I'm Just Sitting on the Shelf

Two-thousand-and-eight is officially the year that My House Fell Apart and I'm completely convinced Aaron hid the matches from me on purpose 'cause I'm ready to set the fucker on fire.

That or light a really nice candle. I'll let you guess which one.

So, yeah, I've become that person -- the one who rattles on and one about everything wrong with her house. This instance? The air conditioner broke. Again. Maybe I didn't write about it previously? But it broke a couple of months ago? I paid for it? With my job? Why did the house decide to break now that I've got a job? We're trying to decrease debt, not increase it. Why is she such a selfish little slut? Doesn't she know I'll be able to dress her up pretty if SHE STOPS NEEDING SURGERY?

Gah.

So, yeah. Hi. Air conditioner broken. Thank Goddess for artificially-flavored fake-juice freezer pops.


It's fixed now. Temporarily, I'm sure. Since it has a leak. And yes, you had better bet your bottom dollar I'm gonna get that fixed because holy crap, just with the house being hot we were all suffering from heat problems -- rashes, tummy aches, headaches and acidic tummy-vomit. I'm sorry, I'm quite certain you'd want to know that last bit of information about me. Up at 2:30 in the morning. By myself. Throwing up stomach juice.

Had I known, I'd at least have a popsicle first so it was flavored nicely.

But! It's fixed nice! So now I can do stuff instead of laying about like a damsel in distress. Stuff like sticking my face in front of a vent and sucking the sweet, glorious cool air.

Can't Stop, Addicted to the Shindig

The boys are still in jammas, watching promotional videos that were part of the swag from the BlogHer conference. I'm sitting here muttering curse words under my breath, stupid motherfuckers, where are they?, waiting for the dishwasher guy to come and rescue from a destiny of quickly-aging hands and steamy facials.

I'm still not quite "here," still dreaming of cool breezes and foggy mornings. God, I love San Francisco. Dreaming of Adult Conversation and not wiping other people's booties.

I'm still working on the unpacking aspect, and stumbled across my favorite thing I brought home...


I love art. I love red. This couldn't be more perfect for me. And Annie Galvin makes beautiful, beautiful pieces.

But, I'm home. And I'm readjusting to Kansas. With grilling, and making ribs this weekend. Good old-fashioned Kansas City Barbecued Ribs. Yum. Must make baked beans. Can't have ribs without baked beans.

I think, now that Griffin goes back to school in less than three weeks, I've come to terms with Summer. Trying on lazy days and an unkept home in lieu for hours at the pool and evening walks to the playground.

The unkept home though, that's the hardest. Trying to be all cool mom and not OCD-freaking-her-shit-out mom over clutter and shelving that would not pass the White Glove Test.

In anycase, now I'm sitting here twiddling my thumbs waiting for the dishwasher man, when what I want to be doing is a big run to Tar-jay to get Griffin school supplies. New crayons, new markers, new beginnings. I love fall.

And not having highs in the 90's would be lovely too.

Oh No, What Do We Do?

I'm so goddamn upset, I only have three words for you:


Oh yes. Okay, maybe I have more than three because my GOD DAMN DISHWASHER IS BROKEN AGAIN. (I totally just typed "dishwaster" that's awesome.)

Less than three years ago we spent an arm and a leg (okay, not really, we charged a ridiculous amount of money to a credit card) to buy a sanitizing dishwasher. At that point we were gluten-free but Darwin was still having a lot of allergy-skin problems and we wanted a sanitizer dishwasher. Less than a year later, we had service on it which would have cost us an arm, had we not had the warranty on it. That's when we decided it was a really good idea to continue warranties on Our Stuff because hell, it's a lot cheaper than one service call.

Last year, we had the same damn situation - one service call. This year we've had two calls, one of which being less than two weeks ago (and what would have been charged? over five-fucking-hundred bucks). And now?

Well, now? Now the sonofabitch is pouring water on our floor. Aaron partially dismantled it yesterday and all the foam encasing was full of water as well. Now we have another service call tomorrow (thank Goddess for warranties) but I just have to ask: where can I get me one of them 30 year old dishwashers that last forever? Because this is fucking ridiculous; although, not as fucking ridiculous as dawning the latex-free rubber gloves and spending two hours washing dishes by hand and GUESS WHAT I DID THIS MORNING.

You Used to Think That it Was So Easy, You Used to Say That it Was So Easy

For all the emails I've received, yes Aaron did manage to keep the children alive.

But that's it.

I'm not remotely joking.

All the clean laundry I left in the living room was still in the living room. The table was just as cluttered (if not more so) than when I left. No vacuuming was done and don't even get me started on how crispy my plants are looking because the man forgot to water everything.

But that's okay, because my children are alive. So I was totally find with that until I found that

Aaron

Broke

My

Grill

Now, sometime people tilt their head a bit to the right and go "huh?" when I talk about my grill but quite honestly, we have a few role reversals going on here that isn't quite the norm.

Ridiculous not-sexist-but-kinda-sexist role reversals. I blame this on my being raised by a single dad (my mom passed away when I was four) and Aaron being raised by a single mom (his father passed before he was born). So, while I can roll out the bed and be ready at the door in 10 minutes, Aaron needs at least an hour and no, I have no fucking clue what he's doing to his hair. Or, how I always drive the family around and Aaron sits in the passenger seat and has to just look pretty.

So, yeah. That's my motherfuckin' grill sitting out there on the back porch. I wanted the bigger one that was twice the size of the one we got (and the same price on close-out!) but Aaron didn't want too much of his pretty patio taken by a monstrous grill.

I was telling him of dinner I had planned (bbq'd country style pork ribs [I'm from Kansas City, sister loves her barbecue], roasted potatoes, poblano peppers on the grill and a green salad -- you know FOOD as in FOOD I DIDN'T EAT IN SAN FRANCISCO) and he interrupts me with, "uh... yeah... something's wrong with the grill.."

I slammed the phone down in the cradle and ran to mah baybee.

He dismantled it.

Oh my hell.

Apparently? He though the burnt juicy goodness on the grates was peeling paint and mold. I dare you to find me a woman who doesn't grill who's as stupid as that. DARE.

I reconfigured it the best I could (I have no fucking clue how to put that top grate back in, damn it) and grilled dinner.

Then I banned Aaron from every touching my grill again. Amen.

Cannot Hide it, You’re Not That Easy to Forget

Going to San Francisco has just reiterated how much I absolutely love to travel, despite the bullshit food allergies (hello 30 dollar room service hamburgers and omelets, holyfuckingshit).

Sunday afternoon was the only opportunity I had to really go see the city, and even then I felt guilty because I needed to pack & shower & clean up & other bullshit and wanted to talk to Aaron more (but not the kids, those punks had a fight in the background yesterday morning of who missed me the least, the brats). But I put it all off to get out of the building (I'm not use to being so cooped up without sunlight) and walk around town a bit.


I know I saw very little of SF and I'd love, love, love to go back and see some more.

As for the conference, I thought it was really cool - not quite what I expected but awesome nonetheless. I had met tons of really nice, really intelligent people (none of whom asked me to wipe their butts, that part totally rocked). I was able to have conversations about topics that interested me and even had discussions with people who had different opinions than me and we were able to Act Like Adults and not fight, but debate and respect one another's opinions.

Which is why I'm so completely shocked and saddened by some of the behavior I saw there. I actually saw one blogger put her hand in someone's face to make them quiet when she was trying to introduce herself. I even got iced from someone I tried to introduce myself to. And then, at the keynote closing I was shocked that one person actually stood up and cussed out one of the keynote speakers.

Maybe I'm idealistic, but shit. When did we decide to shit upon one another at a conference where the sole purpose is women supporting women? The whole thing made me upset and sad, but what's making me even more upset and sad is focusing on the negative instead of the positive of what I experienced.

And really, it was a wonderful experience (albeit very little sleep) with lots and lots of truly wonderful, smart people (oh yes, not just women).

In closing: I wanna go back. In San Francisco I never had to yell at anyone to Stop! Touching! Your! Brother!

I Heard Her Holler, I Heard Her Moan

San Francisco is awesome. Steph (who let me sleep on her couch and is my roommate in the hotel) is awesome. All the bloggers I've met here are awesome. The parties are awesome. Traveling here, although not awesome also wasn't that bad (I am alive).

However, the food situation? The food situations BLOWS IT OUT THE ASS.

I'm no dumbie: I knew that food here was going to be difficult. But when you have nothing for dinner an inedible frozen entree for dinner and pineapple and strawberries for breakfast, things start getting desperate.

So... lunch time rolls around and the gluten-free box lunch reeks of rotten wheat (cookies! soy sauce! is the lead chef just stupid or doesn't know how to cook properly?) the only thing I could possibly do was curl into the fetal position on my bed and cry giant baby tears because woe is me, I'm hungry and woe is the people I'm gonna meet, cuz if I don't eat they're gonna be meeting one raving psycho-bitch.

And then I called room service. Intelligent people work in room service (not understanding fries sharing with oil chicken fingers is not gluten-free aside) and were able to make me a hamburger and (huge!) side Caesar salad.


And is it lame? The condiments for my hamburger are totally making me smile. They are definitely the highlight of the day (so far, anyway).

So Let's Loosen Up With a Playful Tease

Less than 24 hours to go. And look what's completed!


Woo hoo!


The back!


The inside!

And the computer actually fits. AMAZING.

You know, I should really try to sew more often. It actually does calm me down.

And in trying to get my ducks in a row...


the business cards are ready to go...


... and I even managed to find gluten-free gum.

I have gluten-free, dairy-free chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Now I just need to pack and calm my shit down. Yikes.

I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!

I'm leaving for San Francisco in three days and I am FAHREAKING MY SHIT OUT.

All I continuously think of is horrible, horrible situation. Will I die in the plane? What about an earthquake? Will I be socially slitted for wearing Crocs and not painting me toenails? Will Aaron and the boys get into a car accident and die while I'm gone? Will Griffin really not miss me? Am I going to figure out how to program my shuffle to only play songs I like between now and then? Did my business cards really turn out good? What the hell am I going to do with myself on Sunday (my only day to see the city) now that I have to do it by myself? How the hell am I going to eat and not get sick from wheat? Oh my hell, I think I'm going to hurl.

And, of course, in my typical fashion, I did not begin making my computer bag until yesterday because nothing says getting-ready-for-a-business-trip like LET'S SEW SOMETHING COMPLICATED RIGHT BEFORE WE GO.


I'm about half-way through. I hope. I tried some of the instructions and scrapped them because... oh, hell. I'll bitch about that when the damn thing is done.

It will be done before I leave Thursday morning, right?

And then there's Aaron's complete freak-outs like what do you mean I have to take the boys swimming? and and you're gonna make us enough food to last the whole time you're gone, right? and you don't expect me to do laundry while you're gone, do you? and I'm all OHMYFUCKINGSHIT, AARON. You travel for three weeks at a time and I work from home and keep your children alive. Can you at least promise me you can keep them alive for the five days I'll be gone?

Completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out,completely-freaking-out, completely-freaking-out...

I Brazillian Wax Poetic so Hypothetically, I Don't Want to Beat Around the Bush

I never imagined I would say Harry Potter Camp is royally kicking my ass, but lo, it is.

A three-hour camp is ending up taking more than eight-hours of my time a day (not that I'm complaining, but it's leaving very little room for other Life Experiences) and thus, all that is on my mind right now is the politics of working with children and adults who have personalities I'm not use to, like the boy who, when upset at someone, shoves his finger in their face and shakes it violently while yelling, "You're a BAD, BAD BOY!"

How the hell am I suppose to cope with that?

You know, I'm sure it doesn't come through very clear here but I'm a very delicate little flower who bruises easily emotionally. In such situations, it's difficult for me because the child who is being told he's bad is having hard time and needs defense, but on the flip side the child who's violently telling others they are bad also needs... something. Protection? Love? Care? He's learning that behavior somewhere and I can't imagine ever telling a child they are BAD, BAD, BAD!

You know, there's a lot more to the camp than the interpersonal communications, most of the camp experience is awesome -- get the kids out of the house and meeting new people, doing service projects to better our community (donations to food banks) and globally (participating in a Peace Project to be sent to China). Nature walks, yoga, nguyen thi chi, creating rainsticks to be used in a Native-American chant to call upon the four winds. Lots and lots of interesting things I should be focusing on instead of the glitches of personalities.

But still. Some glitches, like the screaming at others that they are bad? Just cannot be overlooked and easily forgotten.

Come and Play, Everything's A-Okay

There's nothing like a nice case of step throat attacking your family to ruin a very fun holiday and three day weekend. Nothing like it at all.

Temperatures were brought down in just enough time to attend Harry Potter Camp yesterday and holyfuckingshit, was that ever a mad house of 60-some-odd kids and not-quite-organized chaos. Fun, though. But hot. And did I mention the chaos?


The highlight of the past few days has been this damn butterfly that wanted to take my lawful position as Aaron's wife. The little bitch wouldn't leave him alone, even followed him into the house multiple times. I was ready to let her take over my role, maybe she could knock some sense into his grocery shopping skills (you hear the sarcasm, right?). Why oh why do men buy items not on the list, the wrong brand and the wrong size. I now officially understand all joking of beating a husband upside the head with a frying pan.

Note: please send a nice frying pan my way. Or a person who follows a list. Either will do nicely.