Here’s the awful truth, y’all: I have resting bitch face like you’ve never seen.
I started noticing it about six or seven years ago. I’d catch a peripheral glimpse of it in a mirror or in the glass part of a classroom door as it shut and I’d be momentarily stunned at the face I saw looking back at me. It always took me a minute to react, to try Continue reading “RBF”
Sometimes I think there’s nothing I love more than making lists. But then I remember how much I hate hyperbole and how–really–I love all these other things a lot more. Continue reading “Things I Love”
I like to think that I’ve finally gotten too old to give a damn. Certainly, I mostly act as if that’s true. When Mom and I are out and about misbehaving and I happen to look up and catch someone staring, I usually smile at them and go right back to our conversation. Who gives a rat’s ass what they think about us? Continue reading “A Little Temporary Descent”
Some weeks ago, I got the idea that I’d run out of things to say, and I couldn’t manage to convince myself otherwise no matter how many times every morning I tried to make myself sit down in front of the computer and write. In truth, I was (and am) just in the middle of an extended period of time during which there were a lot of other things that I Continue reading “Mania, Surgery, Recovery, Reboot”
If you were here this morning, I’d tell you that despite my disgust at having no Sixlets this week, I’m nevertheless hella grateful to be drinking my second cup of coffee of the day. Yesterday we were without water for about six hours and today we’re still under a boil order, but–avid water drinker that I am–I had about four gallons pre-filtered, sitting in the Continue reading “Coffee, Something in the Air, and no damned Sixlets anywhere”
When I was a teenager, I used to keep a list of the wise things my mother said. I called them her “rules for life,” and I had no doubt that one or the other of us would eventually use them as the starting point for a book. I meant to keep adding to them as the years went by, but I’m notoriously bad about writing myself notes and then forgetting where I’ve stashed them or–even worse–not writing them in the Continue reading “Lessons learned”
When I was ten, I got my first diary as a Christmas present. It had a lock, but it was no problem to open the journal without the key. Turns out this was good, because soon enough the key had vanished, probably stolen by my brother or swallowed by the dog. I kept writing in the little purple diary for months, regardless. Continue reading “Why I wrote, and why I write.”
Your 16th birthday was almost a week ago, and I’m still trying to recuperate from the cheesecake. I was hoping you’d go for the vanilla Wal-Mart cupcakes with the ridiculously sweet icing like last year; but alas, this time around, you didn’t hesitate to tell me exactly what you wanted or to express an opinion that was entirely different from my own. You aren’t a cake kid, and Continue reading “Dear Step-Daughter…”
It’s grocery day, it’s trash day, it’s get a different old graphics card from my brother and see if Roxanne finds that one sufficient to run my old ass Sims 2 game day. I’m excited about the last one because sometimes I can be a wee bit obsessive about getting things to work like they should, and this game has not worked correctly since I brought my new computer home. I keep getting my hopes up, but then–inevitably–I’m disappointed yet again. At this point, I can play as much as I want with pre-made sims on lots that are already built. I can even rebuild the lot completely (with a shit-ton of custom content) so long as I do it without bulldozing it. BUT. I can’t import sims or lots, nor can I create them from inside the game.
I’m just Type A / OCD enough that the just-on-the-edge-of-working thing has been making my skin crawl for the last two weeks. My frustration is only exacerbated by the fact that I can’t have a cigarette.
Something’s gotta give. Hopefully, I’ll have a permanent fix by the end of the day (with the new/old video card), and I can get down to the relaxing and time-consuming business of redecorating a neighborhood full of houses for the tenth time in less than a week.
If it works, I’m afraid I might have to limit myself to writing one entry a week for a while as I obsess over my new toy.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and I’m exhausted. I’ve been up since way-too-early, and I’ve worked my ass off today.
Although I’ve never been a nap person, days like this make me envy the teenagers in the house who seem to be able to sleep at all hours of the day and night with no thought as to whether they’re snoozing away the best years of their lives. Continue reading “Exhausted, bleach-flavored instruction”