Long Day's Journey

This weekend required a long road trip. Long because we had to drive nearly five hours for lunch. Long because it was too long to go there and back in one day. Long because we had to stay at a hotel so we could turn around and drive home again in the morning. Long because the 10 hours on the road and the five hours spent with the in-laws did not feel like a productive way to spend the weekend.

Long because the weather sucked.

Long.

Long because when I got out of the car for a break, I could barely unbend my crippled body. (Thank you middle-age. And stress. And being out of shape. And... Oh, shut up!)

Thankfully there were several rest stops with a Starbucks on the premises. And thankfully, our local library maintains a great selection of books on tape that are age appropriate to a nearly-nine year old.

We've been listening to many books on tape in the past few months. It started with an attempt to get my non-reader interested in the stories, and then the books, by default. And it started with a road trip about five months ago. Since there, whenever there is the possibility of an hour's drive in any direction, I try to have a book on tape at the ready. It's been especially great because the fruit of my loins is so into them now, he does not request the DVD player in the car. And, it's nice for us adults in the front, not having to listen to some movie we can't see, or to some short movie multiple times in one trip.

It does help pass the time on the drive. Way better than listening to the same four songs on one CD over and over and over and over... yes, I do know all the words, dammit.

But this trip this weekend, was long by any standards. And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, unnecessary.

Why do families do this to each other? Plan something, without consulting others, and then get all bent out of shape if you can't fit it into your life regardless of the cost, inconvenience, and risk associated with driving in snow, sleet, and rain on icy roads.

Why?

I'm just so over it.

I'm still waiting for them to get into their damn cars and come visit us.

I think Hell may freeze over first.

What My Handwriting Says About Me

It says I am not crazy. Not even a little nuts. Which means I can't play the crazy card anymore. I thought there would be some validation for peculiar behaviour, but no. Instead, I'm "law-abiding," "organized," "well-grounded" and "well-rounded."

WTF?

I guess I'll have to work the "eccentric" angle now.

Oh, and apparently, I have a sense of humor.

BAH!

Anyone who knows me knows that I haven't the slightest shred of humor or sense. My television program of choice is the Weather Channel.

Seriously.

It's absolute rubbish; total drivel. I have absolutely no sense of humor at all and I resent being compared to anyone who does. People always think natural blondes, such as myself, have a sense of humor and high intellectual capacity. They are clearly inebriated, drug-addicted dickwads who have nothing better to do than pass judgement on a person by her hair color.

See? No laughing at self here.

Oh, and I'm "tactful, consistent and very steady." Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Excuse me while I change my underwear.

I suppose, if it my handwriting could see me, it would tell me I'm not blonde either.

Well... I'm not.

Brat

I don't want to act my age. I will behave like an eight year old not getting his/her way. Dammit. I'm right, you're wrong and why are you arguing with me?


I want to act like a child, but I still want my coffee. Hot with cream and don't you dare put any sugar in it.

Now I will walk away from you, not kiss or hug you goodbye, and give you the cold shoulder until I forget about it and realize you might be right.

But you aren't right because I am.

I'm not going to wash the fucking dishes.

I stomp my feet at you.

NYC

Took the long train ride into the big city. That is not a euphemistic way of saying I died.  Although I am still recovering.
It's winter break in the public schools this week. The boy wanted to see his Dad's office. Yes, in spite of the painfully long commute, people do live here and work in the city. That's a five to six hour round trip daily. People are nuts. The husband usually works at home, but has a cubicle in his company's office. In midtown Manhattan. So at least it's an easy walk from Grand Central.

The last time we ventured into the city with the boy, it was Christmas break. The masses were out and I had no desire to meet up with them again, so I made a plan.

Chinatown.

Specifically Pearl Paint which is on Canal Street. Out here in the boonies, art supplies are limited to what you can find at Wal-Mart, and if you're like me, you avoid Wal-Mart at all costs. Pearl Paint is an art supply haven and I thought the boy might enjoy it. Especially since he's in the midst of his masterpiece.

After Pearl Paint, many stairs and overheating, we explored Chinatown. Chinatown has turned into a tourist trap and I was disappointed.  So we headed up to Times Square, and my favorite eating establishment, The Cafe Edison, which serves the best matzo ball soup anywhere. Back in my acting days, The Edison kept me and many friends fed well for not a lot of money.

I also promised the boy that I'd take him to a cake decorating supply place. He has some ideas for the baking business he's going to start. In between all of the other things he has planned, like the aquarium he's going to build in our "garage" and sell tickets for admission. It's going to be great. There will be lobsters in huge tanks.

He has a lot of ideas. I expect him to make his first million by the time he's 12.

So where was I? Oh, baking. Yes, the baking supply. Fun, fun, fun. We bought a bunch of stuff, headed back to the office and spent the rest of the afternoon watching tv/reading.

I think his favorite parts were riding the subway and chasing pigeons in Times Square.

This was two days ago and my feet still hurt. I guess what that means is, gone are the days when I walked all over NYC, had shoes that didn't hurt and was young and relatively in shape. I still wrote in run-on sentences but it wasn't as much fun then as it is now.

I guess there are benefits to growing older.

Like another cuppa coffee. And a true appreciation of matzo ball soup. YUM

Painting

I have a bathroom that's keeping me up at night because it's still waiting to be painted. Since we moved in waiting to be painted. Since we moved in three plus years ago waiting to be painted.

You catch my drift?

It had this hideous vinyl wallpaper that I scraped off nearly four years ago. Underneath was/is a dark lavender splotched up with plaster where bits of the wall came away with the wallpaper. It's lovely if you like that kind of deconstructionist abstract vibe.

I don't.

And I'm tired of being embarrased by it. And kept awake by it. And losing sleep because of it.

The things that we give power to in our lives, eh?

So last night, while laying there, with my eyes closed, listening to the fabric of time and space being opened and closed, I decided to get the job done. I also figured that if I made the decision, I'd finally fall asleep.

Eventually, I did.

And waking up this morning was painful.

However, I went to the paint store, picked out some (more) color chips, and walked away with a gallon of primer. I (wisely, according to me) decided to not commit to a color until the room is primed and therefore a blank canvas for the plethora of blue paint chips.

Perhaps tomorrow I will start with the priming. I have all of the brushes and rollers and stuff. With my Mom's help I painted nearly the entire house before we moved in. That includes a coat of primer and two coats of paint on every ceiling surface in the house. Except, of course, the upstairs hallway. The part over the stairs. The steep, steep stairs.

We'll see if I get started tomorrow. Or if the can-o-primer spends the next three months on the floor in the kitchen.
I'll keep you posted.

The Snowman Cometh

Yeah. We're still waiting. Been snowing for hours and the grass isn't even covered. Back in the dark ages of my youth, I'd be sitting in school right now wondering if there would be an early dismissal. But I would be in school.

We got the call last night that there would be no school today. Due to the Mega-Storm heading our way.

There's not even enough snow to build the snowman's head, let alone the rest of him.

It's just as well. I have no carrots for noses and what for eyes? Cucumber slices maybe? We could offer the finest in snowman spa amenities. It would be great until the birds found them and pecked their eyes out.

Sounds like a Hitchcock movie. I wonder if Alfred Hitchcock was really a snowman in disguise getting even with humans for years of snowman abuses. Or should I say snowpeople? Is it necessary to be politically correct when it comes to snow personages? This is, understandably, gray area.

Back to the snow. Once again, the weather service has created panic and closures due to a forecast they can't really guarantee. Maybe later I'll feel more kindly to them. If they deliver on the snow.

There has to be enough to have a decent snow ball fight with my kid.

And maybe make a snowman. Snowwoman. Snowperson. Snow turd. That's about my speed.

I don't have any pictures of Snowbeings, so I'll leave you with this:

Mish Mash, Alarm Clocks, and the Integrity of the Universe

I'm sitting here at my computer, in my small coastal New England town, wondering when the snow will arrive and how soon they'll decided to close school.

I stocked up. I have plenty of cream for my coffee and ice cream for my sweet tooth. We don't need dinner, right?

I don't have any tequila, though. I suppose there is time to go out and get some, but I really don't anticipate a need. I know, pathetic, right?

I've asked you twice now, am I right? Ooops, that makes three times.

I have a lot on my mind today, but can't seem to articulate any of it. That would be due to lack of sleep. Over the weekend I battled, and nearly defeated, a nasty head cold. Maybe defeat is the wrong choice of descriptor. It has sort of left and mostly taken up residece in my husband's head. My husband's snoring head. Big congested snoring head.

Paints a pretty picture, doesn't it?

That noise you heard in the middle of the night last night? That was him. Snoring. Ripping right through the fabric of the universe. And the delicate tissue of my ear drum.

After considering various methods of quieting him, I decided jail was not a good choice for me and  moved down a flight to the comfort of the couch. I think I managed about three solid hours before he woke me up and sent me off to bed since he was off to the shower and a very early train into his metropolis of choice. As I just barely drifted off into the bliss of sleep, in the comfort of cool sheets, his alarm went off. Blaringly loud with an undercurrent of radio chatter. After attempting to beat the crap out of it, the damn thing stopped and I drifted off again.

Unfortunately for me, I had hit the snooze. Yep, barely asleep when, alas, more blaring and radio chatter white noise. It was deafening and I couldn't understand why it didn't wake the entire neighborhood. At this point it was about 4:30am, I had about three hours of rest with a few odd minutes thrown in for good measure. I was exhausted and fantasizing about the amount of damage I could do to a clock radio. Would throwing it across the room cause damage to the wall? I'll never know for, as I lay there in fear of falling asleep lest I be so awakened again, the man himself appeared and I mumbled something about the "fucking alarm". I heard him say "I'm very sorry" and I drifted off into a haze of congested sleep.

Until about an hour and a half later when my alarm announced that it was time to rise and wake the boy.

I rose. Went into his room. Lay down on his bed, put the comforter over me, and dozed off. He didn't seem to mind as he was in no hurry to get up.

I got through the morning pretty well. The hot shower helped. It's all starting to catch up with me now and I'm hurting.

I'll just have to make sure I go to bed first. That way when my husband goes back to tearing holes in the universe, I'll be able to sleep through it. And rest well in the knowledge that the powers-that-be will cancel school by 6:00am and I can sleep in.