Nitpicking

Today, at work, I was working furiously to meet some frighteningly upcoming deadlines; and, as is the way of things, I received a phone call from my daughter's school.

It was the school nurse. I sighed, feeling sure in my bones that the OG's congestion had morphed into some little fever, AGAIN, and that I was going to have to go get her.

Sadly, I was only half right. I did, indeed, have to go and get her, but - sigh - it was head lice.

I know lots and lots of people who have gone through this, but my family was lucky growing up. Except when I was a teacher, long ago, I've never seen them, and really had no idea what to do, until the nurse told me.

And? Well, all I can say is....ewwwww.

Cripes, this is one disgusting, annoying task to interrupt your badly needed workday. First, there's the shampooing and the pulling the tiny, pulling little comb through the thick red hair of a recalcitrant and hyperactive eight-year-old. Next, there's the washing and/or bagging of every piece of linen in the house, and the stuffed animals, and the pillows. Then, there's the vacuuming of all of the couches and carseats, to be finished off with much MUCH more hair washing for the OG, and all of the rest of us, too, of course. (Then, we do it all again next week.)

And, though neither The Man nor I can see any trace of critters on either of our scalps, our heads are ITCHING like crazy; psychosomatically, one assumes. (Probably also from looking up louse pictures on Wikipedia.)

Cross your fingers for us. (And, if your kids have seen my OG lately...um, check them.)

Yer Daily Larfs

I may have seen these over t'Bookhart's blog once upon a time...they seem vaguely familiar.

Ah, well; it's my blog, and I'll plagiarize if I want to. Thx, Anita!

Hi, Everybody!

Please say the above title in a Dr. Nick voice.

Thank you. That was the interactive portion of tonight's blog.

Aaahh.

Man, we had a good time this weekend.

Let's see...Friday night we had a party for Aimee's family, in which somehow we managed to eat, courtesy of Aimee's mom and sisters, homemade jambalaya AND pork roast AND cheesy cauliflower AND rolls AND corn AND tea cakes AND pralines AND lemon squares. (Not ONE of which I made, or even laid my damn hands on before I was shoveling it in my mouth. Heaven.) Oh, and mango margaritas, too.

I must interrupt to say that a frozen margarita machine situated upon one's back porch is a VERY dangerous thing to have. One wakes up on a Saturday morning, yawns, stretches, lets the dog out, and says, "Hmmmm....margaritas! Why, that's a FINE idea!"

Saturday, Aimee grad-y-ated, and that evening we had a party with her family, some of Todd's family, and several of their friends, for which Todd bought beef fajitas AND enchiladas AND beans AND SO MUCH SPANISH RICE AND chips and dip and salsa and guacamole and all of the other accoutrements of Mexican food AND chocolate pie AND cheesecake. Plus more margaritas. After everyone left, the four of us played poker until around midnight.

Sunday, we got up at the crack o'nine and went to Central Market for the third birthday party of Todd and Aimee's son, who we shall name Th'Bear, and who is one violently cute redheaded individual. (Oh, the YG and Th'Bear are engaged, apparently; she has officially declared him her "true love." Oh. Mah. God. They were SO ADORABLE together that it's near to make you sick. And they even have the same haircolor!) There, I somehow managed to not eat myself to Jabba-esque proportions, but tea sandwiches AND fruit AND cake were served.

Sunday night, we had a smallish poker party, in which all of the leftovers were summarily brought out and attacked. Sadly, we barely encroached into the perimeter before we abandoned our mission. (Seriously there was a BATHTUB full of Spanish rice.) I enjoyed the poker, but as I'm fairly sure the four of us were listing sharply to one side, we called it an evening at around 11:00.

Today? Hell, returning to work? Twelve days before the end of school? Positively restful, I tell ya.

And of course, it's back to my old lady diet...nothing but Lean Cuisines, broccoli, and Citrucel for me. I shall duly ignore the lemon bars that are still in there, screaming "oh, I won't be good much longer, you should really eat us NOW, because people who waste food are BAD BAD BAD."

No, damn it, tea instead. And only one teensy crumb of tea cake.

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Hey, the foot is on the mend. I'm limping along at a fairly good clip these days, though I'm probably not supposed to. Crutches? Suck ass.

It's really not too bad, as long as I keep it bandaged and gingerly guard it from the heedlessly tromping feet of the eight-year-old. I can't really wear any shoes besides my Crocs yet, because they won't fit over the bandage, so I'm looking oh-so-professional in my work clothes. But, all in all, I can't complain too badly.

I can't really move it around too much yet, though. I shall be starting physical therapy for it whenever I can get my damn self around to make an appointment, and I hope that ushers me back into exercising and going to the gym within a few weeks. Fingers crossed; my ass could really, really use it right now. (Fine, dammit, no tea cake crumbs.)

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So, Todd put me in the frame of mind to consider having some shelves built in to our living room, rather than buying an "entertainment center." (For the big TV we, um, don't have. And may never ever get, the way our property tax is going. But I hold out hope.)

Anyone done anything like this? Pros, cons? Anyone know any good folks in Austin who understand and build such things, specifically with electronics in mind?

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Speaking of property tax, HOLY FUCK, by the way.

Strange, I did not know that my house was made of solid gold and cocaine.

Friends in Town! Hooray!

We're busy entertaining some of our bestest buddies, Todd and Aimee, this weekend.

There's parties afoot (in celebration of Aimee's Ph.D. graduation) and a margarita machine on my back porch, so I will clearly be out of pocket for a few days. And, if I do post, it will be a B.W.I.-type post, and probably hurriedly deleted the next day. ("Scho. Do yawanna know what I HATE? I HATE FLAN. And war. Thatsch what I hate.")

Thus, in lieu of posting something meaningful, I shall bestow upon you this week's coolest website, courtesy of Todd.

It is: the Baby Name Wizard. No, seriously, it is addictive. Try it. You type in your name, and it pulls up a graph of how well your name has fared over the last hundred years or so. (Or any name you want, of course.)

Mine peaked around 1920, sadly. But, on the bright side, it's fared better than, say, Beulah. (And Gladys! And Esther!)

Thought For The Day

Awesome Album Covers

Go here and vote for your favorite. Come back here and report. (He's mine. Sorry, girls.)

(Hysterically enough, I've actually purchased one of these albums - the odd-looking Russian one towards the end. It was a birthday present for Trish, a.k.a. the only person I know that would have such an item...um, on her AMAZON WISH LIST.)

Negative Nancy, c'est moi!

My apologies for not posting anything substantive as of late.

For the life of me, I cannot come up with anything to write that is not obsessively reflective of my current mental state, which is basically that of a shut-in. I'm stuck to this couch, nauseated from the Darvocet but unable to completely quit it just yet, and in an increasingly foul temper because I cannot clean my house for our much-beloved houseguests that will be arriving this week.

And I'm just getting fat again, because clearly I'm not exercising, and feeling sorry for oneself is not particularly conducive to staying on one's diet.

Blargh.

So, just to bring my outlook up a tince - and on the occasion of this, my own day - I am hereby forcing myself to say five positive and/or relatively cheerful things. Here goes:

1) The Man cooked me a nice Mother's Day dinner tonight; halibut topped with crab meat sauteed in garlic butter, asparagus, and crusty bread, with Amy's Ice Cream for dessert. Flowers, too. Thanks, honey; just when I had my pity party on in full, you go and bring me out of it.

2) I finally watched the two Netflix movies that have been sitting on my television since - um, before Christmas. (The Departed and Children of Men. Both good, and situationally suited to my circumstances; when better to watch two really depressing movies than when you're already depressed, I ask you?) I also watched Waitress last night with Cristen, who came over to babysit me. It was very cute. Made me want pie.)

3) The Man and I have upcoming romantic (read: child-free!) getaway plans in San Antonio for our 10th anniversary, including a weekend at La Mansion on the Riverwalk and tickets to see Spamalot at the Majestic. It ain't much in the way of travel - go here if you'd like to read about people who go REAL places - but, hell, I'll take it.

4) Best TV line of the night...from King of the Hill:
Peggy: "When did young girls start dressing like tramps?"
Nancy: "Mmm-hmm. They call 'em prosti-tots."

5) At one point this weekend, the OG became this, after a Coke and a bag of Skittles:


Now, the OG is hyperactive a lot of the time, but most people have never seen her in full-on Cornholio mode. When this happens, it is awe-inspiring. And hysterical.