Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

Oh waiter, there’s a face in my song

I had a strange dream last night that I was back in junior school, but at my current age and with a baby. They had driver’s ed classes in the morning, and we had this elaborate protocol to get keys for the car we were to drive. I went to the cabinet to get keys, but there were none there and I got yelled at. Since all the keys were gone, we didn’t have class that morning so they sent us to lunch, which was up the road at the high school. I was already driving (apparently illegally) and had my baby in the car with me. When I got to the high school, I couldn’t find any place to park. All the places I used to park when I was in high school were off limits now. My cell phone rang with a collect call from some girls who were befriending me because I had the baby. (In real life when we were in school they were utterly awful to me.) They told me they were there and waiting for me. I finally found a place to park and the girls came out to help me collect the baby, the stroller, the diaper bag, and the boppy so we could go in to lunch. Then it ended. Wonder what it meant.

Did you ever wake up annoyed from a dream?

I had a dream that we went to the store for a particular pen. I needed a permanent fine tip pen for a project I was doing, and we went to 2 different stores to find the right pen. The second store that we went to had just one left, so I grabbed it and brought it home. When I got home, I realized that it wasn’t the right kind of pen, it was one that someone put in there from their pocket, and it was half used and had “LAUNDRY” written on the barrel in Sharpie. I woke up so annoyed about not having the right pen because it just wasn’t worth it to drive all the way back to Walmart to exchange a measly pen.

There are places that I have recurring dreams about. I don’t know whether they are just sets my mind has come up with or places I’ve been or places I will go, but they haunt my dreams. One is a grocery store that seems to have a disproportionately large selection of toilet paper and paper towels. Another is a ranch that I’ve never seen before.

There’s a Joyce Carol Oates story about a woman who sees the house she dreams about, knocks on the door, and goes through some unpleasantness. I don’t know the name of it, but it’s a great story and quite eerie.

When I want to be disturbed, I read Shirley Jackson. The Haunting of Hill House is, of course, one of the all-time scariest books ever, but her short stories are so abrupt and slightly off in some way that they tend to make me uncomfortable. But in a good way.

What awesome meals we’ve had the past couple of nights.

Friday night we went to Jeffrey’s Restaurant and ate like kings. Then on Saturday we went to Aquarelle, a French restaurant that’s a relative newcomer here. I posted a review of Aquarelle on austin.food, if you want to see how we gorged ourselves.

I haven’t had time to dig up any juicy links since we’ve been so busy. The kids went to visit their grandparents and we went out and did grownup type things… like go to the gun range and play with firearms for a few hours. I hogged the lane and had a generally great time.

Hi, My name’s D. and I’m a nosespray addict.

Hi, D!

Seriously, I’ve been using this Sinex stuff for far too long and now I can’t breathe without. I’m too weak to go cold turkey. I… can’t… BREATHE!

I love reading blogs. It’s like voyeurism – a more intimate form of the previously ubiquitous webcam. I just can’t stand it when people can’t spell or use grammar. I’m sure I’m guilty of a few typos from time to time, but I refuse to read blogs when my first instinct is to whip out a red pen and start scribbling on my monitor. And no, M., this is not about you, even though I did have to correct your “Meet the Parents” line.

So the baby was crying earlier and the only thing that would calm her down was the Yatta song. This can mean nothing good.

I’m slipping lower into my Benadryl stupor. I want to get this quilt that I’m 80% done with completely quilted, though, so I can put the binding on it on our trip to New Orleans in 3 weeks. My friend A. sent me some pictures of some amazing quilts that her cousin made, and now I’m all inspired. I was disenchanted with the fabric that I’m working with and kinda quit quilting for the last month, but the sooner I can get it done, the sooner I can work with nicer fabric. I’m quite positive that this is interesting to nobody but myself. Who would have thought, 12 years ago when I was an utter wild child, that I would be ranting about breastfeeding and quilts? Not me.

The other night was warm and humid and the moon was out and it was one of those nights that reminded me of when I was just out of high school, up to no good… perhaps like the night that we snuck off and drank beer in a field and fell into a hole, or when I called up my dad to pretend like we were tired and going to bed but I was really at a payphone and there were cars going by and it sounded like, “Hi, Dad? (zooooooooooom) Yeah, it’s me, I’m over at A.’s house (honk honk) and we’re just going to go to bed early (screeeeeeech)”. That night we ended up driving out to the lake and going up and down the hills in the road really fast, so fast that it felt like a rollercoaster, and N. (who owned the car we were in) was chanting obscenities which I won’t repeat. We were with this really big Hispanic guy whose name I can’t remember to save my life, and he was teaching me the words to “Margaritaville”. This was the guy who had the hots for the aforementioned A. which always made her run in the opposite direction.

Who were those kids then? Who are these thirtysomethings that have replaced them? I’m married with 2 fantastic little girls and own a house, and all that is swell, don’t get me wrong, but I think I’m having that Talking Heads moment of epiphany where I say “How did I get here?… This is not my beautiful house!”.

I always get a little restless in springtime.

Or perhaps I’m just putting off working on my quilt.

If you’ve been living under a rock for the past few months (or have no kids), you don’t know that Steve from Blue’s Clues is leaving. He’s off to become a rock star and there are samples of his work on his web page. Now the funny thing is the letters he’s been getting from people. Read the last letter on his Correspondence page. It’s pretty freaking amusing.

Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!

Wow, what a meal. Marinated grilled Cornish game hens, wilted spinach salad, and Greek lemon garlic potato wedges. We’re eating like grownups! It was a Kraft-free dinner. No mac and cheese for me, please.

I have absolutely no idea what I did today. It was like the day was a black hole and all my activities got sucked into it. #2 daughter has been exceedingly needy and DH has talked me into leaving both the girls with Grandma this weekend. We went out to dinner(!) with both the girls for the first time last night, and it actually went pretty well. It was a Mongolian BBQ joint and #1 daughter was loath to leave her plate with the man to get it cooked, though.

The 7 month old is a total monkey. She climbs stairs and perches on top of things. And she’s really quiet about it. I know that when it’s too quiet, I’ll find her being naughty.

Yummy!

Uh…… yeah. So anyway, I’m sure you’ll all be happy to know that I have bought underwear for the first time in years. Mom always wanted me to have clean underwear with no holes, in case I was in a car wreck.

Oh, and no extra charge, ma’am.
Sick, sick, sick.
Irrational exuberant epileptic happy fun page.
How’s your gaydar?

My husband thinks that blogging is the height of hubris. He compares it with the people who are on those TLC shows like A Baby Story, A Dating Story, A Wedding Story, etc. He thinks that people who are on those shows are really full of themselves to think that anyone else is even remotely interested in their little stories.

I’ve tried explaining the blogging phenomenon to him, but he’s not convinced at all. Oh well. That means 2 things: 1) He’s missing out, and 2) I can write whatever the heck I want to about him. Ha!