My beloved friend Carlynn tagged me ages ago for a meme. She’s been noticeably MIA from her blog lately, which leads me to believe that she is fulfilling her dream of becoming the Yak Lady without me.
She’s one of my favorite bloggers, and I envision a life being The Friend Of The Yak Lady, and we will sit on a large front porch somewhere together, knitting and writing her memoirs as The Yak Lady. I heart her. AND I WOULD LIKE IT VERY, VERY MUCH IF SHE WOULD UPDATE SO THAT HER FRIEND AUNT BECKY DOESN’T WORRY.
*ahem*
The rules:
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Be sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.
Shit, it’s a good thing I have an amazing collection of interesting quirks (shut up, they’re interesting TO ME AND IT’S MY BLOG. *sticks tongue out and blows large raspberry*)
1. In our marriage, I am absolutely the picky one. Really, about most everything and anything that I can think of (purses, keychains, fucking scarves, food, oh food), save for one teeny thing: coffee.
I love coffee so much that I would probably marry it and make bean-ish babies if I could, so great is my adoration of it. As previously stated somewhere in the archives, My Great Plan After Birth was to stop at Dunkin’ Donuts and grab an extra large coffee. And another. And possibly a third. Then I would wash it all down with another.
(I wasn’t concerned about caffeine intake during gestation, but more about regurgitating the contents of my stomach in completely inappropriate places.)
As much as I love, love, love coffee, I’m pretty satisfied with any and all forms of it. I’m not even slightly picky about brands. I’d probably happily drink instant stuff without batting an eyelash or three at it.
But not The Daver, who, in the time that I have known him, has gotten a total of 3 coffee makers, each more ridiculous than the last, AND some fancy bean grinder.
Problem with all of this stuff is, I cannot figure out HOW to use ANY of it. Which leaves me brewing it with toilet paper and a tea kettle on the days when he doesn’t make it.
2. I’m freakishly OCD about my blog. I must update every day (although rarely about what I ate for lunch unless it’s Cap’n Crunch, in which case I will talk about it because I am Captain AWESOME) or I feel like I’ve been walking around without pants on (which I do frequently indulge in).
I had a blog before, and when I didn’t update it, it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Now, however, it drives me a wee bit bonkers if I don’t at least say SOMETHING.
I’m similarly OCD about checking on the blogs I read religiously. I must check them all once a day and leave some sort of comment, even if it’s something cheesy and stupid. It’s my way of saying “Aunt Becky’s Been Here.”
Any and all blog recommendations are appreciated.
3. In a stunning array of bad luck for The Daver, I have recently realized that I am allergic to all low quality metals, and can only tolerate platinum/high grade gold on my skin. Thankfully, all of the jewelry that he has bought me (because he is a much better person than I) has been of either of those.
I grew out of wearing costume jewelry ages ago, so this wasn’t such a big blow to me, save for the fact that I cannot purchase or wear any funky jewelry.
So, sadly, no plastic hoops for me, no matter HOW funktified I might look in them.
4. In a stunning fit of excellent judgment on my part, I wrangled The Daver to take me to buy myself a new video game on Saturday, once I realized that he was not going to be available to me like I’d hoped (wink, wink).
Now, I’m not at ALL someone who plays video games (although I don’t mind watching someone else play them) save for Lego Starwars (lest you imagine me to be someone who wears heavy makeup and goes to GenCon and dresses up like Princess Leia on a regular basis–I am going to have to start putting pictures up for you all. Specifically YOU, Mrs. Prufrock, who thought of me as someone in heavy eyeliner and likely listened to EMO music. For shame on my part!), but I was just_so_bored.
And no one was updating their blogs.
So, I gave The Daver a raging boner when I asked him to take me to The Video Game Store that I normally avoid like a hippie avoids a shower, and promptly began to discuss the merits of possible games with the guy that worked behind the counter.
(as a complete aside, for anyone looking for a good old ego boost who doesn’t want to pay the $100–and a kidney– to go to Great America, walk into a Video Game Store and talk to the dude behind the counter. He will be so enthralled that a Real! Live! Girl! is talking to him that he will make you feel as gorgeous as Britney Spears before her meltdown. Those dudes are like putty in your hands.)
I picked out the one game that he specifically told me sucked, figured that was as glowing a recommendation as I could want, and bought it. I imagine AARP will be sending ME a mailing next, Magpie, as I’m sure my purchase triggered some sort of mailing.
It was Agatha Christie’s “And Then There Were None” for my Wii.
Soon, I’ll be telling those damn kids to get off my fucking lawn, until I realize that those are MY kids.
5. I have a massive obsession with spicy food.
Indian, Thai, Chinese, Mexican. Bring on the damn spice.
(I was getting rather long winded. Sorry).
6. I adore bourbon yet hate scotch. And I am the only one of my friends who can still drink tequila (but NEVER Tequila Rose. Ew.).
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You deserve a cookie if you made it through that. Seriously, I applaud you.
Who to tag, who to tag? I’ve made my poor readers tell me a fact about them in times past, but I think people like to be tagged. So here I go. Tagging away.
I tag YOU:
KC @ Sarcasmatic
Heather @ Bubbles ‘n’ Ducks
Niobe @ dead baby jokes
B and K @ Baby Mommas Drama (dude, I had to. I have a category of the same name. Because we are BOTH Captain Awesome)
The Milk Maid @ Milk Induced Coma
Ames @ In Her Shoes, whose video made me cry AND give money. This may be a first.
Mrs. Prufrock @ Barren Albion
Cali @ Creating Motherhood
Shit, I’m cutting MYSELF off now. And if you don’t want to do this because you’ve done it already, trust me, you can do it again. I think I’ve done this like 4 times.
——————-
My dear friend Magpie (whose name gives me a thrill for some inexplicable reason) gave me an award that I get such a charge out of. I haven’t posted about it, because I cannot figure out how to make the graphic work. I’m not that SMRT, apparently, or my blog needs some configuration or something.
The award is called I-Less-Than-Three Your Blog. Get it? I <3? It’s a HEART, people! High-freaking-larious.
So, thank you Miss Magpie, for thinking of me.
And I’m thinking of YOU:
Carylnn @ Still Passing Open Windows
Charmed Girl @ Living A Charmed Life?
kalakly @ This Is Not What I Had Planned
The Divine Miss M @ Wheels On The Bus
Ames @ In Her Shoes
Angela @ Reality Testing
Mrs. Prufrock @ Barren Albion
I have to stop myself before I list my entire blogroll. See, Aunt Becky hearts you, bitches.
Yesterday, when I went in to the Beauty School to get my hairs did, I learned something that made my incredibly grubby heart smile: I could get Ben a haircut for $6. $6! A bargain!
Now, having birthed Ben, who was born wearing what I can only describe as a bad toupee, I am no stranger to having to get his hair cut. His first haircut SHOULD have occurred when about half of his newborn hair fell out (on the sides) while the stuff on top was left to be darker and longer than the rest of his head. He looked like a member of Flock of Seagulls.
But, because I was being incredibly sentimental, I refused to cut it (IT’S HIS BABY HAIR, AND I CAN’T CUT IT! IT’S SOOOO CUTE!), and now look back at the pictures and hang my head in shame. What was I thinking?
He began going to the salon with me to get his own hair cut a little after his first birthday because it was just that long and unruly. Had I left it to grow on it’s own, I would surely have picked him up from a weekend at his father’s house sporting a buzz cut, which would have only accentuated the largeness of his head. And TRUST ME when I tell you that he needs NOTHING to accentuate THAT feature.
After awhile, I noticed that he’d return from the salon looking just like I had cut it, only I was $20 poorer, so I took matters into my own (cheap) hands and cut it myself for a couple of years.
Since I have approximately NO eye for style and absolutely no experience in cutting hair, I eventually gave up and started paying someone again. But it STILL looks like I inexpertly cut it, and I hate paying through the teeth for something I can do myself, so I am determined to try out my far cheaper alternative.
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I have taken a lot of shit over the years from the male portion of my family (the adults, not the kids) over my practice of painting Ben’s toenails. As a toddler, he’d trundle over to me while I was doing my own nails and indicate that he wanted his done, too. Since he was non-verbal AND I don’t wish to inflict such rigid gender stereotypes on a baby (only GIRLS have their nails painted), I always gave in and painted his nails, too.
No harm, no foul, in my mind.
Well, the males in my family had PLENTY to say to me about that. And often did. Eventually, I made the switch from brightly colored polish to clear, but hey, if the kid wants his damn toenails done (and I’ll never have the daughter to do it with), so fucking be it.
And I can only imagine what they’re going to do when I show them what I have allowed my big son to do now.
I have generously offered to allow Ben to put a chunk of blue (or whatever color he’d like) dye into his hair, JUST LIKE MINE (well, mine is electric red, I’m not so much a blue person) when he gets his haircut. It’s his choice, and I don’t really care one way or another, but since he’d asked to do it when I’d first dyed my hair, I am going to allow it.
And I will most certainly take a hugemongeous amount of shit for it. There will be NO END of what I hear about it.
But hey, I told him that he couldn’t put PINK into it.
So, opinion time, Internet: did I do the right thing? Would you have done this, or am I the worst, most hideous mother on the planet setting my son up for ridicule and tomfoolery?
After spending 90% of last week sicker than I’ve been since I was pregnant with Alex, arguing with Ben over who deserved the coveted couch space more and who hogged the blanket with alarming frequency (answer: Ben), poor Alex has finally come down with his first real illness.
With a 1st grader in the house, this is no small feat that he’s remained healthy for so long. I, myself, have had a low-grade cold since this winter began approximately 4 years ago (give or take), and somehow have managed to avoid passing it onto him. Until now.
Thankfully for my guilt complex, however, Alex has finally reached an age where I don’t worry/feel as badly as I would if he were a wee bit younger. That doesn’t mean that I don’t feel sorry for him when he looks at me with those sad, red-rimmed and glassy eyes, but he’s been such an asshole that I’m less sympathetic.
While it’s sweet that he follows me around like a monkey, clinging to my legs and whining for me to do, well, SOMETHING, but he, like me, has no idea WHAT I should be doing to help him, so we both wind up whining loudly at each other for extended periods of time.
It’s no wonder that Ben was begging to go to school and The Daver is happily ensconced in a “project” at “work” which is likely code for “going to the bar to avoid us.”
I can’t really blame either of them. Collectively we’re annoying and we know it. AND YET WE’RE POWERLESS TO STOP OURSELVES.
So, I suppose I can only hope and pray that this virus runs it’s course, leaving my less demanding toddler in it’s wake. Because if he remains glued to my legs and shrieking wildly, I may have to start self-medicating or check myself into rehab just to get away from him.
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