Finding Yourself Despite Yourself » weirdness

menu planning for the planning phobic

fidget — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 15:56:01 +0000

I found myself googling this very phrase today. You see, I want to plan our menu, shop around that plan, stick to that plan and save us even more money but I’m planning phonic.

A few years ago while in therapy, we tried to tackle this problem. We meaning, the therapist kept giving me a day planner worksheet as homework and me bringing it back a week later covered in scribbled out plans and eraser holes. The closest I could get was writing down doctor appointments and then on other days writing “today I will do something”- not exactly what he had in mind.

I know part of the issue is fearing failing at the day. As if writing down “today I’m going to do laundry, clean the bathroom and make Swedish meatballs” means that I have completely failed at life if one or more of those tasks just doesn’t happen. That’s a lot of pressure. Just thinking about it makes me want to hyperventilate.

The other half of the equation is me suddenly getting all 5 year old on my schedule and thinking YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DO IT! As though the mere suggestion that I should plan on eating tilapia next Tuesday takes away my last grains of sweet sweet freedom and thus I must rebel accordingly.

My planning hatred has impeded other areas of my life too. I wish I could break up the household cleaning over the week instead of cleaning like a mad woman one day when I can no longer take the mess. Mira thrives on planning, feeding on ample notice, ruminating over the impending date and driving me up the wall. I’d love to be able to provide her with a Monday we mop, Tuesday we wash, Wednesday we.. kind of life. I just don’t know how.

Why I don’t do camping

fidget — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 15:15:57 +0000

Most people would assume that my refusal to camp was part of some princess complex but for me, that is not the case. Yeah, so the ground isn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on and crapping behind a tree isn’t exactly the kind of vacation memory I want to cherish but these are things I can work around. What I can not work around is being murdered in my sleep.

Stop laughing.

No really, stop laughing.

Dudes, I am serious. Have you ever googled “murdered while camping?” It pretty much confirms all my fears.

When presented with the opportunity to separate myself from the faceless murderous masses using either a very thin sheet of nylon or a wall of wood/concrete/brick, I’m certainly not going to choose something that a hunting knife slices through like butter. This means that all tents, pop up campers, and yurts are a no go.

And lest you continue to just mock me, let us not forget the Girl Scout tragedy of ‘77- even the queens of camping are not immune.

Thus, until they start selling tents complete with an anti murderer force field, you’ll find me over in the cabins or a hotel room behind a bolted door, possibly with the dresser pushed in front of it.

Spring Break

fidget — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 19:58:09 +0000

Hello, Spring? Where are you? It’s more like winter here today. The wind is howling, I’m wearing a jacket and the kids are in sweats. The poor chickens have been getting blown ass over elbows but as soon as I got the video camera out, they started hugging the house and refused to preform for me – there goes my shot at America’s Funniest Videos.. a lifelong dream, crushed.

The chickens have not been a total disappointment though. Take a look at this gem

that’s an egg

No, really. It IS an egg. A really disgusting faux potato mad scientist looking egg. No, we did not eat it even though I dared The Hubster too.

I’m going to be a bit quieter this week. All of the kiddles are home which means zero alone time for me. I did manage to check out a new autism product and if I have a wee bit O time, I will be posting another fantabulous giveaway so make sure to check back.

Let’s just fast forward

fidget — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 15:23:08 +0000

I’m a fantastic combination of nervous and pissed about going back to the surgeon today. As a result, I slept like shit and had weird dreams. Like the one where ninjas were attacking me with ice cream cones. No seriously, ninjas brandishing pointy ice cream cones in my face. And I fought valiantly against certain death by chocolate sprinkle colored waffliness. The last thing I remember of the dream, I was being forced at ice cream cone point to make meatballs for a ninja convention.

I had planned to discuss with you the recent story of the ~~idiot~~ dumbass that was ticketed for child endangerment. Her crime? Breastfeeding and yakking on her cell phone WHILE DRIVING HER OTHER KIDS TO SCHOOL.

“I tried to say something to her. She literally has the little girl on the steering wheel and I said, ‘I can’t believe you have that kid in your lap and she said, ‘You want to pop your titty out and breastfeed this kid?’That’s what she said to me.

But really, what can one say that isn’t just restating the obvious: breast is best but certain death kind of negates the nutritional benefits of breastfeeding.

I also have this image of her with her feet on the steering wheel, head cocked to the side and her tits hanging out while this toddler is sprawled across her lap. She, as the driver, is damn sure to be strapped in because OMG driving without a seat belt is dangerous!

The Finding Yourself guide to being a ghetto fabulous granola eco-warrior

fidget — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 19:38:00 +0000

First buy your fridge from a scratch and dent warehouse.

Instead of touching up the scratches and dents with toxic appliance paint, affix children’s artwork over the affected areas. Make sure you leave an access opening for the on door ice and water compartment.

When ice cascades down inside of the interior back panel and freezes up the motor, use a broom or mop hand to thwack the back panel until the ice jam clears.

When your veggies crisper drawers crack from your lil’ chillins standing on them, slap on some duct tape and just keep on trucking

When the entire face of the crisper drawer busts off

measure your fridge and try to find milk crates that will fit the space

This ghetto fabulous granola eco-warrior advice has been brought to you by Finding Yourself Despite Yourself and Fidget, the woman who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable for a ghetto fabulous granola eco-warrior to use ear candles on a birthday cake

Ain’t no strange cocks ’round here and other weird things I said today

fidget — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 06:33:23 +0000

Man, there are a lot of loose chicks around here!

I haven’t seen any strange cocks poking around

These can’t be our babies, there’s no cock here!

I always keep my eyes peeled for stray cocks

You’re looking at a vagina tree?

Dude, srsly, stop staring at the vagina tree

Wait, you mean it’s close enough to the house that I can photograph the vagina tree?

Yeah, my day just kept getting weirder and weirder. You see, by late afternoon 5 baby chicks had been dumped in my yard. It was a driveby chicking. I had been out there merely 20 minutes before they turned up and nary a peep.

The Hubster comes home, bursts into the house and yells “hey Erin! Why are there baby chicks in the yard?”

Um, what?

So I darted outside after fumbling to hang up the phone. I thought he was just fucking around. I mean, the Hubster loves to rile me up but no, dude wasn’t lying

Brand spanking new baby chicks

that did not spring forth for the feathered loins of our flock. You see, we are cockless. This is by planned design. We don’t need a cock swaggering around the yard, crowing it’s fool head off and irritating the gun toting neighbors.

Originally, there were 5 chicks, but we were only able to wrangle 4. I wish whomever dumped them off would have simply rung the bell. I would have taken the lil peepers in and we wouldn’t have lost the 5th to the dogs behind us.

The little bastards are LOUD. These 4 are louder then our original 17 ever were. I think perhaps they are missing their mama. I’d be pretty pissed off if 3 or 4 days ago I looked like this

and next thing I knew, I was cooped up in a plastic storage tote and being poked at by a gaggle of little humans.

And the vagina tree? I’m hoping to convince the Hubster to take me and my pet camera on a field trip very soon because who doesn’t want to gawk at a perfect vaginal likeness growing on a tree?

Hunting

fidget — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 15:51:46 +0000

Well slap some camo on me and call me Bubba. Sometime during the last week, I seem to have taken up hunting.

Now, you won’t find me drunk, crouching in a deer stand with a 10 point buck in my sights (unless you count the The Hubster and swap “deer stand” for “chicken coop” ) but you will find me hunting down one of three things

Rogue eggs, some of our gals seem to think that laying eggs around the dead automobile in my backyard (like I said, Bubba) is fantastic fun. I’m also trying to sleuth out which of our chickens laid this massive double yolker

Sulfa laden products which are contributing to my heinous post op rash (only click that if you REALLY want to see an icky rash or have sudden need to vomit)
The source of the overwhelming mystery stench which descended upon our master bedroom with the fury of 1000 overly perfumed grannies. The smell, so acrid, burned our eyes and noses. It was so thick we were eating it with every breath! At 1am, wheezing with defeat, we raised the white flag and stripped every cloth surface in our bedroom. We did this only after waking up BOTH of the girls, convinced that while watching tv in our room, they did something. They had been acting shifty all night and I thought they might have been rifling through my closet but once that scent, reminiscent of being ambushed in Macy’s by the perfume girl or perhaps The Hubster’s Memaw on a particularly noteworthy occasion where in she may be so excited she accidentally bathes in Jean Nate, hit me, I immediately suspected that they were rubbing perfume samples on my pillows. Oddly, the only thing we can find in the house that has a hint of scent like last night’s beast- The Hubster’s deodorant. He passed a few swipes under his arms last night but nothing outrageous. Could it have somehow caused all this mayhem? We stuck it in a ziplock bag for self preservation

The only thing I’ve successfully hunted is the Sulfa stuff and that because SURPRISE! it’s in ev.ry.thing.

The mail dude’s kid

fidget — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 05:30:26 +0000

We call him our little recessive gene baby. He sports blue eyes- the rest of our brood has brown. His hair is so light and fine it seems he hasn’t any at all, while the rest of us sport thick unruly mops of dark wavy to curly hair. And, then, then there is this other spot of weirdness.

His toes do that on both feet

and though it’s not the first time I’ve mentioned it, I honestly thought he’d out grow it by now. I’m starting to wonder if it will later impede walking or shoe wearing. Anyone ever encounter this before?

I personally have funky pinky toes. They lay on their sides and the nails grow in a thick triangular lump, more like a claw then nail, but all my toes look like they fit on my foot. His look like their are fighting for space- not as much as this kid (thank god).

The house troll strikes again

fidget — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 14:35:43 +0000

My camera batteries are gone. 2 weeks ago I bought (4) 4 packs of camera batteries and paid like $.62. I snoopy danced all over the house gloating “I got bat teries! I got bat teries!” and now the fangled things are MIA. But, don’t worry folks. Detective Mimi is on the case

and she has this uncanny ability to wheedle the truth out of almost anyone

I live in crazy town

fidget — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 05:36:23 +0000

A peacock almost obliterated the front end of my vehicle when I was driving to Target. It flew just high enough to wipe it’s ass across my hood. I wonder of my car insurance covers ‘acts of peacock’