Playing around on my old flickr account - found this and it makes me smile.
My baby has a birthday tomorrow. These twelve years have been a blast and I can't wait to see what her next twelve are like. How I love this girl. It breaks my heart that she hurts over her sperm donor dad refusing to play a real part in her life, but on the other hand we are both so happy that Chaddy came into our lives when she was three and stepped right into the role of Daddy.
Anyway, enough rambling. Happy Birthday Baby Girl.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
She's actually more expensive than that.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
It's not love unless you share everything
I got my first cold sore today. Chad gets them all the time.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Best neighbor award
It's nearly 9 PM and I'm making my daughter practice the piano. Because I'm the most awesome neighbor in the world. It's a bit of passive-aggressive revenge (I despise passive-aggressive in others but indulge in it occasionally myself, I am sad to say) for the neighbor's setting up a basketball hoop six feet from my bedroom window on their side of the fence. Their ten year-old grandson must be trying out for the NBA because he practices ALL. DAY. LONG. (That's right, CAPS.) They know I work nights. A set of earplugs and a pillow over my head is not enough to drown out the THUNK THUNK THUNK inside my sleep-deprived skull. I can only assume that they also know but don't give a crap that six in the morning on a Sunday is never NEVER the recommended time to host an NBA practice outside my window.
Coincidentally, today I noticed that our garbage bin, which is resting JUST on the other side of the fence from the spot in their yard where Lamar Odom Jr. practices his free throws, has a stench emanating from it that can only be described as maggoty. I was horrified at first when I realized my mistake of throwing away raw chicken bits in a black garbage container in 106 degree heat. Then - LIGHT BULB - I realized that Lamar is not going to be able to breathe over there with that smell. I am now wondering if anyone has an industrial-sized fan I can borrow.
You wish you were my neighbor, huh?
As if you couldn't already tell I'm going completely mental lying around here. I desperately want to be back at work, with dopamine drips and babies shooting out of orifices. Instead, I've reached season 5,672 of Rescue Me on Netflix and when I'm not watching that I'm doing this to amuse myself:
Coincidentally, today I noticed that our garbage bin, which is resting JUST on the other side of the fence from the spot in their yard where Lamar Odom Jr. practices his free throws, has a stench emanating from it that can only be described as maggoty. I was horrified at first when I realized my mistake of throwing away raw chicken bits in a black garbage container in 106 degree heat. Then - LIGHT BULB - I realized that Lamar is not going to be able to breathe over there with that smell. I am now wondering if anyone has an industrial-sized fan I can borrow.
You wish you were my neighbor, huh?
As if you couldn't already tell I'm going completely mental lying around here. I desperately want to be back at work, with dopamine drips and babies shooting out of orifices. Instead, I've reached season 5,672 of Rescue Me on Netflix and when I'm not watching that I'm doing this to amuse myself:
Skinny.
Fluffy! (Your internal reading voice must scream that word.)
Emma and I both find this side-splittingly funny. I think my insanity is contagious or genetic, or both.
PLEASE LET ME GO BACK TO WORK.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Today's word is protuberant
The photos that are uploaded from my iPhone are kind of suckish, so I'll be uploading them from my computer from now on NOW THAT I'M CLEARED TO WALK. I'll get back to that.
A few weeks ago I planted a tomatillo plant because I love white bean chili and wanted to grow my own white bean chili garden. Except the only other ingredient I planted was regular tomatoes, since I find dumping white beans out of a can much easier than shucking, and I also find it difficult to grow rotisserie chicken in Arizona. So anyway, my tomatillo plant was all gangly and spindly and not producing any fruit, just a million little yellowish flower blob things. I finally googled to see what was wrong and CRAP. It turns out that you must have both male and female plants for cross-pollination and I only have one lonely non-bisexual plant. I took a trip to the nursery today (because I am also cleared to drive as of today FINALLY) and tried to pick up a new tomatillo plant so mine can have an active sex life and instead came home with THIS:
Nighty nite.
A few weeks ago I planted a tomatillo plant because I love white bean chili and wanted to grow my own white bean chili garden. Except the only other ingredient I planted was regular tomatoes, since I find dumping white beans out of a can much easier than shucking, and I also find it difficult to grow rotisserie chicken in Arizona. So anyway, my tomatillo plant was all gangly and spindly and not producing any fruit, just a million little yellowish flower blob things. I finally googled to see what was wrong and CRAP. It turns out that you must have both male and female plants for cross-pollination and I only have one lonely non-bisexual plant. I took a trip to the nursery today (because I am also cleared to drive as of today FINALLY) and tried to pick up a new tomatillo plant so mine can have an active sex life and instead came home with THIS:
Creepy? Yes.
Emma named him Henry and as I was cooking dinner tonight (because I can get up on two feet and cook again FINALLY) I turned around to find him sitting on the counter less than a foot away from me, staring with his giant scary eyes, and I actually shrieked. (Giggle fits for Emma. Haha, yes, you're very funny with your owl who may want to get his thyroid checked.) I also found Henry buckled into the back seat of my Explorer. He is now on the couch covered in a blanket with his head nestled comfortably on a throw pillow.
By the way I ripped out my lame-o asexual tomatillo. We don't want your kind here, plant.
So ANYway, I went back to my awesome foot surgeon yesterday and was lectured about how many adhesions I have already. He took hold of my already completely frozen foot and jacked it way over to the side, leading to much profanity, grimacing and sweating on my part. He kept insisting that I was "protecting" it still, by holding it up straight and not letting it relax. DUDE. IT DOESN'T MOVE ANYMORE. IT IS RELAXED. I left his office in a really bad mood. (I plan to take this all out on my physical therapist tomorrow.) But as I *may* have mentioned I am cleared to walk without my crutches (with the storm trooper boot on) and am now allowed to drive. (With the storm trooper boot off.) This means that I can also jump back into being able to do mundane things like dishes and cooking and housework, and you probably won't believe me but I am SO happy about that. No really, I am.
More photos:
This is the first year I've planted hollyhocks. Next time I'll plant them against a wall, since our "gustnado" or "dirtnado" or whatever it is the weatherman is calling that crazy weather we had last week knocked a bunch of them down, but overall I'm in love. They are covered in ruffly flowers.
Baby zuchinni.
And THIS, my civilian friends, is what an army man getting his brand-new uniforms ready to wear looks like. He burns off all the extra little threads with a blowtorch while his wife with the anxiety issues worries about him lighting the bed on fire. He doesn't know that I took this shot, and I don't know how often he even visits the blog, so....HI HONEY! I find this "new uniform ritual' of his fascinating.
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