Sugared Harpy

I do, bitchez.

The Dyson just made sweet sweet love to my floors.

Okay, so we’re actually sharing custody of him. He’s that good.

Yesterday, I bought that super special of all Downy dryers sheets. The lavender-vanilla fancy kind. I bought it on sale because I would never buy that kind of thing regular price.

I have no idea why. I can buy a quilt that cost more than my craigslist bed but I refuse to pay the extra 35 cents for super special Downy.

I used this super special Downy. I washed all the laundry in the land.

And it is indeed special.

It is now a fact that I am sunk. I love it. I love love love it I can never go back. Downy has me by the ovaries. Damn them.

What is this pose I’m seeing everywhere?

Yes, I’m looking at you, Gap.

Can anyone explain why a girl with her shoulders hunched to the point of breaking her collarbone is considered pretty? sexy? sweater-selling?

It’s like a way to reduce the burden of breastages whilst amplifying cleavage, yet being demure but giggly. This pose looks like those girls you hated in high school now who changed their entire demeanor when a boy came around. Brilliant science whiz at 11:30, Hunchback McGiggles at 11:45.

It feels like such a diminishing pose. Hunching her over and pulling her arms in to her body seems to serve only to make her frame smaller, as if even super thin model women just aren’t small enough. It seems as though it only reduces her, in so many ways.

Also, their faces are cut off. Super.

Okay honey, now bed forward a bit, squish your shoulders to your head. More.

Roll that shoulder forward. Suck that side in. Hands awkwardly on hips. Perfect.

Now, both shoulders in. Think thin! Think collarbones and tendons are hot.*

Ick.

—
*When my sister reads the word, “tendon”, she is going to pass out.

I hope your holidays are just as entertaining.

Merry Christmas, bitchez.

I have the internets at the new house. This means that I can now live there. And why yes, I do realize how sad that is. Every time my gmail notifier goes DING! I stop everything and see who emailed me. It’s pathetic.

So, I’m painting. My rental. The owners asked if I wanted them to paint it before we took possession but gauging their previous paint job (read: drunken orgy of paint that seemingly landed on the walls by chance, sporadically and sparsely) and their inability to tell me when that might occur, I declined. I didn’t need to paint necessarily. But I must. I HAVE TO. I have to paint every new place I move into…thank you, Mom. I’m just painting white, but it’s Delicate White and I am pretending like that’s a real color choice.

Dear landlords everywhere, baseboards and trim that come stock-primed are not to be considered PAINTED already. They need paint, too. Give it up. Thank you.

The children have been very helpful little painters. Daniel really tried, bless his heart. He made Vs and Ws with the paint roller, went as high up as he could and as far down as I told him to. He painted an entire wall and a half on his own. Yes, I went over it once but only when he wasn’t around. Brett, not so much. Brett had a 3-inch roller and thought that was perfect for writing his name, creating large squares and rectangles, and painting new roads along the walls. He is my sister incarnate.

And, I cleaned a clean house. Even though the previous tenants (who are fabulous people who were wonderfully helpful) cleaned before they left, I have cleaned it again.

As my sister said, I need to put my own funk in there.

“Mom, PowerRangers suck.”

~Brett

I got the house. I sign the lease on Sunday.

Who’s on for January party?

I found a house for the boys and me.

A HOUSE, bitchez.

I was looking at a places all over. Do you realize that all this time we should have been renting our house? I had no idea that it would pay twice our mortage.

For $25 more a month than the shittiest, smelliest, smallest place I saw, I found a three-bedroom house with a main-floor laundry, a garage, and it’s on a weird driveway/cul-de-sac/lane thingy. Thank god, the boys will get to keep their own rooms. I think making them share at this point would have killed all three of us.

Yes? Puberty? Doubled? Please put that monstrosity in one tiny space.

But ahhhhh, no. Three bedrooms. And a yard.

Pray that nothing falls through. Moving is the only choice I think I’ve got right now.

Okay, so my life is anything but boring right now but I am assuming this blog sure is.

Here is some lame updating. And look! (sparkles) Something uh, shiny!

Basically, I’m busy. It’s the end of the semester and I’m swamped with making, giving, and grading finals.

I’m looking for a place for the boys and I to call our next home, calling and viewing places. (A note to landlords: the most expensive place I looked at was the ickiest, crappiest dump ever, please do not have visions of grandeur, it does not impress.)

I hear it’s Christmastime from the loud song played in the grocery store, a song I’m pretty sure has one lyric…Jeeessssuuuuusss JEEEEEEsusssss…but there are no presents bought yet.

I brought my darling kitty, Nero, with me to my mom’s place and he’s getting used to it. Slowly. I hope he goes in the litter box soon.

Mike bought a new kitten because Ivan is NOT a loner cat. He needs a baby and so now, he does.

Vladimir (the Impaler) is the new addition.

That you can buy ANYTHING on Craigslist? I had no idea.

I think that takes away any computer cred my blog gave me.