Miz S

Lazy Trumps Tipsy.

Sasha came home for Grandma's birthday. All the animals were ecstatic because Sasha is their girl, but I only caught this one picture of Rosie kissing her.

Thank you all for defending me so fiercely in my comments. You made me laugh a lot and feel like a princess. Hoo-boy! The reading specialist better watch herself. Apparently there's a big can of whup-ass with her name on it, and little blackbird (among others) is just itching to open it up. You guys are sweet.

So, I believe I mentioned the other day that I am having a milestone birthday soon. (I will be 600 months old. I will be 40-10. I will celebrate the 10th anniversary of my 40th birthday. Ha! So many euphemisms! So funny! Not.) Josh is having a lot of anxiety about it because he doesn't want to be accused of being a slacker-husband by his friends. He keeps asking me what I want and what we should do to mark the occasion. He knows better than to pull one of those surprise party moves on me. I don't "surprise" well.

I've been hemming and hawing and saying, "I don't know, a party is an awful lot of work. Let's just go out for dinner with friends. And I'll buy myself some new clothes."

So we were drinking a little sake the night he got back from NYC and I was NOT DRUNK but I was definitely silly and tipsy. Josh said, "You know, it wouldn't be a big deal, we could do a party here. Let's just make some phone calls and make it happen." 

And I said, "Wooo! Yes! A party! I love parties!" Then I twittered about it.

But after attending my mother-in-law's 80th birthday last night, hosted by my incomparable sister-in-law and her husband, I'm thinking that it looks like way, way too much work. The interior of our house needs painting desperately, the front yard has the winter blahs, and the bathrooms are about to be remodeled any day now and no doubt would be all torn up just in time for the party. I realize that we could have a party without painting the house first, but, I don't know. We would definitely have to do some major cleaning.

So. Meh. I don't feel like it.

As for what I want for my birthday? I'm a little embarrassed to tell you guys this because I worry that it's shallow and vain, but I would really like to get my teeth professionally whitened. I figure I've got another 30 years, easy, of red wine and coffee ahead of me.

Have any of you ever had it done? Got any info that I need? Does it really work? I want me some WHITE-ASS teeth.

I Miss You, Baby. Really, I Do.

Josh is out of town for 3 days and 3 nights. It's rough, but I'm hanging in there as best I can. Eating soup for dinner. Leaving the dishes until the morning. Watching whatever I want on TV. Sleeping with all the cats and dogs on the bed with me. It's brutal.

Meanwhile, he's in New York City with his boss/best friend eating at the finest restaurants in town so I'm sure he's suffering too.

Hey, guess what? Tomorrow's Ash Wednesday and I'm going to go to Mass and get me some of them ashes smeared on my face.  If I'm lucky there will be incense and organ music.  POMP. I  want PAPIST POMP, people.

Yup, I'm still dabbling with my Catholic roots. Do not tell my mother because it would make her so happy and I refuse to give her that kind of satisfaction because I am immature as all get-out.

I wonder what Sasha and Evangeline will refuse to tell me because it will give me too much satisfaction. These mother-daughter rituals are heart-warming, aren't they?

Speaking of Evangeline, it looks like we will not be going to Russia to visit her. Our plan was to go over there during my spring break in March, but she emailed us and said that she thinks she will be too involved in her classes to be able to spend a lot of time with us, plus she will be on a trip to St Petersburg during the latter part of that week. It kind of sounds like she's blowing us off, doesn't it? But she swears she isn't.

To be perfectly honest this is not a crushing blow for a variety of reasons such as expense, weather, and language barrier. We're thinking of having us a little sunshine-y vacation in the good old USA instead, for a hell of a lot less money. Evangeline is very independent and likes to immerse herself totally in whatever it is that she is pursuing. If she is comfortable being that far from home for 4 months, I say RAWK ON, HONEY. Except she would disapprove of the blatant use of age-inappropriate slang.

Okay. I'm going to go dirty a few more dishes and leave them strewn about the kitchen, then it's off to bed to sleep in a diagonal position with furry creatures fore and aft.

She Is Still Cute.

Yes, Sasha is a Religious Studies major. She grew up hearing a lot of talk about religion. All talk and no action, that was us. But I don't think her choice of a major has anything to do with our half-hearted attempts to expose her and Evangeline to both Judaism and Catholicism. Sasha's favorite high school teacher was her history teacher, so she is naturally drawn to history and religion, and I guess the first teacher in college that she found inspiring and interesting was a religious studies professor.

Anyway, Sasha plans to go to grad school and study the Middle East and I suppose eventually she will teach or work for the government. You know. Cash in on the Doom Boom. (A little Washington DC humor for you, there.)

And check out this photo of her when she was about 7. Good GOD she was a cute and tiny thing, with the big white forehead (a family curse) and the dark blue eyes. Look at her clutching Jessie, our irascible old cat, long since gone to kitty heaven. Look at her little 7-year-old fingers. God, I even remember that shirt she is wearing. There were matching shorts. They were hand-me-downs from our friends The Twins.

Excuse me for a moment while I look at my hands and contemplate the swift passage of time.

There, I'm okay now.

*   *   *

Completely by accident, I discovered a new way to bother Josh.

First, I must explain that I am constantly trying to purge our possessions. Despite my best efforts, we have too much stuff, and it makes me crazy. I would seriously be fine living in a monastery in a small room with a bookcase and a lamp and a desk. And maybe a little rug. Is it ok if I have a little rug?

Anyway, stuff comes into my house somehow even though we have a rule that if one thing comes in, two other things have to go out. So, one day when I was wasting time on the Internet I found out about the 100-Thing Challenge. You try and pare down your possessions to just 100 things. There are some guidelines to make it a little less Draconian. Shared stuff doesn't count. Tools and cleaning supplies don't count. Collections (including books) count as one thing.

Naturally, I was intrigued. I told Josh about it, and he has been bothered ever since. He keeps arguing with me about it, even though I haven't suggested that we do it.

Him: That would never work! That's impossible!

Me: Okay. We don't have to do it.

He goes away to brush his teeth. He comes back.

Him: I mean, what about t-shirts and underwear! I work out every day! I go through 14 t-shirts and 14 pairs of underwear a week! That's 28 things right there!

Me: Okay. Well, you don't have to do it. But if you were to do it, maybe you could count your tshirts as a collection.

He leaves to let the dogs inside, then comes back.

Him: What about all my camping stuff? Anyone who has a hobby can't possibly get by with just 100 things. Could the camping stuff be a collection and just count as one?

Me: I don't know.

Him: It's a stupid idea!

Etc.

It kept me very amused for an entire evening last week.

I recount this to you even though I disapprove of the practice, so treasured by bloggers, of repeating cute, amusing conversations between 2 spouses, as if it is the funniest, most adorable thing in the world. Generally, it isn't.

That's all I got for you tonight. Suddenly I feel sleepy.

I am Ironman.

The post title has nothing to do with the post. It's the Black Sabbath song that Josh has been singing, OVER AND OVER AGAIN, for the last 15 minutes, since he saw a commercial for the movie.

In the past, on 9/11 I have written something heartfelt about the blue sky and the confusing, sad day. But I have nothing different to say this year. So, let's discuss more prosaic matters, shall we?

Hey, isn't it great that there is a word, "prosaic" that rhymes with "mosaic", in case you are writing a limerick? About retiling your bathroom?

Which reminds me. Once, Evangeline mused thoughtfully that limerick writers everywhere must be thankful for the words lusty, busty, and thrusty.

Yes, I drank wine with dinner. Why do you ask?

Speaking of dinner, goddammit, I cooked a good dinner tonight. It's my week, you know.  Y'all keep track, right?  I'm trying to convert Josh to vegetarianism, so all my dinners this week are fucking awesome vegetarian dinners. Tonight it was Penne Pasta with Swiss Chard, and roasted butternut squash on the side. The words do not BEGIN to convey how incredibly delicious this meal  was.

Oh, wait? You didn't know I was a vegetarian? I'm not, really. But I'm always threatening to become one. You KNOW how I am about the animals. The thing is, I have no problem with the basic concept of eating animals, and I would happily eat a nice flank steak from a cow that I knew had lived a happy life in a field of clover and then died very suddenly and painlessly. But the whole meat market scenario makes me very, very unhappy.

So, hooray for roasted squash! And entire bottles of red wine on a Tuesday night!

Dinner-making was punctuated with a lot of conversation about next summer. You know how Josh's parents take us to the beach every summer for the past 18 years?  Because they are nice?  God knows we are ungrateful little shits (and I am including Josh's sister here) who complain from time to time about the lack of amenities at the Fenwick Island beach house that we have rented for the past 5 summers, or the amount of time that we must spend rubbing elbows with all our relatives (hi! that's me!), when in fact we should be embracing togetherness and thanking God for our good fortune.

So, we are looking for a new beach house to rent this year, and the family consensus is that we should go to the Outer Banks which is where we USED to go until I became paranoid about the unguarded beaches and refused to ever go there again after the summer when 6 or 8 people drowned in one month. The extended family has implied that I am overly worried about drowning, but you and I know that I am right. I have told Josh that I will consent to a house at an unguarded beach, but I reserve the right to say, "I told you so" if anyone drowns. Unless I am the one who drowns, in which case I am missing the best "I told you so" ever.

So, if any of you guys have a good line on an Outer Banks beach house that allows pets, let me know.