On The Curb

Well, well. When I go for f*cking something up, I really give it my effin’ all, eh? I ruined the NaBloPoMo for April by being “lazy” one day, then having the internet take a hike for a couple more days, then what the hell…let me go ahead and crawl in a cave for the next week.

Random list of excuses:

• Alani doesn’t so much cry as she caterwauls. This makes me crazy.
• In a constant state of breastfeeding someone, the isometric hold technique of pecking out a post and comments with one hand is a bit tiresome and laborious. And, tricky. Try it sometime. Aim one nipple at a specific spot off to the side, slump up close enough to the keyboard to barely reach it with your “free” arm, then peck/backspace/peck away.
• Sleeping with a twin up in each armpit while I’m splayed out on the bed all ‘nailed to the cross’like, then carefully rolling side to side throughout the night to feed one while not crushing the other is giving me all kinds of funky posture and back issues. Not to mention the pit odor on the wee ones’ heads. “::sniff sniff:: Why does the top of Ethan’s head smell like B.O.?” Oh, I don’t know.
• A cold virus has been working its way through the house, first hitting up Gav. Then, snotting up Gab. Now, the twins are all cloggy and drippy and I started channeling Barry White mid-morning today. Time to start dialing up my friends and telling them with my deeeeep voice, “Remove your panties because we ’bout to get all freaky up in here. Oh yeh, baby. You know how daddy likes it.” Ahem. Yeh, I’m definitely suffering the effects of a cold.
• Gab has called a moratorium on all napping in this house. She herself will hold out until I make the 3:30 trek to fetch Gav from school wherein she passes the eff out as soon as he enters the car. “HI BO!” Then, immediate slumping of the head. (yeh, she calls gav ‘bo’…before ‘bo’ he was ‘cranky’ to her…i’m serious…she’d run to his door and belt out ‘CRANKAY!’…he went from ‘cranky’ to ‘bo’ sometime around the start of winter) It is Gab’s mission throughout the day to wake any sleeping baby. This makes me crazy and very pisssssed. Roar.
• Having not read a book since the arrival of the twins, my days without internet prompted me to pick up The Kite Runner which had been propped open to page 62 since who knows when. So, I used my “free” hand to finish off the book. Ehh, it was alright, I guess. I definitely didn’t blow my wad over it like others have. The high school short answer/essay questions in the back are a turn-off for me. Guess I should steer clear of book clubs, huh?

I could go on for days. But, no. I’ll get on with the show and finish my dang alphabet already. Sorry to keep you hanging.

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

• Milkshakes - I thoroughly enjoy a nice, thick milkshake. So thick it renders a straw completely useless. There was a period when I would have to reserve a time frame of 4 - 5 hours post-milkshake to be home alone with my digesting shake and the havoc it created. (hello again, TMI, my old friend…poor bladder control AND explosive diarrhea…let’s party!) Fortunately (or unfortunately if you’re not into plump adipocytes), I am now able to chug a milkshake with nary a digestive complaint.
  • Having viewed There Will Be Blood this past weekend, this SNL skit now makes so much more sense. I DRINK IT UP!
• Mowing grass - Fulfills that whole instant gratification thing and spares the lawnmower from E abuse. I swear when E mows the grass, it sounds and smells like an industrial grade woodchipper is at work. You need to disp0se of a b0dy? Just toss it on our lawn…he’ll never see it and mow right over it.
  • Mowing grass is also great for getting out any pent up aggression I may be harboring. I do quite a bit of profanity slinging with my mowing, all masked by the loud buzz of the motor.
  • Lastly, I LOVE the smell of fresh cut grass. I’m not one to wear perfume, but if someone were to bottle fresh cut grass, I might spritz some on myself each morning. Fresh cut grass and cedar shavings. Who’s taking me out to a fancy French restaurant?
• Music, of course - I don’t know if a love of music is something you’re born with or you’re influenced by your environment. I do know I have always loved music and my mom was always singing (terribly, but singing nonetheless…i don’t claim to wail sing much better myself, but that still doesn’t stop me from subjecting everyone in the house and car to my non-stop karaoke).
  • I cannot understand nor relate to people who require silence in the car. Gav’s dad would CLICK turn off the radio which would cause my head to rotate 360 degrees, “WHAT.ARE.YOU.DOING?” ::spewing pea soup, spewing pea soup:: “Let’s just enjoy the silence.” You know that relationship was doomed a violent death.
  • Awesome brother P has always shared his music collection with me, sending me mix-tapes in college and now sends me cds of his latest finds. I wasn’t always so receptive of what he sent. I remember receiving a Rickie Lee Jones tape and not making it past the first song, “Ohmygod, she sings straight out of her nose. This sucks.” Well, a few listens (and years) later, I now enjoy her music, especially the Flying Cowboys album which is my album of choice for showers/baths. (oh yeh, i have a cd collection in the bathroom just for showering and bathing…let me check and see what else is in there…Sade Lovers Live, Kate Bush The Sensual World, Sarah Harmer You Were Here, Ryan Adams Heartbreaker, I Am Sam Soundtrack, Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals Live From Mars, and a bootleg special cd of Prince’s Return of the Bump Squad birthday performance in Miami, 1995…depends on whether i’m trying to wake up or relax as to who i’ll listen…or god forbid, i’m escaping to cry in the shower…surely, i’m not the only one to wuss out in such a fashion…flying cowboys works well for any of the above)
    • Man, that was a link heavy paragraph. I turn into a linking fool when it comes to music. I’ll throw in here, for the crybabies out there, if you ever need to work out a cry that just won’t come, anything Nick Drake will have you filling buckets.

Lots of references to crying there. I just hear so much of it from Miss Wee Queen of B-Movie Screamers, Alani. The backyard needs a good mowing.