Stumbling Towards Perfect

Most of you probably assume I'm pretty cold hearted. Which would be mostly right. Because I mostly subscribe to the God gave you arms and legs so you could use them school of thought. This means I say do it yourself a lot. But then sometimes people actually do stuff by themselves. But I don't like it. Because the way they do it is stupid. Like when Big V makes macaroni and cheese every single blasted time he makes dinner. What's worse is it's a watered down version. I'm not sure what one actually does to make it watered down because I've made macaroni and cheese a lot and there's no water in the recipe, except what you use when you boil the noodles, so maybe he just has never read the drain noodles portion of the directions. Anyway, in those cases, when he does things himself I think we'd all be better off if I just handled it myself. And so I do. Like, with lunches. Since Big V tends to have champagne taste on a third world public well budget, I

I have a sister. She is 16 months older than me and the oldest of us four siblings. In stereotypical First Child form, she has spent the majority of her life over succeeding at everything . She doesn't just join the college sorority: she becomes the president. She doesn't just learn how to clog: she starts her own clogging studio and teaches clogging to youth. And then she starts a business on the side  catering to the clogging shoe world. In short, her general over-achievement makes me look like much more of a slacker than I actually am. And trust me, I can slack quite well on my own,  thankyouverymuch . But we are alike, her and I. We actually do share some of the same qualities (although she'd probably deny this to her death)... humor and wit being one of them. In a way, I think that if I tried harder I could be more successful like her. Or, if she would just stop putting forth effort she, too, could be as lazy and unsuccessful as me. It's a very precarious balan

I sent Big V a text asking him if he was working tonight. Because he works a lot at night in order to avoid the chaos of our home help financially provide for his family. He currently is working on building a custom shower and tiling a tub surround for some guy's basement bathroom and has been going over there every night this past week for a couple hours. He usually returns home as soon as I put the toddler to bed. (I've been told this is purely coincidental.) Big V sent me this text back:                     I told horse I would. The guy's name is Horace. It's close, right?

A couple days ago I started experiencing heart palpitations and tingliness in my arms and legs and it kept getting worse to the point I wrote a goodbye letter to my children because I was certain I was going to die. On Monday morning I thought the end was near and I didn't want to spend my last moments at my cramped desk area mostly because I was afraid that if I did die at work I would soil myself because I heard that happens when you die, and it's bad enough being known eternally as the chick who kicked the bucket at her desk and there was no way I wanted to add and she crapped her pants so I called the doctor and made an appointment for 2:00pm. But then the doctor turned out to be a hater and cancelled my appointment because I'm technically a new patient because I don't have a primary care physician picked out at their 200 doctors clinic. I used to. But that doctor left. Probably because they suck. Anyway, since I have a blank where my primary physician is suppo

Once upon a time I had this job with a really cool company except I was way too young to appreciate all its coolness - like the matching 401k and the lunch hour learning sessions and the fact that I was totally treated like a valuable asset. It's the little things, you know? Anyway, I had this super cool boss who also happened to be super hot AND intelligent. That was like bonus, bonus, BONUS! And made me really thankful I didn't work in accounting because the guy in charge over there was a total dweeb. So my hot, smart, cool boss was a big fan of things like "if you're happy in your personal life you won't have much to worry you and get in the way of doing a fine job for me" and "if you feel good about your personal achievements it'll show in your professional achievements." It was all new to me but I did what he asked me to do and made a list of Personal and Professional Goals I wanted to accomplish, along with deadlines. Things like own my o

The problem with having more and more people I know read blog is that I'm becoming more and more limited with who I can write about. Since I'm surrounded by crazy people I find myself surrounded by tons of blogworthy anecdotes. But then I remember they're crazy in the obviously I'm talking about you; who else do you know on the planet that thinks it's a good idea to wear chaps with nothing under them to work? kind of way. And that means they're pretty recognizable. And so then they'll obviously recognize themselves and know I'm blogging about them. And, again, they're crazy. Which means unstable. And I like living. So, instead, I'll tell you about how I baked bread. Or thought it would be a good idea to try to bake bread. Because my kids started going away for visits to their dads' every other weekend and I was actually finding myself lonely and depressed and thinking no one would want me because I was a single mom with two kids from two

I stayed up way too late last night finishing the book Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese. I liked it. But I wouldn't actually recommend it to anyone I personally knew because they might be all why did she want me to read THIS book? There's a lot of gross descriptive surgery scenes. And whores. A lot of sex with whores. But not a whole lot. Just a little bit, you know? But someone who might be a tad uptight might think that's just three whores too many, you know? I had to finish it because I have to start our next book club book called The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom (no relation to CSI's Dr. Gil Grissom) before Book Club actually meets. And also because I just bought seven books from the library sale for a dollar. I may have to take a week off of work just to catch up on my reading. As you can see I was being practically forced to stay up late reading - and it totally worked out because Big V was not even home. This is important for pleasant reading experie

Today is Flag Day, except I don't even know what that means even though I'm pretty sure I should. I just know that it says Flag Day on my calendar like it's a holiday but it must be a holiday nobody likes because (1) I still have to go to work and (2) Yahoo doesn't even have any clip art on their home page. I was expecting some little dude walking across the header to raise his flag. But there's nothing. Had I noticed the un-holiday earlier I could've totally dressed up like Betsy Ross. I think she sewed a flag or two back in the day. Or I could've gathered flags and decorated my office. I can't now, though, because it's not like I have a bunch of flag fabric lying around the house. I do have some bed sheets. Maybe I could put those up in the office. Anyway, I was curious as to what Flag Day is all about and why we don't celebrate it by having the day off, so I  looked it up on Wikipedia ... and was instantly reminded of my high school histor

Once upon a time I looked like this: Which is to say, in shape and thin. (I had better pictures, but they just kinda sorta just made me look like a bar whore - no matter how hard I tried to photoshop the shot glasses out of the pictures and replace them with bible clip art.) Then I met Big V and we got engaged. And pregnant. Except, by we I mean just I got pregnant and ended up looking like this: Now, 21 months after I gave birth I look like this: Like I'm going to show you my stomach. Not. A. Chance. And now THIS has happened:  What is this, you ask? This is 65 of my used-to-fit-me shirts that are now being asked to leave my closet. Yes, sixty five . Including my super-duper all time favorite Woods Tree Farm long sleeved t-shirt. If I had a dollar for each shirt that no longer fits me due to girth restraints I could go out and buy me something like this: Also, I just want you to know that so far today I have had one can of Diet Dr. Pepper, one Kit-Kat bar, on

Big V always leaves the microwave door open just a crack. I have no idea why. I've asked. He has no idea why. At one point he tried to reason, "That way it's ready for when you want to put your food in." Except then I pointed out that you still had to use one hand to swing the door all the way open since it is not left open wide enough to squeeze a whole plate through so it's technically not ready at all. I also pointed out that it drives me absolutely crazy to walk into the kitchen and see the door to the microwave open just a crack like someone wasn't strong enough to shut the dang thing. Then he pointed out that it doesn't seem to bother anyone except me and he's pretty sure there are other families across America who leave their microwave doors open and perhaps I'm just un-American. And I took those to be fighting words because I am most certainly not un-American. I joined the Army, remember ? And then I pointed out how he has nev

Since I had such an enormous a manageable response, I printed the names of all the commenter's on a slip of paper. (I also made note of the books I will never, ever read because they were so bad they traumatized all of you.)  I asked Dotter to assist. Which she was super excited to do. I directed her to fold each slip of paper exactly the same way. Then she got a phone call from her friend and decided to multi-task.  Still on the phone, and occasionally telling me to shush, I had her draw one single slip of paper.....  CONGRATULATIONS TO TINA! The winner of the HOW TO DO IT Attic Journals Giveaway! Tina: Please message your mailing address to me at bridget0625@yahoo.com  Thank you all for playing along! I hope to have more giveaways in the future. And if you haven't already, take a minute to check out the  Attic Journals  website. Their stock is ever-changing and FUN! Great gifts for those who love to write and even those who don't. I t

Every year we get ants. Little ants. Lots of them. And they travel up through the earth and onto my kitchen counter and it is gross. And every morning there are two or three ants zipping around my counter waiting for me to smush them. Which I do. But then their buddies come back to search for the missing bodies. And I have to smush them. As you can see, it's a violent cycle. So every year I buy ant poison. The liquid kind that looks like Karo Syrup. And I put dollops on tore up pieces of wax paper and hide them from the baby place them strategically around the kitchen. And then I also buy these Kill Sticks that you put in your garden or, if you're like me, in the area around your home where you might have a garden if you knew how to grow things. And in a couple days the ants disappear. At least that's the way it works when I handle things. Except I was busy watching a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon exhausted after a hard day of work and sent Big V to the

I promised a giveaway and today is that day ! And no, my dear snarky Readershippers, I am not giving away the last of my matching stemware.   Although that was a fantabulous idea and I'm kind of bummed I didn't think of it myself. I must be slipping. Here's a hint: I bet you're wondering what exactly that man is peering at... and how he's going to help you DO IT. As you may or may not know, I love to write. Ever since I won our 3rd grade Grandparent's Essay Contest on some bogus story I wrote about how my grandmother and I spent precious time together baking cookies and going out for lunch. It never happened people. I lied. Yet I won. Talk about an ego trip. Since then I've filled countless pages of countless journals with real life reflections so that I'd have good material to use should I ever enter another essay contest. I have never thrown these journals out. In fact, they've continued to move with me during each of my 23 moves in th

I don't know what to write about because I'm entirely too old to pull emo off yet I'm incredibly emotional, angry and angst-ridden because I'm an obvious failure as a parent, and not just in the my son is going to be two in October but he's not potty trained yet... oh wait, he was actually born in September kind of way but more of in the my daughter will be facing the harsh realities of the world in two short years and I have taught her nothing kind of way. Instead of analyzing what I have done wrong and what I could do right I'm just going to pray a lot and drink a bunch of wine at book club tonight even though I haven't actually finished the book. (Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese; have you read it? What do you think? Maybe if you post something in the comments I'll repeat it at book club so people think I read the book. But I might be slurring my words so don't use intense vocab, okay?) In the wake of my blogger's block I'll lea

We drink from jars. Not because I'm ultra-farmhouse-y in my stemware. Not because I'm trying out shabby-chic drinking systems. But because every single blasted time someone takes a glass out of the cabinet they break it. For real. And if they don't break it then, well, Big V will break it when it's his turn to do the dishes. (Don't think I'm foolish; I know he does it on purpose... break the glass so that way he doesn't have to wash it. I know what he's up to.) I'm down to two actual, real glasses. From a used-to-be set. So now I just buy food products in jars. And we drink out of used canning jars, jelly jars, pickle jars, fruit jars... you name it! If it's a jar we'll drink from it. It's all about recycling. And finding a way not to get totally ticked off that these cave people I live with break all my freaking glasses. On a totally seperate note: I have something FUN planned for you... it's called a giveawa