Carry the motion

So, why is it that a man will go into a store, with the intention of shopping (manspeak translation: 'picking up a few things'), and will walk right past the shopping carts knowing that he will purchase more items than he can carry?

Is this a genetic anomaly carried on the Y chromosome? Or what?

How can a man who is an architect or an engineer, for example, not have the foresight to realize that a pack of ham, a bag of crisps, a six-pack of Bud, some white undershirts, a Nickelback CD, that deodorant they saw on an advert during SportsCenter, and the loaf of bread that his significant other asked him to pick up (and the only thing he actually came in the store to get) cannot be held in his two manly arms?!

I was in the WalMart (not, you Blue ... NO!) and saw not one, not two, but FIVE penis bearing persons walking around loaded down with groceries and miscellaneous and apparently unaware of how daft they look.

One handsome young man -- a tall, leggy, smooth-muscled specimen with cafe-au-lait skin and carefully done microbraids that hung down his back -- was bearing two gallons of milk, one in each hand, and a bag of Sunbeam Sweet Sixteen doughnuts clenched in his perfect teeth and was attempting to figure out how to acquire a large tin of coffee.

He looked irrisistably like that nature show I saw years ago of the young monkey who was attempting to carry a load of large fruits. He'd try to pick the last one up but end up dropping another when he bent down. Then, refusing to leave any fruit, he'd bend to pick up the lost one and end up dropping another. Over and over, too greedy, or proud, or stubborn (my vote) to just leave that last fruit.

I couldn't help the pretty young man, either (aside form refraining laughing at him). I could pick up the coffee and hand it to him, but what could he have done? Grip it with his arsecheeks? (Yes, I confess I'd rather like to have seen that.) I'd've offered to put it in my cart and take it to the checkout, but, 1) I had more shopping, and 2) it would have exploded his 'logical' male brain.

Is this related to the whole men-carrying-babies-strangely thing? Makes me wonder if we, as a species, didn't spend a few hundred thousand years with the males loping along on all fours whilst us females strode about upright honing our carrying skills with babies, fruits, berries, his mastodon-skin underpants ...

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So that's all I've got today. My OB appt was uneventful, we couldn't get Fiver on the doppler so we did a super quick ultrasound with the portable machine. Sweet Dr. Tall Dark & Handsome kept trying to find the flicker of the heartbeat for me to reassure me. In the meantime, Fiver was literally thrashing about like a mad thing, clearly pretty effed off at being mashed by the transducer. Yeah, she was fine.

T minus 10 days till the Amnio. Trying not to think about it.

I have to obnoxiously mention Evil Genius Woman again. Please drop by if you get a second as I've done a bunch of work on it -- added new products, redone the Cancer Awareness bit.. Thank you for being so patient with me while I'm blogging so sporadically and continuously pimping the shop. I wanted you to know that I certainly don't expect, you, my regular readers to just obediently go buy something. I just want you to take a look and see if you note anything amiss. It makes me feel loads better knowing you all have been over and had a shufti. Perhaps keep me from doing anything monumentally stupid like, oh, misspelling shirt (buy a T-sh*t, anyone?).

*SIGH!*

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PS: some small creature -- probably a mouse -- has bought it in or around my computer desk. Yes, I have a dead rodent decomposing close by. It's driving me mad. I can't find it (kind of don't want to look, honestly), but the smell. The smell! It is almost impossible to get any designing/artwork done with that horrible stench in my nose.

And I think about it all day. How did it die? Why did it die? Why did it pick by my computer table to die under? Why didn't the cats eat it? Did it get electrocuted in the mass of wires behind the desk? Did it run in the computer and get chopped up in the cooling fan? (Eww!) Are there more?

AAAGGH!

Sorry I shared this, but I just had to tell someone. OK, go on with your day.

Way hey and up she rises ...

Arrr!

Correct ye are, me matey! Tis the 19th of September and it's International Talk like a Pirate Day!

Sail forth on the seven seas and annoy the tar out of yer friends, spouses, children and co-workers by talkin' like a pirate today! Arrr! T' get ye properly in the mood, here's my all-time fave sea shanty (or bits of it):

What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
Ear-ly in the mornin'?

Throw 'im in the long-boat till he's sober
Throw 'im in the long-boat till he's sober
Throw 'im in the long-boat till he's sober
Ear-ly in the mornin'?

(chorus:)
Way hey and up she rises
way Hey and up she rises
Way hey and up she rises
Ear-ly in the mornin'

Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Ear-ly in the mornin'

(chorus)

Heave 'im by the leg in a runnin' bowline
Heave 'im by the leg in a runnin' bowline
Heave 'im by the leg in a runnin' bowline
Ear-ly in the mornin'?

(chorus)

Put 'im in a bunk wi' the Captain's Daughter
Put 'im in a bunk wi' the Captain's Daughter
Put 'im in a bunk wi' the Captain's Daughter
Ear-ly in the mornin'?

(Chorus)

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Sorry for the lack of posts but I've made the huge (and pain-in-the-backside it turns out) decision to split my t-shirt shop up into two separate stores: Evil Genius Comics, T-shirts & Gifts and Evil Genius Woman.

Here's the store blog and the landing page. Please feel free to visit and give me suggestions. There's a lot of work still to do: some sections aren't finished or are still empty. I have over 25 designs waiting to be uploaded and put on products - I'm trying to get ready for Christmas / Chanukah / Yule -- so pardon the dust and construction equipment!

I'm terribly pleased that I'm going to get to really expand my Cancer Awareness section (it is now a part of Evil Genius Woman) and I've already gotten up some Breast Cancer designs, hopefully in time for October, which is Breast Cancer Awareness month. As always, half of all proceeds from these products are donated to fighting cancer.

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Well, that's all the interesting stuff I have for today. OB appointment tomorrow, and I have to take all the bubs (which should be veeeeery interesting). I'll try to fly through it as quickly as poss ... must make it to the thrift store. I've Hallowe'en costumes to make!

Can I go back to bed?

Just a quickie! I'm fair knackerd this morning. I swear I haven't been this tired since I was preggo with Boy. Blimey!

Anyway ...

Please check out our new product colours and new designs in the store! I didn't even mention our new Hallowe'en section as I haven't gotten any of the designs up yet (I think there's just two!), but please check back later for all your spooky needs.

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Also get a load of this moronitude (that's a word!)

This jerkoff lands his private jet directly downwind and too short on a wet runway that's closed to jet traffic. He then proceeds to slide off the end of the runway and into a bay.

I laughed my bountiful arse off.

Check the freakout when the empty plane's engines fire up on their own while it's in the water!

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Lastly, I'm trying to finalize my decision about charitable donations from my Cancer Awareness shop. I think, initially, I am going to donate to a local charity the Palmetto Health Foundation. Palmetto Richland Hospital is where they train our local doctors and nurses (both my mother trained there as did EGH's sister) and they are owned by the same folks who own Palmetto Baptist, the hospital where I, EGH and all of our children were/will be born.

Richland is also home to our local childhood cancer center. If I have my info correct, one can make donations to specific departments (like pediatric oncology or the neonatal intensive care unit). I'm requesting more information from the hospital.

What do you think?

I want to eventually have a 'portfolio' of two or maybe three charities to which I donate regularly (not just the store money but more) and I was thinking one local one and one national one.

OK, let me get up before I doze off. Do you think I could just duct tape Bulk to a large piece of furniture and have a quick snooze?

Nahhh, I didn't think so either ...

Self portrait Tuesday #8

I have never in my life actually been excited about washing clothes.

Yep, you guessed it ... I got the new washer hooked up and have been gleefully washing since! Yay!

Do you know that I'm 42 years old and this is the first new washing machine I've ever owned? I guess you have to wait a while for the good stuff, LOL.

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Thank you all for putting up with my vent last post. I also appreciate all advice and comments. Even ones from illiterate trolls (hi, Janiehampton! *waves*), if only for entertainment value alone. Was I the only one amused at the notion that I would ever consider taking parenting (and fashion!) advice from someone who really thinks that 'lose' is spelled with two 'O's and that punctuation is a thing one tosses in ones writing on a whim, like emoticons?

Yeah ... I'm gonna do that.

Anyway, just to reassure you, my readers who lent a shoulder, EGH and I have reassurances in place in case something should happen to one or both of us. We both own land. We have a great deal of readily liquidatable assets. We have excellent insurance (including life insurance). I have a nice 401k (I remind the jury that I worked full time for over 20 years prior to hurting my knee in 2003).

It is MUCH more likely that a grown child will have to shoulder the burden of an older relative than the other way around, and yet they get to treat us as if we are inept teenagers? When we have NEVER proven to be in need or requiring of assistance? I don't ever stroll up to any older relative and say: "Sweet Mother of Stan Lee, Relative! Are you sure you should be buying that new car? Didn't you just buy a new car a few years ago? And is all this furniture new? JEEZ!"

All I ask is to be treated with some respect. All I ask is that EGH and I be trusted to be the capable people that we were both raised to be.

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I have been dryly asked by a reader to supply pics of the new pig pen that I mentioned ... erm, like ages ago, so I will endevour to supply you with some forthwith. I know I have been shirking my responsibilities with my other blogs, but I swear I'll get organized enough again to pick them back up!

In the meantime, here's a pic of the new washer and a bit of me for Self Portrait Tuesday:



I really wanted to get both an unwashed baby AND my black nail lacquer in just to see if I ... cud push, Janiehampton rite over thee edge. And have her go NOO-kew-lar?

But, alas, all of my children are 1) clean, and 2) asleep. *sigh* So, no such luck today Janie! Sorry!

-Five things I will accomplish in the next five years:

1) Lose my baby weight. (with the promise that when I get back down to my fighting weight, I'll post a real, actual pic of my whole self here on this blog. Tune in spring/summer of 2008.
2) Build my damned pantry.
3) Finish the Library.
4) Start school (or return to school if you want to look at it that way)
5) Have all visible parts of my house clean, finished, and presentable (Library! Pantry!) at the same time.

What do you think? Do-able?

Yeah, I think so.

Random vent #48

Apologies in advance for inflicting this on you. I just need to say this to someone.

(Note: the word 'you' in the following does not mean you the readers. It's a universal 'you'.)

The Vent:

Dear people of the world, let me make this clear to you. You do not have the right, in any circumstance, to ask me or my husband the question: "So, is this the last one?" in tones of exasperation. Even if you are family.

Have I ever asked you to pay my bills? NO.

Have I ever asked you to take care of my children? NO.

Have I ever come to live in your home? NO.

Am I living off of taxpayers money? NO.

Are my children in any way uncared-for or unhappy? NO.

Until any of these is true you are not allowed to ask me this question.

My husband and I work very hard to care for our family. We have carefully planned our family size. My husband is a good and capable man with a great career. I run our farm and own an online business.

But, guess what? NONE of this is ANY of your business.

YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO ASK ME THIS QUESTION.

Argh

I think I've discovered my superpower.

It's the uncanny ability to stuff my Evil Genius Husband's poor, wee car (a 92 Toyota Camry) with more things than is actually physically possible. And, for what it's worth, I do it all the time.

I can get nine crates of chickens (regular wooden peanut crates) in it, no problem. It can carry 10 bags of feed (500lbs) plus me (another 500lbs), easily, although if I push it to 14 bags I have to slow to a crawl over speed bumps or risk scraping the petrol tank clean off.

I really should tour the country, taking bets on how much stuff I can get in the car, raking in unsuspecting yokels and making a mint in a Paper Moon style scam.

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I was going to blog about two ugly, rude, white trash women I saw in the KFC Wednesday, but just recalling them makes me gag. Let me just say that I HATE whinging, bitching, women. I can't stand a woman who whines about every effin thing like this cow and her daughter in the KFC. Who lives with these gals? Can you imagine?!

I've worked with them all my life. Constant complainers. Nothing is ever right, everything is wrong and someone ELSE needs to fix it. They bitch about their kid's school, their kid's teachers, their kid's coaches, their jobs, their bosses, the service at return counters, the service in restaurants ...

(KFC flashback:)

"Yes, Ma'am we have this special .." *points to sign which clearly states what's included*
(in that horrible nails-on-blackboard belligerent whine) "But I don't want any legs, does it come with legs?"
"Yes, ma'am, it will have two ..."
"I want breasts instead, give me breasts instead of legs ..."
"I'm sorry, ma'am but with specials we can't --"
"...and I hate wings, I want breasts instead of wings, too ..."
"I'd be happy to do substitutions but I'd have to charge you a little bit extra .."
"What sort of service is that? All I want is one different piece of chicken ..." (glances around at impatiently waiting crowd for sympathy)
"I'm so sorry, Ma'am ..."
"FINE! Just give it to me like it is!" (angrily roots in purse, muttering loudly: "never come here again ... what does she think ..")

What causes a woman to be like this? I mean, we all have stuff to complain about, perhaps more than others, but ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME? And in that voice! That Lucille Ball/Fran Dresher shrill whine! ARGH!

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Ok, I'm better now. I swear.

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Well, I've been spectacularly unsuccessful in fixing the washer.

Evil Genius Husband got me a new voltmetre which I've plied eagerly. Everything seems to check out. But the freakin' thing doesn't work. *sigh* So I'm off to buy a new washer as every bit of clothing in the house is dirty and my baby has been in disposable nappies for days.

Have I already said "argh" in this post?

Apart, together, broken, broke

*whew*

Sorry I haven't posted ... it's taken me this long to recover from the Putting Together Of The Bunk Beds! *cue crashing music*

Seriously. The entire bed came in two shockingly small boxes and I should have taken that as a disturbing warning. As it was, we set out Saturday morning right after breakfast armed only with two screwdrivers (I used to have DeWalt, but alas, it went to the big power tool resting place in the sky years ago) and two Diet Cokes.

Because of the minute size of the room (it was originally our Nursery. It was long ago part of the back porch on the original house and was made into a tiny 'grandmother's room'. It is 7 feet by 9 feet. Teensy!) there was really not enough room for both me and Evil Genius Husband to work. After we got the basic frame up, he entertained the babies (a valuable assist, as, at any given moment one child would have some essential wooden bit, another a handful (or mouthful) of screws, another the screwdriver, etc. You get the picture.)

We took a break at 11 and put everyone down for naps, and resumed at 2:30. We got the bed finished, all the other beds and furniture moved, the mattresses put on and made, just in time to feed the babies and put them in bed. The entire day was devoted to the big Bed Switch. Gah!

Of course, it was all worth it. We won't have to worry about beds for the next several years (until Fiver gets too big for a toddler bed -- around 2010) and everyone seems to have adjusted beautifully to the switch: no complaints or problems.

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And, since I just spent all that dosh on beds something had to break. That's the rule, right? Yep, I went into the mudroom yesterday to discover that our washing machine had simply stopped working.

Bleh.

If it had been the dishwasher or the dryer I probably wouldn't have noticed. I certainly wouldn't have cared, but of all the appliances in this house (save, perhaps, the stove), I need that washer the most. I wash 1-2 loads a day. I have a baby in cloth diapers. Situation CRITICAL!

I'm trying to find the leads to my voltmetre (casualty of curious babies) to test it. I mean, things don't just quit working. I'm thinking it's a switch or something. Hopefully something inexpensive. *hope*hope*hope*

I do know that I'll not try to get someone in to fix it. I can buy a new one for what it would cost to have a (*labio-dental fricative deleted*) repairman look at it.

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Speaking of paying someone, perhaps you all can help me with this facer ...

Remember my talking about building a website for someone?

Well, I got it finished, emailed the person and asked if there was anything else that he/she wanted doing. Person emailed me back and said everything was cool.

Then silence.

Now, I'm a procrastinator and a scatter-brained bint and so this didn't bug me a bit. I'd forget my own head if it wasn't strapped on, so I assume everyone else in the world forgets stuff too. Not a problem.

After a while I emailed again, same thing, "is there anything else needs doing?". Person replied, asking how he/she adds pictures and changes links if needed. A perfectly valid concern. I explained that if it was something simple: add a pic, take away some links, put up a for trade item, etc, that I'd be happy to pop in and do that gratis since it's for a friend. If it was more 'change the entire layout', or 'add a new page' then I'd charge something small like $10 (please bear in mind that I built the whole site for $60. Most folks I know charge $200-400 for a very basic site and then you're on your own.)

More silence.

I've emailed this person, now, several times with no reply and I'm stumped.

He/she is a fellow blogger, seems like a nice person ... what gives? Did he/she decide that the site sucked? If so why not just tell me? Maybe he/she's pinched for cash right now. That doesn't worry me, but again, why not just TELL me? Did he/she send a check to a wrong address (or wrong PayPay account?) and is now miffed because *I* haven't acknowledged it? That would truely suck, but, again, why not respond to the emails?

I seriously find it hard to believe that this person just decided not to pay me. He/she really doesn't seem like the type, but perhaps I'm being naive. I just can't help thinking that it's just a miscommunication.

What would you do? It's really not that big a deal in that all it took was my computer, my software, and a good deal of my time (I think this is the worst part: that I agonized over things because I wanted the site to be perfect). I'm not really harmed in any way by not getting paid. But it's the principle.

I'm totally baffled. Advice?

Bye, Steve.

I'm sure you've already heard (since most eveyone but me watches telly), but I just wanted to say how very sad I am about this. What a terrible loss.

Here's a pic of the barb on the tail of the stingray.



... and off. As Mr. Irwin himself would surely have said: "Crikey!"



I found accounts of dolphins and sea turtles found dead with stingray barbs imbedded in their bodies.

Well, I honestly beleive that the best way to die, since we all have to someday, is doing something you love. And Mr Irwin got that. It doesn't make it any easier for the rest of us, though.

We're really going to miss you, Mate.

Perchance to sleep ...

Well, I'm going to have to resort to pharmaceuticals to get some sleep, I think.

I wake up at 4 or 4:30 every morning and then can't go back to sleep. Like my father, I start to think. If I don't fall back asleep immediately, my mind begins racing and I start thinking of everything; the last day, stuff that wants doing, random worries. With my Pervasive Prenatal Paranoia of late it's ridiculous.

So I get up.

This morning I was letting the dogs out and putting on a load of clothes at 4:10am.

Now, I normally get up at 5:30, but losing an hour of sleep every night is wearing on me. One of the more unpleasant results is that I get 'run down' by the evening and tend to be irritable, snap at the children, and generally behave like a cranky toddler who needs a nap.

So why don't I nap, you ask? Well, I can't. I'm just not a napper. I can't just lie down in daylight and go to sleep, unlike, oh, say, my Dad or Evil Genius Husband, both of whom can -- and will -- doze off right where they're sitting. No warning or preamble: awake one moment, snoring the next.

(This drives me insane, by the way, absolutely mad. There's nothing like being so tired you can barely keep your eyes open, but can't sleep because the children are awake, and trying to hold a convo with someone only to find that he's deeply, blissfully, effin' asleep. If a woman were to fall asleep while a man was talking to her, there'd be public outrage!)

Anyway, I should be tired enough tonight. The new bunk bed is here and needs assembling, and I got the mattresses yesterday.

What a nightmare. Getting the mattresses, I mean.

First off, I had to drive the truck. The truck is a stick shift. My knee and stick shifts do NOT get on.

I also had to wait until EGH got home at 4:15 then had to tear into town since the place closes at 5:00. My plan was to take my time leaving (to come back home) so as to miss all the traffic.

I forgot it was Labour Day weekend.

Well, the traffic was bad going into town and a dense, steady, stream coming out of town. I got about halfway there and the traffic starts backing up: there's been an 'incident' (the cool, new, traffic sign ala LA Story told me so*). Well crap. So I'm inching along, cursing because my knee is already killing me, when I hear:

"CLANG! Clatter! Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting!"

"Oh, great," I think, "My effin' muffler just fell off." I immediately started trying to get over (of course I was in the far left of four lanes) and the mindless idiots bent on holiday were making it very hard. I got diagonally across the two middle lanes when the truck choked down.

Perfect.

Now traffic is seriously backing up. I'm blocking the two center lanes and now convinced that my entire exhaust is off at the manifold (I've had cars before that wouldn't hardly run if they were venting right out of the manifold - I'm sure that Dr. Blue's Dad could explain it). Finally, miraculously, it decided to crank and I limped over to the verge.

I want to interject at this point that I had Bitty Girl with me. Since I knew this trip would be longer, I switched her turn with the Incredible Bulk's, taking him with me to WalMart Thursday so she could go yesterday.

I get really really anxious when I have car trouble and the babes are with me. I've been driving/riding in older cars my whole life. A good portion of that time has been spent on the side of the road. I'm used to it. The advantages of this are 1) I'm good at fixing cars and I've fixed my share, alone, on the roadside, and 2) I can handle it when my cars break down. I know what to do. I can assess the situation and solve it and not go to pieces.

But when the babies are with me I break down. I feel super vulnerable and terrified for them. Waiting in the hot sun for a ride? Fine for me, unacceptable for my child. Walking for help? Hard for me, impossible for a toddler or baby.

Of course, in this day of cell phones, I've never been stranded more than a half hour. We also keep our early model cars in good shape so that this sort of thing is rare. But it doesn't take away that jolt of panic I feel when my car has gone wonkey and there's a wee person with me.

Yesterday it turned out to be nothing. As soon as I walked around the truck I realized the exhaust was fine. It was just the bracket that's supposed to hold the spare tyre (I keep the spare in the bed of the truck). A lovely couple stopped almost immediately -- they were in an enormous, beautiful travel trailer and towing their SUV (that's how big this thing was, this guy could have been a NASCAR driver) -- and the husband, whom I couldn't see, simply stopped it right in the middle of traffic while his wife opened the window and inquired if they could help. It was v. sweet.

The rest of the trip after that was pretty boring.** The mattress place didn't have my order (despite my having ordered it on Monday and scheduled pick up for yesterday) and I had to get all "I didn't just drive all the way from Newberry county in hellish traffic to leave here without two twin mattresses" on them. We finally got loaded up (overseen by a v. serious Bitty, perched on the truck box) and crept back home in even worse traffic since everyone had left work early to pack the car and head out of town at precisely the same moment.

At any rate, we finally made it home just in time for the babes to go to bed thought they were unable to sleep excited into a frenzy as they were about their new sleeping arrangements and impatient to have them magically put to gether right then!

Episode 2: the big switcheroo, tomorrow. Now, where did I put that screwdriver?

*Found out this morning in the paper that the 'incident' on the motorway was a man threatening to do himself injury. I actually had been wondering this very thing because when we finally made it up to the point of incidentage the cops were milling about on the bridge looking down at the wide Congaree River.

** Never did discover why the truck had choked down. I had to change to the back tank several miles up the road which makes me wonder if there was trash in the petrol there at the bottom of the tank.