Which is taller, a square or a rectangle?

If you read my other blog, you know that I have this looming Christmas (sans alcohol, I might add) party coming up.  There is little to dread, much to look forward to, but if you read my last post, the former becomes what I look forward to and the latter is what I dread.  The Irish in me, again.  Fall back excuse.

Right now my dread is that I don't have hot shoes.  This is muy, muy bothersome for me.  First of all, I had a group of 10 or so people tell me the other day that they think I'm taller than Mr Incredible (a rectangle always looks taller than a square).  This does not fly with me.  I used to very confidently wear heels with him (we are both 5'9).  Now I feel as though I'm going to be stuck wearing- what?  Flats and dress with tights?  That, too, does not fly with me.  (and if you're wondering, my "hot shoes" that I had suddenly started making my legs feel less Sarah, more Bristol-esque.  In other words, salvationarmy.)  I know I could get away with boots, but flat boots are cazh.

So what's a girl to do?  My best advice to you is to stay tuned.  Because I'm at a loss.

kiwi

versus Mr Inc.  Who looks taller to YOU

   

There's a Ned in all of Us

Ned: Do we know 'im?  Do we love 'im?  Yes and Yes.  As a matter of fact, I'm A Ned.  There is one in every functioning relationship.  Keep your eye out for this.  There is always a negative emotional person, and then there is the better half, and yes I said BETTER half that is realistic, level headed, easy going.  And all of these qualities will end up infuriating Ned.  WHAT do you you think you're BETTER than ME!?

These past 4 or so days have been particularly tough ones.  I've been overly negative emotional, hyper sensitive, hyper critical.  Pretty much verbally abusive, and when Mr Incredible rubs my back and says, "sweetie, you're doing great!  You're gonna get through this, it's just a rough patch" I roll my eyes and tell him I'm fat.  Because that is what I KNOW will get me a negative emotional response.  Works like a charm.

Let's take, for instance, giving the baby medicine.  Mr Incredible suggested I should because she was feverish and cranky.  You would've thought that he asked me to lug the tv from the basement and hook it up to the computer from the DVI to the HDMI cable.  I moaned and groaned so afraid that for SOME reason me giving her medicine was going to work out.  "Why don't YOU do it?  It's your first day off in 6 weeks and all YOU'RE doing is sitting watching football."  And when he replied, "sweetie, I just went out and bought the medicine, and actually I'm working on my homework" all I heard was "oh, baby, it's just the Opt-World HDMI cable you'll have to use to hook it up.  You can do it!"

So I pulled myself up by my boot straps, and I did it.  I gave the baby Tylenol.  And it spilled all down the front of her, on the floor, on my Dry Clean Only sweater.  I lost it.  I threw the teaspoon and exclaimed that it was HIS fault, damnit.  Why did he buy the RED STUFF?????  MY Baby only likes the PINK STUFF!!!  He calmly replied, "well, next time we'll have to use the dropper."  In other words, the HDMI switcher, ya know.  I started having a mild anxiety attack.  And then baby fell asleep.  And once again, I realized it was all alright.  Everything's okay.  It always is.  But the prospect of what COULD happen is always looming.  Always in front of my face.  It's the Irish in me.

Crossing Fingers

Today will be the moment of truth.

Remember how the van bit the dust?  Yes, well it has been sitting at the car shop since then until we could decide what to do with it.  Much is involved in that decision.  First we have to clear everything out, which in itself will be epic.  I have everything from sunscreen to boots that don't fit anyone to my my marriage certificate.  ha.  Really.  Then we have to decide where to dump it.  Did you know that there is a fine to bring it to a dumpster???  Absurd.

Procrastination patience always prevails.  My dad just so happened to run into the Car Dealer and he delivered good news.  If we can drive the van to the lot, and they can find something wrong with our right axel (it's been recalled) then they will give us either a rental car until we buy a new car, or they will give us money towards a new car.

I didn't want us not having a car to be a family affair, but my dad and Mr Incredible are going to try try try to make the van drive from the shop to the store.  My Dad following Mr Inc in case the car breaks down.  When I told my dad that I would follow him so my Dad didn't have to be involved, he looked at me as though I was asking him to direct me toward the best dating sites or to give me internet fax reviews.  In other words, he thought it was absurd for me to risk waiting on the side of the road with the girls in tow, while we waited for the tow truck.

So everyone silently at your computers say a little "vroom baby vroom" for me.  And the monstrosity called minivan.

Scrub my Hub. ewww as in clothe him.

Remember how I said that most of my family is in the medical profession?  Yes, let's talk about that.

Unlike most/some people, I have no fear or dread of the hospital, dentist offices, nursing homes.  As mentioned in my previous post, I lovvee them.  Mostly because I've never been traumatized by any of the above (knock on woooooood) but also because I was exposed to these things all the time.  The biggest and probably only problem I've had with my experience with the nursing profession is that no one (Mom, Dad or Sister) let me ever have any say in what scrubs they wore.  Always modest, always blue.  I'm talking to you, too, Mr Incredible.  If I was a nurse, no matter what the establishment (because i do what i wunt) I'd totally be sportin hot pink scrubs.

get this man some SCRUBS!

I remember going into this medical uniform retail with my mom when I was little.  Oh!  The Looney Tunes and the Barbie and the Valentine's Day scrubs.  And my mom bought white.  Probably because her patients- people like that morbidly obese man who kept his gun on top of the donut box, or the woman who claimed that her leg felt "wiggly" when my mom later realized she had maggots crawling in her leg wound- would not've so much appreciated dinosaurs with band-aids.

So here we are, Mr Incredible approaching the end to his nursing school.  I'm waiting, just wondering, even though I know, that he, too, will never ever wear character scrubs.  And I'm starting to appreciate that a little more everyday.  Because who really trusts a man wearing mens' nursing scrubs with designs on them, anyway?  Then again, I don't trust too many men that wear white sneakers, either.  ;)

The Grandiosity of Assisted Living

I went to college to become an Occupational Therapist.  Mainly because I love LOVE helping people.  I don't know why, it's in my bones.  It's probably because I come from a family of Health Care people.  Nurses, mainly.

If I've ever told you anything about my work ethic, we all know... what work ethic?  Zero.  It's embarrassing and shameful that a person like me can really make Denny's have a hard time ticking.   There are two jobs, however, that I positively loved.  Enough to finish my shift and not call in sick once a week.  (I don't know why these jobs kept me around.  I must have the kavorka.)  The first one is a group home.  I LOVED these people.  (Not the workers, though.  Isn't there always one named Kathy The Smoker who hates the world, her ex husband and her daughter that won't move out of the house at age 37?)  One of the residents was always yelling.  HI KIERAAAAA.  MAYBE DA NEXT TIME I CAN SEE YOUR BABYYYYYYYYY.  WHO FREW DAT AT MEEE?  She was also very strong with behavioral issues.  In other words, she could snap your neck if you didn't watch your back.

Then there was the public masturbator.  This is no lie.  This one time I brought him to a baseball game.....

Then there was Doug, who was obsessive compulsive and obsessed over (including but not limited to) my dad, jack fm, me, other workers, anesthesia (my dad's a nurse anethsetist).

Job number two was an assisted living home.  I was a "dietary aide" aka lunch lady.  Then I was promoted (demoted?)  (moted?) to "residential aide" aka the dirty work.  Where I had to scrub just about anything and anyone in the building.  And give medicine!  and put on pressure stockings!  and lotion in unreachable places!  buuut ilovedit.

So maybe I like having "rewarding" jobs, but I think what it really boils down to is shower stools, double shower heads and floral bath towels.  It's like a taste of luxury.  Or is it a taste of what's to come?

New blog

I'm sure if I add anymore blogs to your reading list you'll need some major saline solution or a travel time machine.  Maybe you'll just need some FreshLook Contacts in case you work your eyes to the nub.  (Although a friend's experience tell me to only soak contacts in a sterile saline solution for contacts- or else you'll do your eyes more harm than good.)  TANGENT.

But have you heard?  I've started a new blog with a bad idea.  90 sans alcohol.  As suggested, and as strong as it sounds, maybe, um, recommended to me.  You'll have to go read it to know what I'm talking about, because I'm not going to label myself with a "drinking problem" on two blogs.  That's too much for my fragile self. 

Speaking of fragile self, I am sick like whooooaaaa today.  Sick as in if I told you anything about it I would be giving you TMI.  But I think it's probably the flu (hopefully 24 hours seeing as though I haven't ralphed in 5 hours.)  Little triumphs, here, little triumphs.  

But at least we all know it's not a hangover I'm nursing.

Swagger

I need some major help. I need you to dish on CARS! Mr Incredible says things like "soooo have you looked into what car you want to buy yet?" Um no Mr Incredible. I crumble under pressure like that. I can tell you the cars I won't be getting: A jetta (yes I'm talking to YOU mr-incredible-tiny-car-that-I-fall-into), A Toyota Camry (the reviews say niet oh and i need a 7seat min), A 16 passenger van.

And all of those conclusions lead me no where. All of those decisions made me realize I should've brought the car into the auto repair as soon as I saw the bleepin check engine light instead of waiting until the car started shaking at a red light 45 minutes away from home.

Let's do what I do best. If I don't know the solution I procrastinate!: (I know I've already posted this)

The Problem with No Wheels

So here I am on day three (four?) with no wheels.  I'm actually really really loving it.  ie My excuse to exercise.  However there is just one teensy problem with no wheels.

When I was born my 7 year old at the time sister asked if I was Italian.  Because I came out with SO MUCH dark, thick hair.  We're Irish and German, no we're not Italian, no I'm not the post man's daughter, I just got the only strand of hairy dna in my entire ancestry.  So if you're anything like me there is no doubt to the question 'If you could have only one thing while stranded on a deserted island what would it be?'  umtweezersduh.  Not that I'm prideful, but more that my rescuers wouldn't mistake me for a gorilla.  AND if you're anything like me then you know there is no light like natural light.  Not even halogens.  So basic "if and only if" math says 'if you are hairy and only if natural light is suitable to do a thorough job then you tweeze in the car.'  No doubt.

these are the things I learned in college.  ie to be super woman

Unfortunately I didn't think of that when Jamie the tow man towed my car and all 4 sets of tweezers away.  To it's final destination.  Well, no, actually just the car shop.  But 4 days for my face is final destination.


Yesterday emerging from the shower my two year old said, "Peppy pooooped."  This sort of um, shit, throws me over the edge.  So I went into our family room to find it.  No where to be found.  No where.  But it stunk to the high heavens.  Then I saw it: smears on the couch.  I nearly lost my head and Peppy nearly lost his life when I decided that some fresh air would do us good.  (after wooliting the um, shit, out of our couches and scrubbing them.)  So we walked to Walgreens.  On the way I realized Peppy was covered in fecal matter.  We dropped Peppy off at the groomer to get bathed.  Then picked up 2 sets of tweezers at Walgreens.  Then went to Pizza Hut for dinner.  Then walked home.

So friends, I'm happy to report that our house smells fresh, Peppy's ass is fresh, my face is fresh and I'm a new woman.  All with out a car.

thank you Duquesne.  For making yesterday possible. 

DUNH DUHN DUNH another one bites the dust.

And so the day has come.  As inevitable as taxes.  My Ford Windstar with two hubcaps has bit the dust.  After thousands of dollars and hundreds of thousands of miles, here we are, homebound.  I really don't mind being homebound, it's kind of a nice excuse to stay home and rearrange rooms.  

But remember how we refinanced?  Well we can't get a new car until our refinancing goes through.  Probably in a few weeks. But why not go a few weeks more and cushion some money if we already have to wait?  So here we'll be.  Unless we cram ourselves into Mr Incredible's tiny tiny car.

And what type of car should we get?  I would love a Traverse.  But that's out of the budget.  (what budget?)  It's probably between a Swagger Wagon and a Honda Odyssey.  Or really anything big.

So let's all take a moment of silence for big green van.

Thank you.

Pink to Crimson

The only time in my life I've ever been relieved to find that I had low comment numbers on a blog post was yesterday.  So shame on you if you didn't read it, because you'll probably have no idea what I was talking about.  OHHHbut I'll explain.  I wouldn't leave you hanging that bad.

Over the weekend I received an email to do some advertising on my blog (for money!  Oh for the love of money.)  My friends were over as I was checking me email.  And we may or may not have been carousing.    Anydrinkfest I eagerly (oh so eagerly!) replied to my email just to have my gmail go apesnap on me.  So I googled this person's name who sent me the email and clicked on the link that brought me no where.  All I could find was his facebook, linkdin, myspace.  But then, oh then, I saw something about a virus.  So I looked at it and behold! I found it, I caught him!  This "man" was not a man, he was a virus (from which I'll with hold his name.  Because I leaked it like whoa this weekend.)  A virus that gives you all sorts of popups!  I virus that is a nuisance, though not that  bad.

I panicked and like any other good blogger I blogged about it immediately (after the headache subsided the next day).  I titled the post 'I'll be damned, ________.'  And damned was I when I received an email from him this morning.  Damned was I when I rechecked my references.  Damned was I when I realized you should never drink and read emails.  Or research spam and viruses.  Damned was I when I realized I lost my visions of laying in a bed of cash that I'd earned through blogging (without using Adsense!).  Damnit.

But in all seriousness, I do owe this guy a sincere apology.  It is totally not my style to slam someone's name, especially all over the www.  But I really did think that his name was the name of a virus, so I didn't have any hesitation.  I was sure satellites were watching in my windows all day, until I got his email.  I felt like such a predator.  Sorry, ______.

Now who wants their business in my sidebar???

Caffeine

I'm 14,000 times overjoyed.  But in all reality, it probably boils down to the excessive amounts of caffeine in me.  My BFFFFFFFFF in reality and virtual reality started a blog.  Friends, she is my BESTFRIEND4EVA.  I've been trying to get her to blog since I began blogging.  She's stubborn as an ass and likes things on her own terms, so 1.5 year later here she is.

And people, this is the start of something good.  Not only is it a buzz in itself, I am a new blogger and we are going to conquer blogger one post at a time.  Starting with soap.com.  ahem.  Anyway.  You really ought to go follower her.  She's desperate.  Yes she's desperate.  Words that she wouldn't dare say, but I'll most def say for her.  Stay tuned.  And go check out my better third (Mr Incredible could not be excluded from that.  But there's nothing weird going on, either.)

strangely we have next to no pictures together.  she has really fast blink reflexes.

Refinancing

We just recently refinanced our house, interest rates are a whopping 3.75%.  We had a couple of options; we could've kept our monthly payment the same and lowered it to a 15 year mortgage, or we could've kept it the same and gotten a loan for our kitchen (so we could have room for a normal kitchen table- so sick of those high stools), but we decided to keep it at 30 years and have the option to pay nearly $300 less.  Sweet.  A bunch of my friends have refinanced, too.

I love finding out new ways to get lower payments.  By divine grace a realized that the girls qualified for super cheap health insurance- that's a saved at least $200!  But with all of these saved payments we'll probably just be putting them (soon enough) to a new car with hubcaps.  Because have I told you?  Poor little minivan is breaking down more than it's running.  Well, not quite true, but it stutters more than it runs.