I have decided to document my weekend in real(ish) time.
I have made this decision primarily because I have literally nothing better to do.
Literally.
Nothing.
5am to 7:30 am
Let me back track to this morning.
Like the trouper I am, I dragged myself outta bed—despite my vicious head ache and pushed through my work out.
Then on my way to work, moments before I was close enough to the turn lane, this stern looking cop leapt from the bushes, like a troll from under a bridge, and stuck his hand out at me.
Like a good citizen I thought “surely there has been some sort of trouble up ahead and I should follow his instructions.”
But then he pointed at the curb and I quickly realized his instructions were that I should go there and stop driving.
I produced, upon his request, my license and a bundle of papers (since I JUST bought the car I did not know which one counted as registration.) I held my breath hoping I was not with out proper documentation. It turns out, he just needed the yellow one.
He was kinda enough to write it up as if I had been going about 15 mph less than I was going, so I can’t say anything sour about him. He could have taken poor Inga to impound I think, for that much of a discrepancy between my speed and what he kept terming “the speed limit.” Yeah, no joke, they LIMIT speed around my job. I though about asking if they limit…like…breathing and stuff too but I thought it best not to ask. He was a swell guy, all considered after all. And he had an Australians accent, which earned him all the points back that he’d lost for hiding in the bushes with a radar gun.
8am-3:45 pm
The rest of the day I suffered from sheer grumpiness. Actually, I suffered from a headache and fatigue—I made every one around me suffer from my grumpiness.
Generally I was a whiney jerk.
3:45-5:30pm
The ride home was better. And a series of events, beginning with a simple “you doing ok?” phone call from a pal, reminded me I am pretty lucky to be who I am, where I am, having what I have and doing what I do and with whom I do it.
I got home and the man who lives with me, and really is my hero, had read my mind-- which was chanting, “I need to eat a lot of Mexican food and it will all get better, I need to eat a lot of Mexican food and it will all get better…”
He produced two enchiladas, and I mean actual enchiladas. That’s not a euphemism.
And my mommy, who does not know how close she has come this week to a “I don’t like it here in adulthood anymore, come pick me up and take me home” phone call from her 28 year old daughter, sent us (ok it was to little E, but I know she wanted me to feel the love too) a box.
Boxes are like my mom’s versions of care packages, but she goes a little overboard and each one is like a mini Christmas. When I first left home she sent them to me full of food, books, socks, festive decorations for my apartment representing the nearest next holiday—including St. Patrick’s, Valentine’s and Presidents’ day. She sends them to Lil’ E now about every 4-6 weeks. This one contained magazines for me, clothes, socks and toys for my spoiled little kid.
Ok, they took Fruit Loops and enlogated them into straws so you can drink milk through them. AND they are lined on the inside with FROSTING that flavors the milk as it passes through the straw. We ate the entire box during the course of the night.
(She is not that tall so the camera was a little low)
I don't think Paul would like us sitting on his mustang. I am glad there is absolutely NO WAY he could find out.
I have made this decision primarily because I have literally nothing better to do.
Literally.
Nothing.
5am to 7:30 am
Let me back track to this morning.
Like the trouper I am, I dragged myself outta bed—despite my vicious head ache and pushed through my work out.
Then on my way to work, moments before I was close enough to the turn lane, this stern looking cop leapt from the bushes, like a troll from under a bridge, and stuck his hand out at me.
Like a good citizen I thought “surely there has been some sort of trouble up ahead and I should follow his instructions.”
But then he pointed at the curb and I quickly realized his instructions were that I should go there and stop driving.
I produced, upon his request, my license and a bundle of papers (since I JUST bought the car I did not know which one counted as registration.) I held my breath hoping I was not with out proper documentation. It turns out, he just needed the yellow one.
He was kinda enough to write it up as if I had been going about 15 mph less than I was going, so I can’t say anything sour about him. He could have taken poor Inga to impound I think, for that much of a discrepancy between my speed and what he kept terming “the speed limit.” Yeah, no joke, they LIMIT speed around my job. I though about asking if they limit…like…breathing and stuff too but I thought it best not to ask. He was a swell guy, all considered after all. And he had an Australians accent, which earned him all the points back that he’d lost for hiding in the bushes with a radar gun.
8am-3:45 pm
The rest of the day I suffered from sheer grumpiness. Actually, I suffered from a headache and fatigue—I made every one around me suffer from my grumpiness.
Generally I was a whiney jerk.
3:45-5:30pm
The ride home was better. And a series of events, beginning with a simple “you doing ok?” phone call from a pal, reminded me I am pretty lucky to be who I am, where I am, having what I have and doing what I do and with whom I do it.
I got home and the man who lives with me, and really is my hero, had read my mind-- which was chanting, “I need to eat a lot of Mexican food and it will all get better, I need to eat a lot of Mexican food and it will all get better…”
He produced two enchiladas, and I mean actual enchiladas. That’s not a euphemism.
And my mommy, who does not know how close she has come this week to a “I don’t like it here in adulthood anymore, come pick me up and take me home” phone call from her 28 year old daughter, sent us (ok it was to little E, but I know she wanted me to feel the love too) a box.
Boxes are like my mom’s versions of care packages, but she goes a little overboard and each one is like a mini Christmas. When I first left home she sent them to me full of food, books, socks, festive decorations for my apartment representing the nearest next holiday—including St. Patrick’s, Valentine’s and Presidents’ day. She sends them to Lil’ E now about every 4-6 weeks. This one contained magazines for me, clothes, socks and toys for my spoiled little kid.
In the box was the most amazing thing!
Ok, they took Fruit Loops and enlogated them into straws so you can drink milk through them. AND they are lined on the inside with FROSTING that flavors the milk as it passes through the straw. We ate the entire box during the course of the night.
Elsa and I quickly set out on project "Break Rule Number One". Rule Number One is the cardinal rule of our little family unit. It’s what my darlin’ dumpling punkin’ (I don’t actually call him that but I think I might start) used to say to me when we were just dating. Rule Number one states: “If it makes you sick, don’t eat it. If it’s making you sick, stop eating it and if you are getting sick, STOP EATING!”
During the course of the night we ate some of everything pictured here.
During the course of the night we ate some of everything pictured here.
Also, I just took a writing break to take this picture and while I was in the kitchen I had a bowel of marshmallow cereal. I know, sexy, hu?
5:30 – 6 ish
We settled down to watch this AWSOME movie Ghost Rider. If you have not seen it, it’s bound to be a classic with such lines as “He [the devil] may have my soul, but he doesn’t have my spirit!” and my personal favorite was said to a guy breaking a date with a gilr and she says, “That’s your excuse? I need to leave be cause you work…for the devil.” And he says, “Yes. That’s pretty much it.”
The only part of the move that I didn’t hate was that when I commented that the heroine was pretty (and I meant it in an “I just over ate to the extreme and I hate her” kinda way, not my usual admiring way I notice and actress is pretty), my darling said with what appeared to be complete sincerity, that she was not “all that pretty.”
6-ish to like half an hour later
Paul had to run an errand so Elsa and I decided to play Mustang Babe of the Month. You know, Mustang magazine has a chick on a car every month in the back of the magazine.
Here are some examples:
Sexy Girl Next Door
5:30 – 6 ish
We settled down to watch this AWSOME movie Ghost Rider. If you have not seen it, it’s bound to be a classic with such lines as “He [the devil] may have my soul, but he doesn’t have my spirit!” and my personal favorite was said to a guy breaking a date with a gilr and she says, “That’s your excuse? I need to leave be cause you work…for the devil.” And he says, “Yes. That’s pretty much it.”
The only part of the move that I didn’t hate was that when I commented that the heroine was pretty (and I meant it in an “I just over ate to the extreme and I hate her” kinda way, not my usual admiring way I notice and actress is pretty), my darling said with what appeared to be complete sincerity, that she was not “all that pretty.”
6-ish to like half an hour later
Paul had to run an errand so Elsa and I decided to play Mustang Babe of the Month. You know, Mustang magazine has a chick on a car every month in the back of the magazine.
Here are some examples:
Sexy Girl Next Door
Ok, the poses were the little kid’s idea. She liked using the camera. The only reason she let me take pictures at all was that I told her I needed her to show me how to sit. She came up with the “poses” on her own, which is scary because I didn’t show her the Babe’s of the month. I just told her we were ganna take pictures with Daddy’s car. Here’s OUR rendition of babe of the month.
She showed me this one:
I gave it a shot
(only she got camera happy before I was ready):
She said to:
I did:
(She is not that tall so the camera was a little low)
And then this:
Resulted in this:
Then she did this one:
Aaaaaaaaand then I explained it looks adorable when she does it, but Mommy had better not...
This one was admittedly my idea:
I don't think Paul would like us sitting on his mustang. I am glad there is absolutely NO WAY he could find out.
Around 7
Pauly-wog (I do call him that one) and we finished the AWSOME movie.
Then till Now
I watched some dumb movie and played with my computer. I am not done but I don’t think I will do anything else worthy of note tonight.
Pauly-wog (I do call him that one) and we finished the AWSOME movie.
Then till Now
I watched some dumb movie and played with my computer. I am not done but I don’t think I will do anything else worthy of note tonight.
3 comments:
You look really great and I can't believe how grown up Little E looks.
I believe that is the first time I have actually seen you smile in a picture.
We're a little dissapointed that you bailed out on that last, sexy mustang chick pose. You know you took the picture, why don't you just go ahead and post it. Go on. It's cool. Go.
Do it. Go.
Post a Comment