I am master of the futon domain.
(Sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands when the only big, strong man around is only 14lbs.)
And, of course, since Valentine’s Day is over, that means they gotta hustle in the next holiday! This isn’t all bad, it affords opportunities for new friends and the chocolaty siren’s song of that most foul of seasonal temptresses…
(The dark chocolate ones are faboo, btw.)
There is no conversation that cannot be vastly improved by the addition of Mr. T quotes.
(I am still yearning for a situation in which I can use the line: “…like getting complimented by Mr. T on your fool-pitying skills”.) 🙂
Update: It just keeps getting better.
After some discussion, and considerable giggling, Sherry and I, apparently unfulfilled by our lives as single, 30-something career women with cats, have decided to adopt.
Specifically, these two.
Because they’re funny and adorable and have geek skillz and creative skillz and enjoy chocolate and like animals and are lusty and just generally seem like fine additions to one’s family.
We haven’t told them yet, since we’re not entirely sure of the details and administrivia. (Sherry tries to proclaim that she’s adopted from time to time, but her every physical characteristic, attribute, and batshit crazy inclination is mappable, and I can prove it. And as for me, I’ve only ever been on the other end of the adoption thang, and they totally let you off the hook with the paperwork when you can’t yet hold a pen.)
We do, however, plan to wait til after the wedding so, as parental types, we don’t have to pony up for dowries or anything. Cuz we’re cunning that way…
We’ll let you know once we have registries set up. 🙂
Is it not the best relief ever when you confirm something you’d initially thought, and were sure of, because you’d seen it with your own eyes, and mentioned publicly, and then either other people didn’t believe you, or you started to doubt yourself because you couldn’t find confirmation to back yourself up, or you questioned your own memory or whatever, but then finally you stumbled upon the confirmation that, yes, you were right, and totally not smoking crack, and you are not a pants-on-fire liar or senile (just yet).
Did you know that I was knocked up? My Mom told me this afternoon. Wonder how far along I am? It’s been a great pregnancy so far… 🙂
From what I gather, that little nugget of not-quite-truth came about like this:
- At my aunt B’s birthday party on Saturday, Mom told most of the aunts and uncles (her siblings), about Chad and Patience being pregnant. (I say most because she’d talked to Aunts E and M already.)
- My Uncle E misheard Mom, and thought that I was pregnant. (Can’t blame him, my hips are far more child-bearing-y than my brother’s…)
- Uncle E then told his wife, Aunt H, about me being pregnant. (She’s in the hospital recovering from surgery, so wasn’t at the birthday party.)
- Aunt V then called Aunt H the next day, and mentioned my brother and Patience being pregnant, which confused Aunt H, who said that no, Uncle E had told her it was Melanie who was pregnant. Aunt V, who heard from Mom same as my uncle did, then set Aunt H straight. And really, while Mennonite men are just as gossipy as the women, the straight goods are gonna come from the chicks…
- Aunt H then set Uncle E straight about whose oven the bun was really in. So now, as far as I know, everyone’s clear on who’s knocked up.
I’m only sorry the rumour didn’t get further. Nothing more fun than messing with your relatives’ minds. At the very least, I’ll let my brother know; he’ll be amused.
I get to have a bit more fun with it, though. Uncle E is my accountant, so needless to say when I go in to get my taxes done, I will try and keep a straight face when I ask about dependents’ deductions and applying for child tax credits. 🙂
Have you ever had a conversation with someone, just normal, every day chitchat, but at the same time it felt like there was this whole other conversation you weren’t having? Like… your invisible doppelgangers were in the room with you, just sort of staring at you and each other and… waiting?
It’s really strange. And awkward.
The other day I was slogging through our employee handbook looking for something (it’s all on one, long, unsearchable intranet page, yo), and something occurred to me as I cruised past the “Leave” section, specifically bereavement leave. HR policies are like insurance policies. (Where the former = “guidelines for employee conduct” and the latter = “paper proof of financial protection of life or property”.)
Hot DAMN, woman!
(She’s older than my Mom. Not fair…)
No. Just… no.
Plus, seriously? If your dog does not possess whichever of those traits you consider desirable, do you honestly think a dog treat (typically made with lips and assholes if you’re lucky) is gonna magically do the trick?