Professional Courtesy
I love my job, I love my job, I love my job... Today that's my mantra to keep me from ending up in a clock tower with a rifle.
I've been a baby photographer for nearly 5 years. I take damn good photos and I make damn good sales, I work hard at what I do and I love my job... for the most part. At this very moment I'm glad to be out of my client's room. I'm taking photos of her baby and I'm about to do some shots with the father and the mom says, "Ya know, I don't think we really need that. I'm just getting these done so people can see him now. I'm going to get some done by a professional later." My impulse was to call her a bitch and just walk out, but I didn't do that... I'm a professional, I know that pissing off the client doesn't make them want to buy photos so I just asked her if she was sure and nicely pointed out to her that I AM a professional and these are PROFESSIONAL photos. I was pissed, so pissed I didn't even let her see the photos I took even though she ordered. I was so insulted... still am. Whatever... I'll shake it off now... *her baby looks like a salamander though. ;)
* not really. She's still an ignorant ho though.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thrilling Thursday
I know I promised to post photos of cool art work of mine (painted eggs) and detail the camping/tubing trip with the Tiny Terrorist, but fuck that, I’m not in the mood. I’m having a foul day and I don’t have near enough duct tape to make it a passable and less stressful day.
I’m cleaning. I have a stupid Pampered Chef party tonight and I have friends coming over to eat food and talk and pretend to be interested in expensive yet cool kitchen stuff. I’m stressing because I’m the only person in this fucking house who cleans. I mean really CLEANS, not just loads a dish washer and takes out a bag of trash. I mean put things in the right place, vacuum carpets, wipe counters and mop the floors. No one has REALLY CLEANED this place since November – yes November, gawd help me. So I’m CLEANING, REALLY CLEANING so that my friends who love me and know me don’t think I’m an utter and complete slob (though I’m sure my dear friends already know that I am a slob and they love me anyway).
This morning has consisted of me yelling at the Tiny Terrorist to do tasks to help with the cleaning. They have in turn hemmed and hawed and WHINED and eventually under penalty of grounding, spanking and painful death they have accomplished the tasks I have demanded of them (don’t worry, it’s nothing that would violate any child labor laws).
And now after fighting with cleaning equipment and sending children upstairs for naps I am nearing a point that my stress levels have dropped and my blood pressure has returned to normal, though I still am barking orders and yelling every time I open my mouth (you might not want to phone me right now).
Okay, my bitching is done for the moment… back to CLEANING.
I know I promised to post photos of cool art work of mine (painted eggs) and detail the camping/tubing trip with the Tiny Terrorist, but fuck that, I’m not in the mood. I’m having a foul day and I don’t have near enough duct tape to make it a passable and less stressful day.
I’m cleaning. I have a stupid Pampered Chef party tonight and I have friends coming over to eat food and talk and pretend to be interested in expensive yet cool kitchen stuff. I’m stressing because I’m the only person in this fucking house who cleans. I mean really CLEANS, not just loads a dish washer and takes out a bag of trash. I mean put things in the right place, vacuum carpets, wipe counters and mop the floors. No one has REALLY CLEANED this place since November – yes November, gawd help me. So I’m CLEANING, REALLY CLEANING so that my friends who love me and know me don’t think I’m an utter and complete slob (though I’m sure my dear friends already know that I am a slob and they love me anyway).
This morning has consisted of me yelling at the Tiny Terrorist to do tasks to help with the cleaning. They have in turn hemmed and hawed and WHINED and eventually under penalty of grounding, spanking and painful death they have accomplished the tasks I have demanded of them (don’t worry, it’s nothing that would violate any child labor laws).
And now after fighting with cleaning equipment and sending children upstairs for naps I am nearing a point that my stress levels have dropped and my blood pressure has returned to normal, though I still am barking orders and yelling every time I open my mouth (you might not want to phone me right now).
Okay, my bitching is done for the moment… back to CLEANING.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Is Actively Avoiding Something Considered Exercise?
As I sat here eating my fat free fake crab tossed carelessly across my salad topped with peppercorn ranch while reading the news this conversation just took place:
Child 1: Mom do we eat whale?
Me: Hmmm? (not really listening)
Child 1: Mom. Do we eat whale?
Me: Hmm? Yes, yes you usually eat well.
Child 2: I TOLD you we eat WHALE!
Me: What? I mean NO we DON’T eat WHALE. Not unless you are Eskimo, we don’t eat whale.
Child 2: Just the whale skin.
Child 1: What’s an Eskimo?
Me: Native American who live in Alaska and other cold places and are allowed to hunt and eat whale.
Child 2: We eat whale skin.
Me: No we don’t.
Child 1: Do they eat ALL of the whale?
Me: Yes, I believe they do.
Child 1: Ewwww!
Child 2: We eat the whale body right?
Me: No we don’t. We don’t eat whale!
Child 2: Just the whale body right?
Me: What’s your sudden fascination with eating whale? Do you want me to get you a couple of whale steaks?
Child 2: EWWWWW!!!
Catching Up… Sort Of!
Gawd, I suck! I haven’t been good about regularly updating and that bothers me. I have so much to talk about and so little time. Actually I have a little time but then I end up mired in the guilt of having not updated and not being able to decide exactly where to start and who will care or what not. So… um.. I’m just going to give a short (and probably inaccurate) update of some thing and them MOVE on to current crap.
Scarby – It was fun, it was hot, a dear friend got bit by a radio active spider and developed super powers, sadly they only manifested themselves as a rather impressive cough with the power to clear a room and occasional projectile vomit. Well before she could choose a snazzy superhero outfit made of spandex, she went to a doctor and was given the antidote which oddly turned out to be allergy medicine and antibiotics.
K ended up going too, actually doubling his usual attendance at Scarby (hey, when you usually only go once a year, it’s not hard to do) AND he was in garb. He totally had a good time and plans to attend more next year. The plan is for him to go to TRF one weekend this year also! Dear GAWD, I’m turning my gay ex into a rennie! Am I CRAZY?!?! Heh, kidding, he’s a great guy and not just because his genetic contribution to our adorable offspring.
The best Scarby event happened toward the end of faire when I got crowned Duchess of the SPCF. This means so much to be as I absolutely love this group and I love helping out whenever I can. I feel honored and touched (and not in THAT way perv!) and I have a TIARA! I also bought feathers at Scarby, PINK feathers that I absoulty LOVE! Forget about the fact that I have NO and I mean NOTHING AT ALL in the way of PINK garb, the PINK feathers look fabulous with my hair.
And K went on the last day of Scarby, and it rained and it was hot but it was fun and we were tired when we left and we went to have our usual after Scarby dinner of trucker food at Waffle House. Damn I’m so freaking trailer trash some days – I LOVE Waffle House. I blame my extremely rednecked-trailer-trash ancestors for that. Get enough beer in me and you can actually picture me standing on the porch of a broken-down trailer, surrounded by beer cans and flea bitten mongrel dogs yelling for my progeny to get their asses in the house right now… or not, maybe you can imagine it minus the beer, I do like to wear my wife-beaters and camo pants. (It’s a fashion statement bitches!) But I digress, my trucker breakfast was fabulous.
Moving on, the week after Scarby ended was intended to be my first week of dreading Summer Vacation and of me trying to teach the progeny to SLEEP IN! But instead it was spent painting wooden eggs for my grandmother’s 75th birthday. Yes I said painting eggs. She’s collected eggs for YEARS now so D had the brilliant idea to paint eggs for her – 12. One for each month with each month having the birthdays in that month listed on the egg. Sounded like an amazing idea and my motto is anything worth doing is worth OVER DOING… or something like that… so I was all for doing AT LEAST 12 eggs. 12 unique, hand painted eggs. Yeah. We ended up painting about 3 dozen eggs total, only about a dozen and a half went to our grandmother. She was impressed… I think… it was hard to tell she was in a lot of pain from her pancreitis and I think she was drugged up (yay for her). Whatever, it was fun painting the eggs (photos to come soon) and I did somehow make up with my uncle who hasn’t spoken to me in 4 years – seems just letting him mix me drinks was the key. Not entirely sure what he was mixing but it was good and it had vodka in it. In fact he shared his BEST vodka with me. (This was the best vodka I’ve EVER had, so smooth!) THEN, THEN the fun party happened.
The DRIVE home. Oh dear gawd. We left at 10 to drive the 3.5 hours home which wasn’t a SMART idea since neither D nor I had gotten more than 3 hours a sleep a night for the past WEEK. Let’s just say, sleeping at a rest stop is in no way RESTFUL even if you do happen to be sleeping in a Mercedes Benz. When all was said and done, I got home with enough time to take a 30 minute nap, change clothes and head out to the Sammy Haggar concert (which ROCKED! They had burros in sombreros.)
AND… that’s it. I leave you with all the gems of whatever. Tomorrow hopefully I’ll have time to blog about the tubeing and camping trip with the Tiny Terrorists! Woohoo! Believe me it’s well worth a post of it’s own.
As I sat here eating my fat free fake crab tossed carelessly across my salad topped with peppercorn ranch while reading the news this conversation just took place:
Child 1: Mom do we eat whale?
Me: Hmmm? (not really listening)
Child 1: Mom. Do we eat whale?
Me: Hmm? Yes, yes you usually eat well.
Child 2: I TOLD you we eat WHALE!
Me: What? I mean NO we DON’T eat WHALE. Not unless you are Eskimo, we don’t eat whale.
Child 2: Just the whale skin.
Child 1: What’s an Eskimo?
Me: Native American who live in Alaska and other cold places and are allowed to hunt and eat whale.
Child 2: We eat whale skin.
Me: No we don’t.
Child 1: Do they eat ALL of the whale?
Me: Yes, I believe they do.
Child 1: Ewwww!
Child 2: We eat the whale body right?
Me: No we don’t. We don’t eat whale!
Child 2: Just the whale body right?
Me: What’s your sudden fascination with eating whale? Do you want me to get you a couple of whale steaks?
Child 2: EWWWWW!!!
Catching Up… Sort Of!
Gawd, I suck! I haven’t been good about regularly updating and that bothers me. I have so much to talk about and so little time. Actually I have a little time but then I end up mired in the guilt of having not updated and not being able to decide exactly where to start and who will care or what not. So… um.. I’m just going to give a short (and probably inaccurate) update of some thing and them MOVE on to current crap.
Scarby – It was fun, it was hot, a dear friend got bit by a radio active spider and developed super powers, sadly they only manifested themselves as a rather impressive cough with the power to clear a room and occasional projectile vomit. Well before she could choose a snazzy superhero outfit made of spandex, she went to a doctor and was given the antidote which oddly turned out to be allergy medicine and antibiotics.
K ended up going too, actually doubling his usual attendance at Scarby (hey, when you usually only go once a year, it’s not hard to do) AND he was in garb. He totally had a good time and plans to attend more next year. The plan is for him to go to TRF one weekend this year also! Dear GAWD, I’m turning my gay ex into a rennie! Am I CRAZY?!?! Heh, kidding, he’s a great guy and not just because his genetic contribution to our adorable offspring.
The best Scarby event happened toward the end of faire when I got crowned Duchess of the SPCF. This means so much to be as I absolutely love this group and I love helping out whenever I can. I feel honored and touched (and not in THAT way perv!) and I have a TIARA! I also bought feathers at Scarby, PINK feathers that I absoulty LOVE! Forget about the fact that I have NO and I mean NOTHING AT ALL in the way of PINK garb, the PINK feathers look fabulous with my hair.
And K went on the last day of Scarby, and it rained and it was hot but it was fun and we were tired when we left and we went to have our usual after Scarby dinner of trucker food at Waffle House. Damn I’m so freaking trailer trash some days – I LOVE Waffle House. I blame my extremely rednecked-trailer-trash ancestors for that. Get enough beer in me and you can actually picture me standing on the porch of a broken-down trailer, surrounded by beer cans and flea bitten mongrel dogs yelling for my progeny to get their asses in the house right now… or not, maybe you can imagine it minus the beer, I do like to wear my wife-beaters and camo pants. (It’s a fashion statement bitches!) But I digress, my trucker breakfast was fabulous.
Moving on, the week after Scarby ended was intended to be my first week of dreading Summer Vacation and of me trying to teach the progeny to SLEEP IN! But instead it was spent painting wooden eggs for my grandmother’s 75th birthday. Yes I said painting eggs. She’s collected eggs for YEARS now so D had the brilliant idea to paint eggs for her – 12. One for each month with each month having the birthdays in that month listed on the egg. Sounded like an amazing idea and my motto is anything worth doing is worth OVER DOING… or something like that… so I was all for doing AT LEAST 12 eggs. 12 unique, hand painted eggs. Yeah. We ended up painting about 3 dozen eggs total, only about a dozen and a half went to our grandmother. She was impressed… I think… it was hard to tell she was in a lot of pain from her pancreitis and I think she was drugged up (yay for her). Whatever, it was fun painting the eggs (photos to come soon) and I did somehow make up with my uncle who hasn’t spoken to me in 4 years – seems just letting him mix me drinks was the key. Not entirely sure what he was mixing but it was good and it had vodka in it. In fact he shared his BEST vodka with me. (This was the best vodka I’ve EVER had, so smooth!) THEN, THEN the fun party happened.
The DRIVE home. Oh dear gawd. We left at 10 to drive the 3.5 hours home which wasn’t a SMART idea since neither D nor I had gotten more than 3 hours a sleep a night for the past WEEK. Let’s just say, sleeping at a rest stop is in no way RESTFUL even if you do happen to be sleeping in a Mercedes Benz. When all was said and done, I got home with enough time to take a 30 minute nap, change clothes and head out to the Sammy Haggar concert (which ROCKED! They had burros in sombreros.)
AND… that’s it. I leave you with all the gems of whatever. Tomorrow hopefully I’ll have time to blog about the tubeing and camping trip with the Tiny Terrorists! Woohoo! Believe me it’s well worth a post of it’s own.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Doggie Makeover
Sad Coco
Just yesterday I noticed Coco pouting on the couch amongst the Tiny Terrorists teddy bears.
Leave Me Alone
I asked her what was the matter and she told me to leave her alone. After a few minutes of questioning, she told me that she just didn't feel pretty and was sad that I hadn't taken any pictures of her in days. I told her that she was still pretty even though she was looking a bit schlumpy but I knew how to fix it.
A BATH?!?!?!?!?!?! YAY!
You should have seen her face when I told her I'd give her a bath (well just look at the photo). So off to the store I went with Chaos and Destruction to procure a bottle of fancy dog shampoo (or Dog Wash if you ask Cabbage Patch).
All Wet and Clean
My only regret is that I did not video tape the bath because it was hilarious. Coco loves to play in water and it makes her act totally insanely funny. This was also the easiest pet I've ever bathed. All I had to do was put her in the water and let her run back and forth splashing around until she was wet, then put the 'dog wash' on her, lather and let her splash around until rinsed. To wash her face was even eaiser, Super Girl accidentally dropped a dog treat in the water and Coco dunked her face in the water to get it. Above is a photo of her all clean and wet and happy.
All Clean And Fluffed Up!
And finally here she is all blow-dried and fluffed up. What a happy, pretty doggie!
Ps sorry I don't have time to photo-shop anything interesting into the photos at the moment, but check back later, I very well may have altered the photos to make them more spectacular.
Sad Coco
Just yesterday I noticed Coco pouting on the couch amongst the Tiny Terrorists teddy bears.
Leave Me Alone
I asked her what was the matter and she told me to leave her alone. After a few minutes of questioning, she told me that she just didn't feel pretty and was sad that I hadn't taken any pictures of her in days. I told her that she was still pretty even though she was looking a bit schlumpy but I knew how to fix it.
A BATH?!?!?!?!?!?! YAY!
You should have seen her face when I told her I'd give her a bath (well just look at the photo). So off to the store I went with Chaos and Destruction to procure a bottle of fancy dog shampoo (or Dog Wash if you ask Cabbage Patch).
All Wet and Clean
My only regret is that I did not video tape the bath because it was hilarious. Coco loves to play in water and it makes her act totally insanely funny. This was also the easiest pet I've ever bathed. All I had to do was put her in the water and let her run back and forth splashing around until she was wet, then put the 'dog wash' on her, lather and let her splash around until rinsed. To wash her face was even eaiser, Super Girl accidentally dropped a dog treat in the water and Coco dunked her face in the water to get it. Above is a photo of her all clean and wet and happy.
All Clean And Fluffed Up!
And finally here she is all blow-dried and fluffed up. What a happy, pretty doggie!
Ps sorry I don't have time to photo-shop anything interesting into the photos at the moment, but check back later, I very well may have altered the photos to make them more spectacular.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
| What Your Soul Really Looks Like |
 You are quite expressive and thoughtful. You see the world in a way that others are blind to. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is a lot like the present, and as far as you're concerned, that's a very good thing. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust. |
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Drinkin’ Gin n’ Juice From A Sippy Cup
Actually it’s not gin… gin is a nasty, nasty liquid to have to get drunk on. It’s something much nicer and probably a bit more potent – Loki! But it is in a sippy cup.
* We Interrupt THIS Post As The CHILD Has Remembered To Ask About HOW BABIES ARE MADE! Yikes! I thought she FORGOT about that! No fair! I JUST now started to DRINK! Back to my drunken ramble after I educate my offspring and scar myself for life.*
Okay, I’m back and it only took half a drink and a few Google searches to give her an answer that wouldn’t make my brain hemorrhage. Hopefully the explanation involving alien abduction and probes will hold her for a couple more years.
Toilet of Doom…
(I’m moving on to another subject because I totally forgot what I was writing about due to the trauma of explaining how babies come into existence to my first born, so let’s move on…)
One day last week after I had spent most of the day helping D move, I returned home in the wee hours of the morning only to walk into my room and find squishy carpet in front of my bathroom. Fuck I said as I tried to figure out HOW my carpet got so damn wet. Fuck I said as I screamed angrily for towels and an explanation as to the wet carpet. *&^%$#@!@#?!?!^&$@# is what I said when I realized I could blame not my Tiny Terrorists nor my gay husband but only the gawd forsaken TOILET OF DOOM! So here I was at 1 am with all the towels in my home thrown on my carpet to try to soak up the water therein. Apparently the fucking toilet had overflowed and no one noticed it. Damn it, I need to perform another voodoo ritual in the bathroom! EVILNESS is CLOGGING my pipes! Er… the toilet’s pipes… and not totally clogging them, just making the toilet act funny. I hate that toilet.
Actually it’s not gin… gin is a nasty, nasty liquid to have to get drunk on. It’s something much nicer and probably a bit more potent – Loki! But it is in a sippy cup.
* We Interrupt THIS Post As The CHILD Has Remembered To Ask About HOW BABIES ARE MADE! Yikes! I thought she FORGOT about that! No fair! I JUST now started to DRINK! Back to my drunken ramble after I educate my offspring and scar myself for life.*
Okay, I’m back and it only took half a drink and a few Google searches to give her an answer that wouldn’t make my brain hemorrhage. Hopefully the explanation involving alien abduction and probes will hold her for a couple more years.
Toilet of Doom…
(I’m moving on to another subject because I totally forgot what I was writing about due to the trauma of explaining how babies come into existence to my first born, so let’s move on…)
One day last week after I had spent most of the day helping D move, I returned home in the wee hours of the morning only to walk into my room and find squishy carpet in front of my bathroom. Fuck I said as I tried to figure out HOW my carpet got so damn wet. Fuck I said as I screamed angrily for towels and an explanation as to the wet carpet. *&^%$#@!@#?!?!^&$@# is what I said when I realized I could blame not my Tiny Terrorists nor my gay husband but only the gawd forsaken TOILET OF DOOM! So here I was at 1 am with all the towels in my home thrown on my carpet to try to soak up the water therein. Apparently the fucking toilet had overflowed and no one noticed it. Damn it, I need to perform another voodoo ritual in the bathroom! EVILNESS is CLOGGING my pipes! Er… the toilet’s pipes… and not totally clogging them, just making the toilet act funny. I hate that toilet.
Forgive My Oversight!
It's been pointed out to me by an anomous person (K) that I have posted the PRINCESS photo of Coco previously. So sue me. She's a cute dog.
BUT contrary to what some people (K) thinks, the rest ARE new photos. AND though I've been accused of being SEXIST in posting my DOG photos, I am not, I'm just lacking in MALE DOG models. So there.
It's been pointed out to me by an anomous person (K) that I have posted the PRINCESS photo of Coco previously. So sue me. She's a cute dog.
BUT contrary to what some people (K) thinks, the rest ARE new photos. AND though I've been accused of being SEXIST in posting my DOG photos, I am not, I'm just lacking in MALE DOG models. So there.
Avoiding The Issue…
Just now:
Her: Who was that?
Me: None of your business. (eyes rolling up in head)
Her: Who was it?
Me: It’s none of your business really.
Her: Was it Aunt D?
Me: No really, it’s not your business. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that EVERY time the phone rings it’s not going to be for you. You’re 4 after all.
Kids.
So last night K set in motion a set of events that I had hoped to avoid for a couple more years. Super Girl asking “HOW ARE BABIES MADE???” Sheesh. It all started rather innocently. The Tiny Terrorists asked their daddy for slices of watermelon (ew) and the conversation went to how one should not eat watermelon seeds because as all 1st graders know, they will of course sprout and grow in one’s stomach. At that utterance of wisdom I turned from my computer screen and asked Super Girl who told her that (a girl in her class) little gem of info. Before I could stop myself I decided to have a little fun at the ignorance of my own offspring and went along with the watermelon growing in the stomach thing. Just as I was convincing two wide eyed progeny of this ‘fact’ K pipes in with something about that’s where baby’s come from, women who eat watermelon seeds. With wide amazed eyes Super Girl said “Really?!?” and like a really bad mom, I said “Yes! Haven’t you ever noticed how pregnant women look like they have a watermelon in their bellies?” This conversation continued for a few moments until I realized that I was doing something I swore I would not do to my children – I was LIEING to them! And I vowed from the time they were born that I would not lie to them about anything (except that brown cows give chocolate milk and that I really DO have eyes in the back of my head and that the tooth fairy exists). So quickly told Super Girl that we were just kidding that babies DON’T come from swallowed watermelon seeds and OF COURSE the NEXT thing out of her mouth was “Where DO babies come from?”
Dead silence from us. I suddenly wanted K to burst into flames and for the previous conversation regarding watermelon seeds and babies to have never happened. She’s 7, I suddenly realized that I was completely unprepared for this. My brain went into over drive, what to tell her that was accurate but not to graphic, what to tell her that wouldn’t illicit MORE questions from her and why had K just basically said “Ask your mother” just now? My answer “Uhhhhhh… why don’t we look it up on the internet when I’m done with this e-mail?” She said sure, then K said something about how babies are made when a man and a woman get together and make a baby. I thought “Oh great, now she thinks babies are made from a joint effort of a play dough project! I will look up age appropriate materials to explain this complex phenomenon so that my offspring won’t forever resent the fact that I concocted some lame watermelon story.” Then Super Girl said “Okay” in response to her father’s lame answer and went back to watching the movie. Half an hour later when the Tiny Terrorists headed for bed, I wiped the sweat from my brow as I realized that I had indeed dodged that bullet for the moment.
Just now:
Her: Who was that?
Me: None of your business. (eyes rolling up in head)
Her: Who was it?
Me: It’s none of your business really.
Her: Was it Aunt D?
Me: No really, it’s not your business. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that EVERY time the phone rings it’s not going to be for you. You’re 4 after all.
Kids.
So last night K set in motion a set of events that I had hoped to avoid for a couple more years. Super Girl asking “HOW ARE BABIES MADE???” Sheesh. It all started rather innocently. The Tiny Terrorists asked their daddy for slices of watermelon (ew) and the conversation went to how one should not eat watermelon seeds because as all 1st graders know, they will of course sprout and grow in one’s stomach. At that utterance of wisdom I turned from my computer screen and asked Super Girl who told her that (a girl in her class) little gem of info. Before I could stop myself I decided to have a little fun at the ignorance of my own offspring and went along with the watermelon growing in the stomach thing. Just as I was convincing two wide eyed progeny of this ‘fact’ K pipes in with something about that’s where baby’s come from, women who eat watermelon seeds. With wide amazed eyes Super Girl said “Really?!?” and like a really bad mom, I said “Yes! Haven’t you ever noticed how pregnant women look like they have a watermelon in their bellies?” This conversation continued for a few moments until I realized that I was doing something I swore I would not do to my children – I was LIEING to them! And I vowed from the time they were born that I would not lie to them about anything (except that brown cows give chocolate milk and that I really DO have eyes in the back of my head and that the tooth fairy exists). So quickly told Super Girl that we were just kidding that babies DON’T come from swallowed watermelon seeds and OF COURSE the NEXT thing out of her mouth was “Where DO babies come from?”
Dead silence from us. I suddenly wanted K to burst into flames and for the previous conversation regarding watermelon seeds and babies to have never happened. She’s 7, I suddenly realized that I was completely unprepared for this. My brain went into over drive, what to tell her that was accurate but not to graphic, what to tell her that wouldn’t illicit MORE questions from her and why had K just basically said “Ask your mother” just now? My answer “Uhhhhhh… why don’t we look it up on the internet when I’m done with this e-mail?” She said sure, then K said something about how babies are made when a man and a woman get together and make a baby. I thought “Oh great, now she thinks babies are made from a joint effort of a play dough project! I will look up age appropriate materials to explain this complex phenomenon so that my offspring won’t forever resent the fact that I concocted some lame watermelon story.” Then Super Girl said “Okay” in response to her father’s lame answer and went back to watching the movie. Half an hour later when the Tiny Terrorists headed for bed, I wiped the sweat from my brow as I realized that I had indeed dodged that bullet for the moment.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
Where’s Waldo?
Dear Internet, I’m so sorry I’ve been gone. I know you’ve wondered and speculated as to where I’ve been and I’d like to say – many of you were dead wrong… I was not in rehab for any of my vices or addictions, I was not incarcerated for undisclosed felonious activities, I was not initiated into a tough biker gang, I was not quarantined for my annual bout of monkey pox/bird flu/bubonic plague/insert infectious disease (believe me I would have blogged in a drug induced haze), nor was I joining a cult (though I still am working on the guidelines for starting my own cult – the cult of Judyism… most members would be hot young mansicles who would be required to have copious amounts of sex with the cult leader – me… like I said… it’s still in the works, though I AM taking applications for membership). I was however really, really, fucking busy. Or maybe I was abducted by aliens… I think I’ll stick with that one because it’s better than saying that for a whole week I sat here in my living room and painted wooden eggs (photos forthcoming) for my grandmother’s 75th birthday and that I spend that Saturday with my family attempting to drink myself into a stupor (didn’t work) as we celebrated and somehow making up with the uncle who hasn’t spoken to me in 4 years – who knew that all I’d have to do was show up at a family gathering dressed white trash and let him mix me drinks – then drive back in the wee hours of the night/morning, get very little sleep, arrive home in time to take a 30 minute nap and get ready for a concert (where I got the deadly bug bite pictured below) – which rocked, they had donkeys in sombreros there – come home again in the wee hours of the morning and spend a large part of the next week helping someone move (ugh). So yeah, I’ve been abducted by aliens and it was interesting and I did get a lot of great photos, but I’m home now and I plan to spend the rest of this day doing some hard core napping (as if that will happen, my children are still HERE with ME… ugh… where is the Benedryl for them??). Again, I’m sorry I was gone, I’m back now, there were no anal probes, feel free to call me.
Love,
Judy
PS: YES there WILL be more photos of Coco!
Dear Internet, I’m so sorry I’ve been gone. I know you’ve wondered and speculated as to where I’ve been and I’d like to say – many of you were dead wrong… I was not in rehab for any of my vices or addictions, I was not incarcerated for undisclosed felonious activities, I was not initiated into a tough biker gang, I was not quarantined for my annual bout of monkey pox/bird flu/bubonic plague/insert infectious disease (believe me I would have blogged in a drug induced haze), nor was I joining a cult (though I still am working on the guidelines for starting my own cult – the cult of Judyism… most members would be hot young mansicles who would be required to have copious amounts of sex with the cult leader – me… like I said… it’s still in the works, though I AM taking applications for membership). I was however really, really, fucking busy. Or maybe I was abducted by aliens… I think I’ll stick with that one because it’s better than saying that for a whole week I sat here in my living room and painted wooden eggs (photos forthcoming) for my grandmother’s 75th birthday and that I spend that Saturday with my family attempting to drink myself into a stupor (didn’t work) as we celebrated and somehow making up with the uncle who hasn’t spoken to me in 4 years – who knew that all I’d have to do was show up at a family gathering dressed white trash and let him mix me drinks – then drive back in the wee hours of the night/morning, get very little sleep, arrive home in time to take a 30 minute nap and get ready for a concert (where I got the deadly bug bite pictured below) – which rocked, they had donkeys in sombreros there – come home again in the wee hours of the morning and spend a large part of the next week helping someone move (ugh). So yeah, I’ve been abducted by aliens and it was interesting and I did get a lot of great photos, but I’m home now and I plan to spend the rest of this day doing some hard core napping (as if that will happen, my children are still HERE with ME… ugh… where is the Benedryl for them??). Again, I’m sorry I was gone, I’m back now, there were no anal probes, feel free to call me.
Love,
Judy
PS: YES there WILL be more photos of Coco!
Knit Rat!
All kids need a snuggly little rat to curl up with at bed time. I made this one for Cabbage Patch. I think I like Super Girl's better because it had multi-colored fur and mis-matched button eyes so it looked like it was a Mutant Rat! Hmmm... I'm thinking I need to start knitting rats for my pregnant friends... I need to start a line of Disturbing Gifts. Just think of what a conversation starter it would be to bring a bag full of pink and blue rats to a baby shower! Or how about the Angry Albino Baby Sock Monkey? Or maybe just a cuddly Voodoo doll for your favorite toddler? My First Tarot Deck with easy to read text? An artfully designed skull rattle? A shrunken head for baby to teeth on? Disturbing Gifts would rock. Anyone want to find me a backer for such a potentially proffitable venture? ;)
All kids need a snuggly little rat to curl up with at bed time. I made this one for Cabbage Patch. I think I like Super Girl's better because it had multi-colored fur and mis-matched button eyes so it looked like it was a Mutant Rat! Hmmm... I'm thinking I need to start knitting rats for my pregnant friends... I need to start a line of Disturbing Gifts. Just think of what a conversation starter it would be to bring a bag full of pink and blue rats to a baby shower! Or how about the Angry Albino Baby Sock Monkey? Or maybe just a cuddly Voodoo doll for your favorite toddler? My First Tarot Deck with easy to read text? An artfully designed skull rattle? A shrunken head for baby to teeth on? Disturbing Gifts would rock. Anyone want to find me a backer for such a potentially proffitable venture? ;)
Not Dead Yet!
What the fuck is this???
This is a bug bite that's on my leg. I have no idea what the fuck it is, so like a reasonable adult, I'm turning to you Internet to diagnose me. I know, many of you choose to go to an ACTUAL doctor for this type of thing, but I happen to be exceedingly cheap and I'm related to a doctor so I just don't trust them enough to put my life in their hands (hey my aunt lost all my trust when she offered to stitch the gaping wound in my hand sans anesthetic). So Internet, it's up to you. Tell me what you think that is and if it's particularly heinous and deadly, please send links to graphic accounts of how I will suffer and die from this - I'll need to be prepared to photo blog the best parts of it.
What the fuck is this???
This is a bug bite that's on my leg. I have no idea what the fuck it is, so like a reasonable adult, I'm turning to you Internet to diagnose me. I know, many of you choose to go to an ACTUAL doctor for this type of thing, but I happen to be exceedingly cheap and I'm related to a doctor so I just don't trust them enough to put my life in their hands (hey my aunt lost all my trust when she offered to stitch the gaping wound in my hand sans anesthetic). So Internet, it's up to you. Tell me what you think that is and if it's particularly heinous and deadly, please send links to graphic accounts of how I will suffer and die from this - I'll need to be prepared to photo blog the best parts of it.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Not Dead, Just Busy!!
I'm not dead. Just fucking busy.
So much to post, no time. Life been hijacked (feels like it).
So many cute doggie photos to post... so many completed painting projects to post photos of... so much napping to be done.
Back to you when I'm finished helping someone move.
Wish me luck.
I'm not dead. Just fucking busy.
So much to post, no time. Life been hijacked (feels like it).
So many cute doggie photos to post... so many completed painting projects to post photos of... so much napping to be done.
Back to you when I'm finished helping someone move.
Wish me luck.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Last Chance!
D is on her way home. That means that TODAY is the last day of Coco's marvelous vacation and more importantly, it's the LAST day for me to dress her up and take humiliating photos of her!
To tide over the masses until I've finished with our photo session and editing, I've posted three photos in the style of Andy Worhol. Stay tuned, there will be MORE photos - a photo extravaganza!
Blue Dog
Tans
Neon Coco
D is on her way home. That means that TODAY is the last day of Coco's marvelous vacation and more importantly, it's the LAST day for me to dress her up and take humiliating photos of her!
To tide over the masses until I've finished with our photo session and editing, I've posted three photos in the style of Andy Worhol. Stay tuned, there will be MORE photos - a photo extravaganza!
Blue Dog
Tans
Neon Coco
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
Let The Party Begin!
So, for the past month or so I’ve been building to the mother of all Anxiety Attacks. Now, well the journey is nearing an end. I seem to have reached my Anxiety Attack and I’m in full panic mode 24/7! Woohoo!
Yeah, no kidding. Today I reached a new high sometime in the afternoon when my brain started racing like a gerbil on speed. I don’t imagine I’ll be able to sleep more than 20 minutes at a stretch for the next week and that’s just fine. I have so much to do I can’t stop thinking about it! If I’m not working, I’m thinking about how I need to be working and that just leads to panicking about it. When I am working I’m thinking about how I need to get this done and I can hear an imaginary clock in my head just clicking away (which is actually not to bad considering it drowns out the voices I normally hear), when I’m sleeping my normally refreshing and enjoyable dreams are interrupted by thoughts of work and the rhythmic sounds of a sewing machine.
Even now as I sit here just a few feet from my sewing machine, I’m tortured by thoughts of what I should be doing (sewing) and how much (sewing) I have to do and how long it (the sewing) will take to finish and how I need to seriously forgo sleep so I can finish (sewing) it all. Well that and I’m also thinking about how I have somehow managed to pull a muscle in my chest and how when I move and it hurts I suddenly get all mental and think “Maybe I’m having a heart attack!”, but I know that’s not happening, it’s just that I’m having this total anxiety attack and I just am not thinking straight, in fact really I probably didn’t even pull a muscle, I probably just have my bra on to tight and I’m to addled in the head to realize it’s crushing my ribs and cutting the circulation off to my brain and more importantly my boobs, which I don’t really need to do anything at all to cause to get SMALLER – dear sweet holy Moses, please don’t let my already small boobies get smaller! Oh... um… what?
So yeah, I’m a little insane at the moment. It’s fine. I just need some coffee… and some sugar… and to scrounge through the pantry to see if maybe there are some antidepressants left over from a few years ago. No worries, I’ll finish, I’ll regain sanity, it’ll all be over soon. No, no, don’t tell me how many days until then… that’ll just make it worse, just send me coffee.
So, for the past month or so I’ve been building to the mother of all Anxiety Attacks. Now, well the journey is nearing an end. I seem to have reached my Anxiety Attack and I’m in full panic mode 24/7! Woohoo!
Yeah, no kidding. Today I reached a new high sometime in the afternoon when my brain started racing like a gerbil on speed. I don’t imagine I’ll be able to sleep more than 20 minutes at a stretch for the next week and that’s just fine. I have so much to do I can’t stop thinking about it! If I’m not working, I’m thinking about how I need to be working and that just leads to panicking about it. When I am working I’m thinking about how I need to get this done and I can hear an imaginary clock in my head just clicking away (which is actually not to bad considering it drowns out the voices I normally hear), when I’m sleeping my normally refreshing and enjoyable dreams are interrupted by thoughts of work and the rhythmic sounds of a sewing machine.
Even now as I sit here just a few feet from my sewing machine, I’m tortured by thoughts of what I should be doing (sewing) and how much (sewing) I have to do and how long it (the sewing) will take to finish and how I need to seriously forgo sleep so I can finish (sewing) it all. Well that and I’m also thinking about how I have somehow managed to pull a muscle in my chest and how when I move and it hurts I suddenly get all mental and think “Maybe I’m having a heart attack!”, but I know that’s not happening, it’s just that I’m having this total anxiety attack and I just am not thinking straight, in fact really I probably didn’t even pull a muscle, I probably just have my bra on to tight and I’m to addled in the head to realize it’s crushing my ribs and cutting the circulation off to my brain and more importantly my boobs, which I don’t really need to do anything at all to cause to get SMALLER – dear sweet holy Moses, please don’t let my already small boobies get smaller! Oh... um… what?
So yeah, I’m a little insane at the moment. It’s fine. I just need some coffee… and some sugar… and to scrounge through the pantry to see if maybe there are some antidepressants left over from a few years ago. No worries, I’ll finish, I’ll regain sanity, it’ll all be over soon. No, no, don’t tell me how many days until then… that’ll just make it worse, just send me coffee.
Now With More Dog Photos!
I know, you thought (or hoped) I forgot about the photos. Not a chance! And to make up for Friday and the weekend, here are three gems just for you!
Friday: Princess Coco
"Hellooooooo, Prince Charming? I'm ready to be rescued now! Bring dog treats!"
Saturdday: Babushka
While I worked, Coco went through old photos and found this one of her Babushka. I didn't even KNOW she was Russian!
Sunday: Fortune Telling Pooch
Sunday, she found this one of her Great Aunt who worked as a fortune teller... untill that one incident... then the whole village turned on her and ran her out of town. Come on, how was she supposed to know the Cubs would lose the series??
And have no fears, I'm so not finished with this dog - coming soon "Coco's Wild Days Revealed!"
Okay, back to sew - life is busy and it sucks. Work was really busy (30 babies on Saturday! Fuck!) and it sucks. I didn't make it to faire this past weekend and THAT sucks. There's a whole lot of sucking going on around here and none of it's the fun kind. It'll be better soon.
I know, you thought (or hoped) I forgot about the photos. Not a chance! And to make up for Friday and the weekend, here are three gems just for you!
Friday: Princess Coco
"Hellooooooo, Prince Charming? I'm ready to be rescued now! Bring dog treats!"
Saturdday: Babushka
While I worked, Coco went through old photos and found this one of her Babushka. I didn't even KNOW she was Russian!
Sunday: Fortune Telling Pooch
Sunday, she found this one of her Great Aunt who worked as a fortune teller... untill that one incident... then the whole village turned on her and ran her out of town. Come on, how was she supposed to know the Cubs would lose the series??
And have no fears, I'm so not finished with this dog - coming soon "Coco's Wild Days Revealed!"
Okay, back to sew - life is busy and it sucks. Work was really busy (30 babies on Saturday! Fuck!) and it sucks. I didn't make it to faire this past weekend and THAT sucks. There's a whole lot of sucking going on around here and none of it's the fun kind. It'll be better soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)