Aside from the fact that I hide from people, what IS IT that drives the friendlys away?  Is it the size of my feet?

The other day I decided to keep a close eye on myself to see what it is that I do that’s…. wrong.

I couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

I’ve seen some ordinary people do some freak-show things in their daily lives but I’m just not like that.

My husband is DEFINITELY weirder than I am…

So i can’t measure my actions against his.

I saw a group of church ladies at the zoo the other day.  They all had kids with them.  I knew them.  Sort of.

I wondered if I could ever squeeze into a group like that.  How do I know?  Its not like I can ask my family.

Although I’m sure they’d be glad to make me a list….

But they seem to have accepted me as one of their own…

I fit in pretty well.

I don’t know.  Maybe I have different values.  I have certain things I like to do with my time.

My time is absolutely precious to me.

I don’t want to waste it shopping.  Or whatever.

Gene, if you’re reading this, AVERT YOUR EYES while I give the entire world (70 people) a sneak peak of your birthday present!

It will be so fabulous I can’t even stand it.

In other news, I found these awesome glasses at work that have a little mustache hanging from them by cute little chains!

I bought them to wear to church!

And I had to drag my sweet little Boy to the doc today because apparently he’s allergic to the entire universe.  :(

One of us is exhausted.

Sometimes The Dark Knight is all…

And I’m like…

How do you REMEMBER that far back??

I partially blame my lack of childhood memories on the homeschool.  I have no idea how old I was in 4th grade.  I don’t remember turning 8. Nothing ever changed.  No new teacher. No new friends.  Nada.  There were no major landmarks in there (which can be a good thing sometimes…).

I do have a few stand-out memories.  Like the first time I saw boobs on TV.

We were only allowed to watch one show:

Sesame Street.

Occasionally Mr. Rogers or Reading Rainbow.  But  ”adult”  TV started right after Reading Rainbow, and as soon as my mom heard the I Dream of Jeannie intro music, there she was, hitting the off-switch.  I still haven’t seen an episode of I Dream of Jeannie, but I can only assume its filled with fornication and genocide.

One evening, my father rented a movie.  Because it had boobs in it, I even remember the name: They Call Me Bruce (as in Bruce Lee).

So there we were, watching a Kung Fu comedy.  Me, my brother, and my dad.  Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, two things happened at once.

1- Boobs appeared on the screen

2- My mom walked around the corner.

I remember the movie.

I remember the boobs.

I remember the looks on everyones faces.

But I remember very little else .

And even though there are more memories from my teenage years, some really crucial information is missing.  Big, memorable events have been wiped from my brain.

My sister experiences this phenomenon every time I see her.

But that issue is at least 75% environmental.

Its because of The Pot Years.

Most people have a couple of wild years in there.  I wasn’t a “partier”.  Never drank.  I just smoked the pot.  Which obliterated my remaining ability to retain memories.  And wasted my time.  I spent the better part of five years digging through my purse…. I think…..

If you’ve ever searched for anything while high, you know.

I would plunge my arm into the depths of my purse…..

….and I would dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig….

…and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig…

…and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig…. and then realize I not only had NO IDEA what I was digging for or how long I’d been digging.  Had it been more than 20 minutes?

I’d stare hard into my bag, trying to figure out what it was I was looking for.

What did I want?

Why was I here?

How long had I been staring into my purse?

All I was doing was groping various objects in my bag with no plan or purpose.

And, well, that was just fine.

But soon enough I realized that I was losing my mind, literally, and so I grew up.  You know, pretty much…..

Now, 17 years later, my only brain-eaters are my children.

And my mind is in worse shape than it ever was before.

Lord help me.

PS- still no working spellcheck.

Why?

Why?

Why?

I have two blog posts in the works.  One is a collaboration with my blogfriend Vesta Vayne over at The Cowardly Feminist.  The other is just… one of my usual.

But man, every single thing on this planet is distracting me.  Right now I’m sitting on the toilet (not using it, only sitting on it) while my kids throw gallons of water at each other and scream in the bathtub.  My feet are soaked.  But while I’m here I’ll give you a few snapshots of all my blogging obstaclkes…. see, now why didn’t my spellcheck punch me in the face for that one?  I’m going to leave that typo dangling in the universe for all to see.  Take THAT, spellcheck.

So basically it goes like this….Oh, I think I’ll sketch out a little….

Ah, some free time!  Maybe I’ll work on my blog…..

*ALL UPHOLSTERED THINGS

Finally! 8 o’clock! Time to….

Alone at last with my iPad! I shall now….

I really should finish this last post.  But first!

Now please blog yes?

And that about sums up my entire life.

So instead of a real post, here are a few  random shots I found in my Africa folder of me kissing various creatures.  And other things.  Just in case you are bored and literally have nothing better to look at.

I’m sorry.

Ok here…

Kissing The Wump

Pregnant and too fat to sit upright in the stifling Africa heat.

Pregnant and hanging laundry on the porch with The Doon.

Christmas Morning

Chilling out with my first baby ever

Siggy and The Doon

All my belongings

Loving on The Wump

Poor Dumb Wumpus and The Doon in his sweater

I Flew back from Africa, Dressed up as a waitress and surprised Cathy for her B-day. One of my favorite pictures ever.

Wumpus had to stay home….

aaaaannnd….me with knots in my hair…..

Once again, I apologize.  See you again SOON!

I can’t imagine having the ability/compulsion to talk NON-STOP.

For some people, words just dribble out of their mouths like….. dribbly stuff.

I spoke to a girl today who had that ability/inability-to-cork-it.  She was telling me about a fabulous restaurant and it became clear that she wasn’t sure of the exact name of the place.

Did that slow her down?

No. It did not.

In fact, various names came spilling out of her pie-hole one after the other.  Each with a tone of total certainty and conviction.

I mean, how do you think that fast, let alone SPEAK THE WORDS .

People like her commonly share other qualities.  Sometimes they’ll ask a question, but while you are answering, their face is still making noises.

And they are often unfazed by any form of disagreement.

There must be something scientific behind this.  You talkers have a brain that follows your mouth.  Or maybe it pushes the words out as its forming them.

My brain is such a jerk when it comes to sharing.

Today Siggy came out into the living room having dressed himself.  I happened to have the camera open on my phone and I got it on video.

He was wearing his shirt as shorts and his underwear were on his head.

I watched the video a little while later (after I’d sent it out to the whole fam), and I was appalled by my inability to narrate.

I was also looking through my pictures and realized that most of my photos are of me by myself.

And most of them I took myself for the days when I blogged my daily life.

And half the time I’m doing something….weird.

There are no pictures of me in a bar with all my girlfriends….

I am such a loner.

I blame it on my words.

Meep

Let me introduce you to my little friends.

You have not slept in luxury until you’ve slept in these pants.

Nor have you painted in luxury.

Nor have you eaten cheese at midnight.

In luxury.

(unless you’ve eaten cheese at midnight in these pants…..)

They are so so so comfy.

When we were in Africa, and I “fell pregnant”, Cathy sent me these maternity jammy pants.  And apparently, once a woman conceives, she also grows approximately 2 feet.

These things were huge, even for me and my sasquatchdom!

In fact, an ACTUAL SASQUATCH could wear these comfortably and without busting seams.

And so, 4-and-a-half years later, I’m still wearing them.

Only now their not so sparkly.  Even though I have to roll up the waist-band 4 times,  I’ve still done some painting in them.

Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony side-by-side on my worn-out kneecaps oh Lord, why can we?

And then a couple of months ago I was rooting them off the floor late at night before bed and I found this.

Gum!!!

IN MY PANTS!!!

I guess I could have looked up how to get it out, but man I was tired and I wanted my jammy pants.  So I got some scissors and cut all the gum out and went to bed.

Sexy, no?

So I just now walked into the living room and asked The Dark Knight to take a picture of me and he said “In your frumperalls?”  and we both laughed hard.  Or maybe it was just me….

Thats me.  Standing on the coffee table.  And OH YIKES!  As I’m posting this picture I’m seeing something scary!

Ooo! This will be a fun game.  I’m not even going back into the living room to see what that is until after I post this.

It could be a sock.

I could be a bag.

It could be an enormous pile of poop.

….we shall see…….

Fun for me!