actors acting like idiots so it’s okay by me. Testy said, “I like Merlin because even though it is a grown up show there is NO KISSING. And that makes it my kind of show.” Finally, something we can agree on.
I tweaked my back in pole class today doing something totally easy. I felt the muscles between my shoulder blades tighten but it didn’t hurt until after the class which gave me time to learn how to handspring into the Ayesha. I wish I had a photo but I needed a spot (it’s one of those moves where you can drop yourself on your head) and my instructor would have had to book out of the shot faster than the speed of light in order to catch me doing it on camera. Next time, I promise.
By the time I got to my son’s parent-teacher conference, I was feeling kind of out of it. My neck was tight and I had a hard time focusing on the conversation. Zeb is recovering from the flu and part of me hoped that it wasn’t my back, it was just the flu. Seriously, I don’t care which one it is, I’ll take whichever one I can recover from faster.
Shawna had a two-week bout of the flu and, hoping for a silver lining, I asked her how much weight she lost. “Ten pounds, all off my face and boobs. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Well that sucks. Neither my face nor my breasts can stand to lose any volume. I settled on a near lethal dose of ibuprofen and ice. Hopefully I will be better by tomorrow.
The house is fucking trashed right now. It’s been trashed for weeks. Stuff is definitely moving out but I don’t know how much more of this it has to get worse before it gets better business I can take. I walked into the living room and there were bags of clothes everywhere. I entertained the idea of tidying up and just said fuckit and went to my room … where I found a ski suit on my bed.
Zeb: Oh that? That’s a ski suit for our vintage aprés ski party.
Me: What vintage aprés ski party?
Zeb: The one we’re going to throw. Everyone will wear vintage ski suits and drink hot toddies and schnapps. Doesn’t that sound like fun?
Me: We went to one of those parties. Everything about it was lame except for us. We were like the only 70’s skiers at a lumberjack convention.
Zeb: But we were fun. Admit it.
Me: Fine. Where is this happening?
Zeb: At our house.
Me: There are three problems with your idea. 1) Global warming. It is 75 degrees outside and we’ll cook in those suits 2) No one but us has vintage one-piece ski suits (although Zeb has enough ski suits to outfit a flashmob, he has a major boner for vintage ski apparel) and 3) our house is fucking trashed.
Zeb told me to stop being a party-pooper and try the damn thing on. Alright. It is rad. But I’m not throwing a vintage aprés ski party until the bags of bags are out of here!
42 flavors of crap to choose from.
All this is from one storage bin in the basement, and it doesn’t include the cool vintage stuff I am keeping. There is a stack of 14 random cloth napkins ($4) 6 bandanas, some new ($2) and two tablecloths (FREE).
Featured is one large tablecloth and 11 matching napkins, some never used. Color: Sage. $5 for the lot.
Davey Crocket un-coon skin cap for kids. FREE.
The boys informed me that they don’t use the puffy thing in the shower. The frog nail brush was from my “frog” period where I had frog shit all over the place. This little knick-knack came from Dow Gardens in Midland, Zeb’s hometown. I imagine you don’t want my used body washer or nail brush, but I bet there is some perv in Japan who would pay big $$$ for it!
Zeb bought this monkey home. Why? So the kids could have more nightmares. Ebay.
Why have just one nightmare inducing monkey when you can have two? I’m selling them both. The dog is creepy. Zeb thinks it’s cool because it is make from real fur, like bear or something. I think it is disgusting. He’s mad at me because I want to get rid of it. I don’t know what to do with it.