As I am leaning on the whacked-out washing machine, doing everything in my power to keep it from jumping into the middle of the room (which is a lot, determined by the numbers displayed on my scale this morning), my mind plays a nice game of guess how the universe is against me at this very minute?
I cannot believe I have to lean on my washing machine just to get my throw rugs clean. Maybe things would have been earlier in the pioneer days when women would beat the crap out of their laundry over a galvanized wash tub? Maybe they needed less therapy than the homekeepers of today? Surely their energy bills were less than mine.
I am considering not turning over my calendar tomorrow morning. I am not ready for June. I am not ready for the umpteen million things scheduled for the next two weeks. There are not enough lattes and scones to help me make it through and I know that I just have to take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time - but that doesn't mean I have to like it!
Warmer weather brings out the need for a good razor, unless you go the waxing route which seems not only painful, but arduous and expensive for a suburban housewife (I am talking about the legs here people). This morning while attempting to remove the hair from my legs, I nearly amputated my third toe. I took off a huge portion of my OPI polish along with a fair amount of the actual toenail. All I could think about was the fact that some idiot put FOUR blades on my razor, thus increasing it's width and endangering my entire morning shower experience.
Although I was trying, really trying, to be more green when it came to my laundering practices - I am so damn happy that my bottle of Seventh Generation Lavender and Blue Eucalyptus laundry soap is all gone. That stuff, even though it's scent is spa-like and yummy, does not clean well. When I say that it does not clean well, I mean it really doesn't clean. I want my laundry to be not only clean, but smell like fresh laundry - not day-old socks, which is what each and every load I washed with that stuff smelled like. It's back to my trusty Tide, with a heavy heart because I really was trying to be earth-friendly and all.
We are using cloth napkins everyday though, so that totally makes up for it.
Oreo Cakesters? You suck. I cannot believe that last year my friend and I bought a box, thinking they would be so terrible that we wouldn't be tempted to eat them on our camping trip. That was the end of us. We didn't buy them again for fear that our lives would be forever dependent on that disgusting little treat that is all things Oreo, high fructose corn syrup and I am sure hydrogenated this and that. And now you come out with a Nilla wafer version. My hind end thanks you.
Oh, and Universe, when will they invent a medication to cure the unusual phenomenon that is called Manic Change Your Hair When You're PMS-ING? A few weeks ago my husband was standing over me at baseball, counting the gray hairs. The next day, on a school project supply shopping trip to Target, I bought a box of hair color, thinking I would cover up those grays. Nobody really noticed, but boy was my hair shiny and happy . . . for a day. Then, after consulting with my friend about my hairstyle and the fact that I'd finally grown out my bangs, she told me that I needed bangs.
What did I do?
Grabbed my scrapbooking scissors and walked in the bathroom to cut them.
Now I have bangs that I hate.
Speaking of scissors, this whole carving thing that my son has been doing with scissors is starting to get on my nerves. Yesterday there were 3 bars of soap in his bathroom that had fallen victim to the master carpenter. Today it was crayons. No, I do not want to see the boat that you made out of a grass green Crayola. Sorry. You're just as bad as your mother with the scissors.
On a positive note, there was this - Katie had her preschool concert this week and 2 boys were fighting over her affections. One of the boy's mothers told me, "She is too young to be tied down to 2 men." And I just smiled and thought about what I wouldn't give to be tied down to 2 men . . . preferably Vince Vaughn and Jack Johnson.