Tuesday, August 21, 2007

The Dog Ate My, Er, Blog

Life? Is currently sucking the life out of me. It's constant. The suck, suck, suckling at the teet of Zubeness.

Moving to a new house.

Finishing remodeling the old house.

Trying to make the house we moved into look a little less like a McDonald's playground, colorwise and all. Which means painting.

Sleeping, waking, sleeping and waking. It's not as bad as it was, but I still haven't gotten a full night's sleep since 5/16/07.


And on and on and on. I'm not complaining, well, okay, maybe a little. I'll say, though, that I'm happily complaining. It's all good. It's just...so...ALL.

Anyway, I've had stories I've wanted to tell, like the time when Zube Boy and I went out to lunch and I was professing my Queendom of all things 80's hair bands, and he said, "Okay, then name a song by Poison," and I said, "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," and he said, "Duh. Name another one."

"She's My Cherry Pie."

"That's Warrant."

"Oh. Warrant. Hey, they sing EIGHTEEN AND LIFE TO GO!"

"Uh, that's Skid Row."

"Skid Row? Like, the Skid Row that sings Runaway Train?"

"Yeah. Or no. That's Collective Soul*. And that wasn't even the 80's."

"Jesus. I give up."



But I'm just so wiped at the end of the day and all of my bloggy brain juice is in a martini glass somewhere with my bad ass beret wearing writer self. And I get the distinct impression they're laughing at me.

Anyway, things haven't really changed around here. Yet they have. I mean, we're still us. Just different. And more. But, we're hanging in. Hanging on. I'm managing to keep my nose above water, at least. But the blog, she does suffer.

Sorry 'bout that.

*Um, PS - I am a bigger tool than even Zube Boy thought possible. As pointed out by Amy, a commenter who was trying to help a sister out, Runaway Train was sung by Soul Asylum. And that would be what Zube Boy said. I fucked up yet again. Thanks for trying, Amy! I am beyond help!

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Jersey Rocked...

Which probably doesn't surprise you. Now, before I get to the meat and potatoes of this post, I wanted to let you all know that I really love my uvula. It's cute, I think.

Now that that's out of the way...

The Scene: Mom's in the kitchen. I'm in the living room. My Belle, her boyfriend, and my step-dad are various distances in between. It's important for you to know that I brought two bottles to Jersey for Zee. You'll see why.


Z-Girl: YEAH?



Mom: *realizing what she just said* Oh my God.

Z-Girl: Heh.

Mom: Ha. I'm washing the bottles. I'm trying to figure out which nipples are Zee's and which are Stan's. That's what I meant.

Z-Girl: Whew. I thought it was sort of a weird question.


We had a family picnic on Saturday. Moments after huddling around with my cousin and brother and sister discussing our babies' respective ouncely intake, Dad sauntered over. He had himself a little chuckle and said, "You know, just a few years ago, if I'd have heard you kids huddled around discussing three and four ounces, I think I might have had to intervene and let you know that that's quite a bit and you could get in big trouble." Heh. What a difference a few yeras can make.


Well, I'm going to go check out my lovely uvula again. I should take a photo to show you guys. It's really quite sassy.

Photos of the weekend can be found here, for those of you so inclined to take a peak.


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