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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04


2005-05-04 ... 11:43 a.m.

Thanks Nora, for the virus. And please thank all those other little disease-ridden rugrats at your preschool. I have the creeping crud---sore throat and underwater ears and probably a bit of a fever, as my head feels very far away from my feet and last night I dreamed about technicolor maki rolls. Fabulous neon seaweed and fish roe in colors not found in nature.

Famous feet. The first set of Nick Cave boots are killing me. (In a "softly, with his song," sort of way.) Only he could get away with those.

Today is Saint Florian's day. Check out how he was killed! All right, already!

NPR told me that today is also the birthday of Hosni Mubarak, president of Egypt. When LT and I were in Egypt, Mubarak was constantly on the television doing really mundane things like attending ribbon-cutting ceremonies for new shopping malls. He's really more like the mayor of Egypt.

Oh! Penguin security check!

My weekend was all busy and social, and what initially sounded like a lovely schedule of engagements felt like a slog through the jungles of some foreign conflict by Sunday evening. Each of the engagements really was lovely in its own right, but between the onset of my mystery illness and my general hermit tendencies I now want a few days off to recover. And not speak to anyone. Which will not happen for years, in all likelihood, until Nora gets old enough to go to sleepaway camp or something, because if there is one thing that girl requires it is lots and lots of communication. Besides the constant asking of "what IS that?" and other chatter, Nora has lately taken to testing my memory. She will tell long stories about particular Sesame Street sketches, the fact that we saw a white dinosaur in a tree outside our house (according to her, anyway---Nora, can you pass the bag of shrooms over this way when you get a chance?), or the cookies we baked a few days ago. Then she will get right up in my face and ask, "Remember that, Mommy? Remember that?" Yes. Yes I do. Maybe she's looking for signs of senility, and plans to sign me up for a "pre-need" spot in the retirement home just in case.

Although, as someone pointed out, asking me if I remember things that we both experienced is interesting in a toddler-brain-development sense---Nora is starting to understand that my perception of reality and hers may not be the same. Oh, Nora. This realization of yours is a huge leap into life, and while it is a necessary step if you are not going to, you know, grow up psychotic, it does make for a lot of sadness and misunderstanding and confusion down the road. Get ready.

JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE UNRESOLVED FREUDIAN TOILET-TRAINING ISSUES DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO CRITICIZE MY HOME DÉCOR

Where do people find time to do things to their homes? I can barely manage a daily dig-out from under the newspapers and magazines and Legos and sippy cups, and then I read about people doing massive remodels and updates and decorating and I'm all like: wow. I guess it helps if your husband is a contractor.

That said, I am feeling very proud of the Smartypants family, since we recently painted our main bathroom, replaced fixtures, got a new shower curtain and towels, and so forth. LT did most of the work, but Nora helped by staying asleep for the hard parts. And I helped by picking the color. Did you hear me? I picked the color! With a minimum of angst, and I truly suck at all things visual! The bathroom is now painted "Earth Tone," which can be found on this page (scroll down), although it looks quite a bit darker and less terracotta-esque on my monitor than it does in my bathroom. Where it is lovely. Trust me.

The other day I bragged about the painting success to someone. Let's call her Amy because that is not even remotely her name, and because it reminds me a bit of the word "anal." As in Freud's "anal stage."

Amy: What color?
Me: "Earth Tone." It's kind of terracotta brown, maybe a little reddish. It looks really good.
Amy: I thought you were never supposed to use brown in a bathroom. Because of poop.

Do you remember the Spongebob episode where his new boatmobile was stolen, and Spongebob was wrestling with the masked thief as they sped down the underwater highway, and then he ripped the mask off and saw that it was his teacher, Mrs. Puff? And then the animators cut directly to a shot of a flabbergasted Spongebob standing in front of a rotating spiral, like a swirling vortex of confusion, making that bpbpbpbpbpbpb sound with his finger and upper lip? That's what happened in my brain when Amy bust out with her "Don't Think About Poop" home decorating rule. WHO WOULD SAY SUCH A THING?

So now, although I still like the color, I am annoyed. It is a complex annoyance, involving: (a) the fact that Amy even put the poop-color idea in my head; (b) that every time I go in the bathroom I have to reassure myself that "Earth Tone" is nothing whatsoever like poop, unless maybe one was experiencing some severe gastrointestinal issues; (c) GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU AMY, I HAVE TO RETHINK OUR WHOLE RELATIONSHIP NOW THAT YOU'VE REVEALED YOURSELF TO BE SO TOTALLY WEIRD; (d) extraneous thoughts like "Gee, would it really be SO HORRIBLE to think about poop in the bathroom? Assuming, in fact, that the color brown automatically makes people think about poop, which IT DOESN'T?"

My only consolation for this life-ruining comment was that I could post my reaction to it, in all its inanity, on the Internet. And hence ruin your life as well. Share and enjoy!

---mimi smartypants is not feeling well.

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