Yes, these posts are about eleven minutes apart. Just enough time for me to get a glass of water and watch the trailer for the new Karate Kid movie. Can I just say for about thirty seconds after watching it I was seriously going to nix my idea for my next wish and put down : Become a master in martial arts because it looks awesome. You know, in a totally 'movie for kids' way. Kind of. GOD I WISH I WAS JADEN SMITH.
Moving on. Yesterday was my first afternoon back at the daycare and while I began the morning excited and filled with anticipation at seeing all those adorable, tiny faces again I left at the end of the day filled with an odd sense of...I dunno....I can't quite put my finger on it but I believe I repeated "I'm never having children of my own EVER" several times because it was just that kind of afternoon.
During a particularly heated argument with a little one named Jack (aka Lucifer's Angel), it treaded into what I like to refer to as "showdown time" in which me and the child stand off across from one another and shout things back and forth because I've obviously lost all control of the situation, while the other children watch us like an illegal dog fight placing their playdough bets on this kid because, let's face it, he's quicker and smaller than I am and therefore, it's obvious where the win is going to end up. So we're really going at it with me saying things like "I TOLD YOU I WOULD LIKE YOU TO SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM PUH-LEASE AND I'M NOT GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN!" and this child, this MANIACAL child with evil beady eyes looks back at me and screams out "I WILL NOT SIT ON MY BOTTOM I DON'T WANT TO AND I FORGOT TO TELL YOU EARLIER THAT YOUR BREATH IS STINKY!"
And for some reason, this leads me to my next wish.
My Wish For You Today #2: Health and Wellness
And really, you can apply this wherever it needs to be applied because no one knows better than you where you need health improvement. I know, especially now, that perhaps brushing after lunch will be a better all around choice for my personal hygiene so that perhaps no one calls me out in front of a group of five year olds in a heated argument and therefore no one will be able to call me "stinky face" the rest of the day. See? Now I know.
Take a look at what you need. Let's take my mother for example. The "I quit smoking and then started again in secret during an economic meltdown, the MOST inopportune time to begin paying five dollars a pack". She could probably say to herself, "My teeth might be fine after lunch but PERHAPS I SHOULD QUIT SMOKING.AGAIN." See how this works? A five year old humiliates me in front of twenty. I turn around and humiliate my giver of life in front of hundreds. Is this considered 'paying it forward' like Haley Joel Osment taught us to do in that movie? I THINK SOOOOOO.
Do yourself a favor. Get healthy. And buy your best friend a toothbrush.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
My Wish For You: Volume 1
I KNOW, don't even start. I realize that I promised I'd blog everyday and the amount of people who came back time and time again yesterday according to my statcounter (Hello, Warrenton, VA)revealed that people think I mean it when I promise something and are now pissed and for that I'm sorry. You get a two-fer today! HOOORRRAAYYY!!
It occurred to me in the car on the way home from work this afternoon, whilst listening to Bob Marley, that I worry too much. About stupid stuff too. Like, "Why did she cut my bangs this length? Where am I going to find a good recipe for gingerbread cookies? Does this length make my face look too round? I hope nothing is seriously wrong with our family cat that keeps crapping on my mom's bed....do you think if I went back to the hairdresser and asked her to fix it, she would charge me?" and so on and so forth. We all do it.
And then, the most fantastic movie-moment happened. "Three Little Birds" started to play and suddenly I was bobbing said awful bangs to the beat of "don't worry about a thing" and feeling like everything was SERIOUSLY going to be alright.
It has also come to my attention that I need to start thinking about the New Year or, as I would like to refer to it as "The Year that couldn't possibly be as bad as '09". I mean...we lost Michael Jackson AND Brittany Murphy? Will the torture that is 2K9 NEVER END???
Thus, Bob Marley + 2K10 = My Wish For You Blog Post series in volumes.
Today's Wish: No More Stress.
If there's one thing I hope that I have more control over next year, it's that I need to realize I have very little control over anything at all. Seriously, the universe will do whatever the F it wants anyway so what does worrying get me? Will standing in line at the Walmart, fretting over the smell of the new makeup remover wipes mean that there will be no odor at all in the end? NO. Will losing sleep over the thought that the pants I want to wear in two weeks to a fantastic party might not fit mean that they will actually end up fitting better in the long run? UNFORTUNATELY, NO. We need less stress. We need more laughter. We need to push the worries out the windows, to take things as they come, and to always have plenty of booze on hand for when the worries become reality.
Here is my vow to you, strange and wonderful, faithful observer. When I come across you standing in the grocery aisle, holding two different jars of peanut butter and you have that stricken look on your face that can only mean you can't tell if less fat means less taste or if it truly is the peanut butter of your dreams and will your husband actually eat anything that says "less fat" on the label strictly on principle and what if that means less trans fat but more essential oils which have been proven lately to be just as bad for you as what they claim to be taking out and can you possibly use this in your grandmother's peanut butter thumb print cookie recipe and THE WORLD MIGHT END OVER THIS JAR OF JIFF....I will kindly take your hand in mine and lead the entire condiments aisle through a hymn of Kumbaya.
All I ask in return is you do the same for me.
It occurred to me in the car on the way home from work this afternoon, whilst listening to Bob Marley, that I worry too much. About stupid stuff too. Like, "Why did she cut my bangs this length? Where am I going to find a good recipe for gingerbread cookies? Does this length make my face look too round? I hope nothing is seriously wrong with our family cat that keeps crapping on my mom's bed....do you think if I went back to the hairdresser and asked her to fix it, she would charge me?" and so on and so forth. We all do it.
And then, the most fantastic movie-moment happened. "Three Little Birds" started to play and suddenly I was bobbing said awful bangs to the beat of "don't worry about a thing" and feeling like everything was SERIOUSLY going to be alright.
It has also come to my attention that I need to start thinking about the New Year or, as I would like to refer to it as "The Year that couldn't possibly be as bad as '09". I mean...we lost Michael Jackson AND Brittany Murphy? Will the torture that is 2K9 NEVER END???
Thus, Bob Marley + 2K10 = My Wish For You Blog Post series in volumes.
Today's Wish: No More Stress.
If there's one thing I hope that I have more control over next year, it's that I need to realize I have very little control over anything at all. Seriously, the universe will do whatever the F it wants anyway so what does worrying get me? Will standing in line at the Walmart, fretting over the smell of the new makeup remover wipes mean that there will be no odor at all in the end? NO. Will losing sleep over the thought that the pants I want to wear in two weeks to a fantastic party might not fit mean that they will actually end up fitting better in the long run? UNFORTUNATELY, NO. We need less stress. We need more laughter. We need to push the worries out the windows, to take things as they come, and to always have plenty of booze on hand for when the worries become reality.
Here is my vow to you, strange and wonderful, faithful observer. When I come across you standing in the grocery aisle, holding two different jars of peanut butter and you have that stricken look on your face that can only mean you can't tell if less fat means less taste or if it truly is the peanut butter of your dreams and will your husband actually eat anything that says "less fat" on the label strictly on principle and what if that means less trans fat but more essential oils which have been proven lately to be just as bad for you as what they claim to be taking out and can you possibly use this in your grandmother's peanut butter thumb print cookie recipe and THE WORLD MIGHT END OVER THIS JAR OF JIFF....I will kindly take your hand in mine and lead the entire condiments aisle through a hymn of Kumbaya.
All I ask in return is you do the same for me.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Oh Crap
It's 12:17 a.m. and I just got done watching this HORRIBLE Michelle Pfeiffer and Ashton Kutcher movie that I netflixed in a state of obvious insanity when I realized I didn't blog today. THREE DAYS INTO MY PACT Of blogging everyday and I have sucked it up already.
So, fine. I'm sorry. While listening to Alexi Murdoch this evening for some chance of inspiration to come, I was only reminded of the movie Away We Go in which A. Murdoch does the entire soundtrack in such a mystical fashion it should be illegal. Seriously, never seen the man in person and want to have his babies, it's just that mystical.
Which reminded me of a few short weeks ago when Beth and I sat together to watch the film and we were uncharacteristically quiet during the majority until I was finally like, "Uh...does he sort of look..." and was met with such an enthusiastic "OHMYGODYES" that we had to rewind and watch again our favorite and most ridiculous portions of the movie.
Because John Krasinski and Scott could be identical twins.
Oh, you don't know Scott? Scott is one of my best friends who, on occasion, looks homeless because he refuses to shower and shave and put on real pants. And while I can't exactly argue with the last statement for strictly hypocritical purposes I will say that SHOWERING IS A NECESSITY.
I mean, isn't that just silly? It's extremely weird to watch this guy in action in the movie as well because he's equally, if not more so, socially awkward and kind of fuddy duddier than my own friend. PLUS they have the same glasses. I mean Sam Mendes strictly made this movie to freak me out.
And for a minute, I was actually convinced they were the same person. I was all "WELP, clearly Scott is leading a double life and this is my opportunity to threaten to black mail him out of all of those 'The Office' millions he's rolling aorund in, in secret. I could use a new car. This is going to work out splendidly in my favor."
And then I saw this:
and I'm right back to knowing Scott and John Krasinski are DEFINITELY not the same person. At all.
Just say no to Mutton Chops and a 'Stache.
So, fine. I'm sorry. While listening to Alexi Murdoch this evening for some chance of inspiration to come, I was only reminded of the movie Away We Go in which A. Murdoch does the entire soundtrack in such a mystical fashion it should be illegal. Seriously, never seen the man in person and want to have his babies, it's just that mystical.
Which reminded me of a few short weeks ago when Beth and I sat together to watch the film and we were uncharacteristically quiet during the majority until I was finally like, "Uh...does he sort of look..." and was met with such an enthusiastic "OHMYGODYES" that we had to rewind and watch again our favorite and most ridiculous portions of the movie.
Because John Krasinski and Scott could be identical twins.
Oh, you don't know Scott? Scott is one of my best friends who, on occasion, looks homeless because he refuses to shower and shave and put on real pants. And while I can't exactly argue with the last statement for strictly hypocritical purposes I will say that SHOWERING IS A NECESSITY.
I mean, isn't that just silly? It's extremely weird to watch this guy in action in the movie as well because he's equally, if not more so, socially awkward and kind of fuddy duddier than my own friend. PLUS they have the same glasses. I mean Sam Mendes strictly made this movie to freak me out.
And for a minute, I was actually convinced they were the same person. I was all "WELP, clearly Scott is leading a double life and this is my opportunity to threaten to black mail him out of all of those 'The Office' millions he's rolling aorund in, in secret. I could use a new car. This is going to work out splendidly in my favor."
And then I saw this:
and I'm right back to knowing Scott and John Krasinski are DEFINITELY not the same person. At all.
Just say no to Mutton Chops and a 'Stache.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Getting Ready For Christmas
I hope you had as much fun, and as little discrepancy over your own fake baby Jesus, as we did this year.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Dedication and The Devil
Kelley mentioned to me back in November that it was National Blogging Month and I totally missed it like a craptastic loser. However, with all my new free time I've come to the conclusion that I can make up for my mistakes or I can give myself a fresh pedicure daily with the many nail color options here in a household with three little girls (Kissed Mint is a color...could you blame me if I chose Option B?).
However, I will refrain and do my best. Here it goes. Blogging everyday for a month.
Well, at least a week.
Let me introduce you to Max:
Or as I like to call him, The Devil.
He's currently giving me that look because I'm interrupting his morning nap/"Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" watching and don't I know Dawn leaves that on for him when she runs errands as a special treat?
This is the same dog maybe a month ago, in a state of frantic panic while doing laundry, I couldn't find and spent several minutes scouring the house for, hoping he hadn't eaten anything poisonous (kind of) or fallen down a set of precipitous stairs (not really) or, Heaven Forbid!, run away all together (we can only hope). After much screaming and running and full out sweating I come down to my room to get my phone to call Dawn and the little monster is just laying. On my bed. HEAD ON PILLOW.
I think these are the kinds of moments young mothers talk about when their child has just been discovered in the bathroom completely covered in a tube of Crest and they're written on the walls with your lip pencil and you just know it's going to take seven Mr. Clean Magic Erasers to make this all go away but they're grinning up at you beneath Whitening Sparkle eyelashes with such a look that you think
"if you weren't this adorable, surely I would murder you."
And that is exactly what this dog is capable of. He ate a kitchen fork. "But he looks so happy!". He tore apart Madison's homework. "He looks really sorry though!". He nearly caused a massive heart attack. "Clearly he was just tired and needed a place to lay down." This dog is the devil who's stolen my heart.
However, I will refrain and do my best. Here it goes. Blogging everyday for a month.
Well, at least a week.
Let me introduce you to Max:
Or as I like to call him, The Devil.
He's currently giving me that look because I'm interrupting his morning nap/"Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" watching and don't I know Dawn leaves that on for him when she runs errands as a special treat?
This is the same dog maybe a month ago, in a state of frantic panic while doing laundry, I couldn't find and spent several minutes scouring the house for, hoping he hadn't eaten anything poisonous (kind of) or fallen down a set of precipitous stairs (not really) or, Heaven Forbid!, run away all together (we can only hope). After much screaming and running and full out sweating I come down to my room to get my phone to call Dawn and the little monster is just laying. On my bed. HEAD ON PILLOW.
I think these are the kinds of moments young mothers talk about when their child has just been discovered in the bathroom completely covered in a tube of Crest and they're written on the walls with your lip pencil and you just know it's going to take seven Mr. Clean Magic Erasers to make this all go away but they're grinning up at you beneath Whitening Sparkle eyelashes with such a look that you think
"if you weren't this adorable, surely I would murder you."
And that is exactly what this dog is capable of. He ate a kitchen fork. "But he looks so happy!". He tore apart Madison's homework. "He looks really sorry though!". He nearly caused a massive heart attack. "Clearly he was just tired and needed a place to lay down." This dog is the devil who's stolen my heart.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Seriously not a post for dudes
So I've spent maybe forty minutes today trying to figure out how to design my webpage and have come to the conclusion that it is Effing Hard. My only hope is to hire some small, experienced teenage boy to create my master piece in hope that he is willing to be paid in M&M's and a little eye flirtation because I don't know if you know this but student teaching doesn't pay well. As in, at all. As in I'm pretty sure it was designed by communists, but whatever, moving on.
What happens when girls are sitting at home with one giant task looming over their shoulders and absolutely no enthusiasm with which to complete it? We surf the net for our dream wedding items. Don't even lie, every chic knows she does this. And dudes, yes, your girl is included. She might have said, "I don't know babe, I thought I'd watch a Lifetime movie on my couch, maybe run to Payless for their BOGO sale" on a carefree Saturday, but nay...don't be fooled. She's totally Googling your future together and at one point was a mere click away from reserving a beach house in Brazil for her dream destination nuptials because she was really hoping by that date in 2012 you'd have already proposed. Does your girlfriend have the day off? Does she currently spend a lot of time at home on the weekends with "no real plans"? Welp, sucker, you've been warned.
ANYWAY my real point I'm trying to get at, in all of my Crazed Woman Googling, was the fact that I came across Vera Wang's website. Now, I stumble on her site maybe once every other year because for the most part I convince myself that "Vera is too cliche to get married in..OF COURSE people expect Vera...no no, I need something different" when the real truth is that even looking at her site is enough to make my bank account flounder into nonexistence and I can't be tempted to even make one more click on the A-line ball gowns. I can't. Baby Kittens in Africa die every time I click through her site, it's just that detrimental, I'm sure of it.
Alas, today I was so bored I did it and can I just say, Vera has gone a...different route recently. Maybe I'm just not hip. Maybe I'm not with it enough to find things that are truly fashionable to be so. I mean, I totally didn't get it when neons came back a couple of years ago and I am still grappling with the concept of witch pointed heels, something my closest friends pull off quite adorably I might add. So, maybe it's me. Maybe I'm completely off when it comes to Vera's ingenious creations.
HOWEVER, there is something...scratch that, SEVERAL THINGS so totally off putting to me about this.
Like the fact that she's clearly starving. And, do wreaths count as veils? Seriously? I mean, I always thought the conundrum was "To Veil or Not To Veil...that IS the question" when really, all along, it could have been "To Veil or To Use Backwoods Pine".
LASTLY...she's going straight from ceremony, to reception, to star in A Midsummer Night's Dream, right? This outfit is threefold.
I don't know. I just don't get it. And I'm pretty sure if Beth and Kelley saw me sauntering down the aisle (yes, clearly she is sauntering and pouting like all brides dream of on their big day) they would AUDIBLY GASP before ripping me from my groom's clutches and dragging me back to the dressing room with questions like,
"You didn't think you needed to brush your hair today, AT ALL?" and "A Wreath? Really, Ash? A WREATH??"
I have too much time on my hands.
What happens when girls are sitting at home with one giant task looming over their shoulders and absolutely no enthusiasm with which to complete it? We surf the net for our dream wedding items. Don't even lie, every chic knows she does this. And dudes, yes, your girl is included. She might have said, "I don't know babe, I thought I'd watch a Lifetime movie on my couch, maybe run to Payless for their BOGO sale" on a carefree Saturday, but nay...don't be fooled. She's totally Googling your future together and at one point was a mere click away from reserving a beach house in Brazil for her dream destination nuptials because she was really hoping by that date in 2012 you'd have already proposed. Does your girlfriend have the day off? Does she currently spend a lot of time at home on the weekends with "no real plans"? Welp, sucker, you've been warned.
ANYWAY my real point I'm trying to get at, in all of my Crazed Woman Googling, was the fact that I came across Vera Wang's website. Now, I stumble on her site maybe once every other year because for the most part I convince myself that "Vera is too cliche to get married in..OF COURSE people expect Vera...no no, I need something different" when the real truth is that even looking at her site is enough to make my bank account flounder into nonexistence and I can't be tempted to even make one more click on the A-line ball gowns. I can't. Baby Kittens in Africa die every time I click through her site, it's just that detrimental, I'm sure of it.
Alas, today I was so bored I did it and can I just say, Vera has gone a...different route recently. Maybe I'm just not hip. Maybe I'm not with it enough to find things that are truly fashionable to be so. I mean, I totally didn't get it when neons came back a couple of years ago and I am still grappling with the concept of witch pointed heels, something my closest friends pull off quite adorably I might add. So, maybe it's me. Maybe I'm completely off when it comes to Vera's ingenious creations.
HOWEVER, there is something...scratch that, SEVERAL THINGS so totally off putting to me about this.
Like the fact that she's clearly starving. And, do wreaths count as veils? Seriously? I mean, I always thought the conundrum was "To Veil or Not To Veil...that IS the question" when really, all along, it could have been "To Veil or To Use Backwoods Pine".
LASTLY...she's going straight from ceremony, to reception, to star in A Midsummer Night's Dream, right? This outfit is threefold.
I don't know. I just don't get it. And I'm pretty sure if Beth and Kelley saw me sauntering down the aisle (yes, clearly she is sauntering and pouting like all brides dream of on their big day) they would AUDIBLY GASP before ripping me from my groom's clutches and dragging me back to the dressing room with questions like,
"You didn't think you needed to brush your hair today, AT ALL?" and "A Wreath? Really, Ash? A WREATH??"
I have too much time on my hands.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Public Education System has failed us:
"Macy's piano lessons begin the 21st of September. She has lessons for eight months. Which is the last month of her piano lessons?"
A. March
B. April
C. June
D. July
After much debate, I told Ryann to not answer this question and to please write next to it:
"This question is retarded" to which she promptly replied, "Ashley, I CAN'T write that" and thus, I leave it up to you to write to your governor and demand a FULL ACADEMIC REFUND on life.
Go ahead, what do you think the answer should be?
**Of course I would rant and rave and forget to put the right date in. Now, I look like less of an idiot. Let the critiqueing commence.
A. March
B. April
C. June
D. July
After much debate, I told Ryann to not answer this question and to please write next to it:
"This question is retarded" to which she promptly replied, "Ashley, I CAN'T write that" and thus, I leave it up to you to write to your governor and demand a FULL ACADEMIC REFUND on life.
Go ahead, what do you think the answer should be?
**Of course I would rant and rave and forget to put the right date in. Now, I look like less of an idiot. Let the critiqueing commence.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Being Home is Grrrrrrrreat
So I'm in the kitchen with my mother and I'm trying to do the National Geographic crossword while pretending to make conversation or at least pay attention to whatever it is she's talking about. The woman likes to talk about nothing important UNTIL she points out to me that googling the answers to my crossword isn't allowed. And I was all "Don't tell me the rules of googling my crossword, this shit is hard" and she was all "Your father thought he was a genius when he figured out he could google the answers to the TV guide crossword."
And she paused for several moments before continuing:
"Then he got creative and wondered what would happen when he googled "vagina" and thus was your father's discovery of internet porn."
And now I'm no longer in the kitchen pretending to make conversation with my mother.
And she paused for several moments before continuing:
"Then he got creative and wondered what would happen when he googled "vagina" and thus was your father's discovery of internet porn."
And now I'm no longer in the kitchen pretending to make conversation with my mother.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
"Never get married...or at least, if you do, buy a duplex"
I can't even put into words what it's like to have a conversation with 150 people ALL UNDER THE AGE OF 18 in one day. It's like speaking to brick walls of confusion.
Where the bricks stare back at you with questioning eyes and when you try and explain it further you're all "I just went over what that word meant...WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO?" and it's so freakin' obvious they've been trying to draw a penis on the neck of the person in front of them for the past eight and a half minutes and missed everything I just said but they can't seem to bring themselves to admit that, EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE NOT BLIND AND KNOW IT TO BE TRUE and so you stare at them and they stare back and no real words ever get exchanged.
Again, brick walls of confusion.
So I was ranting...seriously, ranting in the car to myself on the whole drive home with statements aloud to no one like,
"Don't tell me you'll do it for homework...what, like I give you time in class for my health?"
and
"No notes? I give you ONE homework assignment of taking NOTES and it's physically impossible for you to do that?!"
and my personal favorite,
"All my pens...gone. No one has a writing utensil...have stolen....ALL MY PENS."
And it was, of course, just then that I turn to my right at a stop light and see the most attractive individual just staring at me. That's right, staring at me while I talk to myself and no matter how much I smile and wave in my calmest, loveliest, I'm-not-crazy-really manner he just kind of looks horrified and pulls up his car the slightest bit so that we're no longer looking at one another.
You know, AKA THE CRAZY LADY BRUSH OFF.
And if just reminded me of this. And also, that I'll never date ever again in my current condition. Not even Mickey Fart Pants.
Where the bricks stare back at you with questioning eyes and when you try and explain it further you're all "I just went over what that word meant...WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO?" and it's so freakin' obvious they've been trying to draw a penis on the neck of the person in front of them for the past eight and a half minutes and missed everything I just said but they can't seem to bring themselves to admit that, EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE NOT BLIND AND KNOW IT TO BE TRUE and so you stare at them and they stare back and no real words ever get exchanged.
Again, brick walls of confusion.
So I was ranting...seriously, ranting in the car to myself on the whole drive home with statements aloud to no one like,
"Don't tell me you'll do it for homework...what, like I give you time in class for my health?"
and
"No notes? I give you ONE homework assignment of taking NOTES and it's physically impossible for you to do that?!"
and my personal favorite,
"All my pens...gone. No one has a writing utensil...have stolen....ALL MY PENS."
And it was, of course, just then that I turn to my right at a stop light and see the most attractive individual just staring at me. That's right, staring at me while I talk to myself and no matter how much I smile and wave in my calmest, loveliest, I'm-not-crazy-really manner he just kind of looks horrified and pulls up his car the slightest bit so that we're no longer looking at one another.
You know, AKA THE CRAZY LADY BRUSH OFF.
And if just reminded me of this. And also, that I'll never date ever again in my current condition. Not even Mickey Fart Pants.