While I’m Here

I might as well put up a post. This is going to be totally random crappe.

  • I slept in this morning. It was lo-o-o-o-o-ovely.
  • But upon firing up the laptop, I found I’d been spammed on a bunch of old blog posts. I’m thinking of disabling anonymous comments again. I don’t get all that much traffic to this site anymore so I doubt it will keep anyone from leaving a comment.
  • I’m wondering if I should bother keeping this up. I don’t seem to have much to say any more, unless I’m whinging about something and that gets old. I need to find something to blog about. I wonder if there are blog prompts the way there are writing prompts.
  • I have an interview at Whole Paycheck on Wednesday. I don’t know which job would be more dangerous for me; that place or a book shop. Of course, if I got the job, I could maybe afford to shop there more frequently. I do love it so. Wanky cheese. Wanky chocolate. And wine. What could be better?
  • Boo starts the medication part of the behavioural study she’s in on Friday. I’m of two minds about it, to be honest. Sometimes I think all she needs is a full time school program. Other times I think she needs an exorcism. Oy.
  • Did I mention I got an iTouch for Christmas? Did I mention that I lo-o-o-o-o-ove it? And that I’m totally addicted to Words With Friends? If you are too, feel free to start a game with me. I think I have about 10 going right now. Hi, my name is Major Bedhead and I’m’ a Words With Friends addict. Also? A nerd.

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Why You Shouldn’t Clean While Naked

Last night I decided I’d had enough and went upstairs to take a shower.

I’d started to get undressed while waiting for the water to heat up but it was taking forever. As I stood there in my holey t-shirt, I realized that the banister in the hall was absolutely filthy, so I rummaged around under my sink looking for some sort of cleaning implement. I found a baggie with a few ancient baby wipes in them. Perfect. No mess, and baby wipes work great on those grubby little finger prints that my children delight in leaving all. over. the. house.

I was scrubbing away, taking great satisfaction in seeing the white paint again, smirking in an “I’ll show you, dirt” kind of way when I stood up.

That’s when I realized my naked, white ass had been level with the landing window.

The curtainless landing window.

The curtainless landing window that is about 6 feet away from our neighbor’s bathroom window.

I’m never leaving my house again.

Hanging On By A Thread


She doesn’t listen.

If I tell her not to do something, she does it as soon as the words leave my mouth.

She touches things she’s not supposed to touch, like the computer and the camera and the knives.

She poops in her closet.

She wets her bed every night.

She’s defiant. She glares and stomps her feet and screams and shrieks at me.

She’s destructive. She rips up books and papers and colors on the walls and herself and her sister. She’s cut her sister’s hair so many times that The Bug has a pixie cut now. She breaks her toys and her crayons and anything she can get her hands on. I can’t leave her alone in a room for 30 seconds or she will destroy things.

I cannot handle her at all.

I’m working with a doctor about this and have enrolled her in a study but oh my holy hell, I am losing my mind with this child. She needs full time school or full time day care or something. Something more than I can give her. It depresses the hell out of me that I can’t seem to figure this child out.

Oscar

I got Oscar in early January of 2004. He was adopted from The Baypath Humane Society

I couldn’t believe that someone had turned him in. He was a Persian and gorgeous. Being a Persian, he had that smooshed up face, which made him look extremely crabby all the time. He had been named Licken but I christened him Oscar.

Boo loved him.


He didn’t feel the same about her, but he was patient and rarely swatted at her, even lately, when she would cart him around, front legs flapping around. He’d just look at me with this resigned expression on his face and meow pathetically.


He liked sleeping in gift bags and paper bags and cardboard boxes.


He was absolutely furious with me when I had to have him shaved due to severe matting. He stalked around the house, glaring at me and shivering as he followed the patches of sun from one spot to another. I laughed at him because, hey, he was funny.


A few weeks after we brought him home, I miscarried. I laid on the floor in my living room, not knowing that I was miscarrying, just knowing that my back was killing me and I couldn’t move. He’d curl up next to my head, purring and licking my hand. Two days later, when the OB said there was no heartbeat there, I came home and crawled into bed. Oscar jumped up after me and stayed with me while I cried.

Even though he was a pain in the ass and would pee on the floor rather than the litter box sometimes, I loved that cat. I put him outside on Wednesday night, so he’d pee outside. Normally, he’d go outside for half an hour, tops, but Wednesday, he didn’t come back. I called and called. I went outside to see if I could see him somewhere. Finally, around midnight, I put his cat bed on the back porch and left the door ajar for him. I did the same with the front porch door. Thursday morning, no cat. And today, still no cat. I don’t think he’s coming back. He’s at least ten years old and he’s skinny under all that hair.

I’m going to miss him. A lot.

Say Hello, Dammit


I’ve no idea who started this, but I’ve seen it all over teh internets today, so I’m jumping on the bandwagon. Sometimes, yes, I am a lemming.

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The Bourdain Thing

Saturday night, my friend TT and I traveled to Lowell to hear Anthony Bourdain speak. I shall pause while you all drool and swoon and squee. All set? OK.

Some of his speech I’d heard before, when he spoke at the Commonwealth Club (they have a pretty cool podcast) but much of it was new. He refrained from dissing Rachel Ray because they have a bit of a truce going now. Honestly, Rachel Ray annoys me a bit, but she seems like a good sport about all the flak she’s taken over the years from Bourdain, so kudos to her for not getting into a knot over it.

He spoke about Sandra Lee *shudder* who creeps me right the fuck out – the story was very funny and very self-deprecating. He thinks Guy Fieri is a douche (true) and Adam Richman, of Man vs. Food, isn’t getting paid enough for what he has to eat (also true).

What stuck with me the most was what he had to say about being a traveler and how awful most Americans are at it. I agreed with all of it – that you should avoid the restaurants where the tourists are, that you should try the local food; when in Jakarta, don’t order gumbo. Eat what the locals are eating. Eat the street food. Try things you haven’t tried before, go places that are off the beaten path and really experience the place. Stay away from tour groups.

He took a ton of questions from the audience. Most were predictable – what would your final meal be? (Bone marrow on toast.) What’s the best restaurant to go to in city X, Y or Z? (Local places and street food.) But the audience was weird. People were yelling things out, random words and hollers came from every side of the auditorium throughout his speech. And several people tried to shill products to him, including, god help us all, a dessert hummus. (His answer? “Do I look like the kind of guy who eats hummus?”) It was really odd.

Overall it was a good talk. Not mind-blowing or anything, but funny and entertaining and a nice way to spend a Saturday night, even if it was in Lowell.

And sadly, aside from a few people who rushed the stage, he didn’t do autographs. My boobs, uh, I mean books, are Bourdain-signature-free.

Squeeeeee!!!


Thanks to the lovely Velma over at A Smeddling Kiss, I’m going to see Anthony Bourdain tonight at the Lowell Auditorium.

Now, which book should I have him autograph?

An Update

I got another email. I think I may have overreacted just a bit. Just a teensy, weensy bit. One of these days I’ll learn.

The email:

Yikes.. That did not go the way I intended.

Sometimes I have a hard time getting across what I want to say. Between my dyslexia and being very sick since November my writing has become garbage. But I’ve been sick my whole life so I try to just get on with it.
Sorry my first email came across all wrong. I still think your awesome, and love reading your blog, when it’s not about me. And even if some of us find your Twitter style overwhelming many others hang on every word. I was excited to meet you last summer at the BYOR, and hope you find the time to do more around town. The city desperately needs more good people taking an active role. All the Holyokers I know would love to get to know you in person.

P

So yeah.

This would be me right about now:

Sticks And Stones

I got this email late last night:

Hey Major BedHead,

While sitting at (local Irish bar) last night I brought up the random subject of whether I should stop following “Major Bedhead” on twitter. To which everyone immediately said YES! It was funny because your so well known for being a super tweeter – to the point of annoyance. So I decided I will stop following you. Even though I hate un-friending anyone.

Just thought you should know why I stopped following, and how famous you are around town.

btw, Congrats on becoming a Grandma

P

My initial reaction was to fire off an email saying “Well that’s a slap in the face, but whatever floats your boat,” so that’s what I did. But then I went to bed and started thinking about it.

People in town find me annoying. People who only know me via Twitter. People who I’m not even sure are following me. Nonetheless, they find me annoying.

This, of course, has fueled my paranoia that everyone I know must find me annoying. It makes me want to stay in my house and never talk to anyone again. It’s going to make me second guess everything that comes out of my mouth for a while, that’s for sure.

I cried about this for a while, which is pathetic. But it stung. Really stung.

This morning I woke up thinking about it. Maybe I do post too often on Twitter. I’m home with two toddlers and a 15 year old all day. For most of the time, the only adult interaction I have is with people on Twitter, so I am guilty of posting on there quite frequently during the day. I can leave the window open and pop on and off while I’m doing things around the house and make a comment or two. Sometimes people respond, sometimes they don’t. I like it.

I still think the email was a shitty thing to send. Unfollow me if you want, but to tell me that you’re doing it because your friends told you to and that you all find me annoying smacks of junior high school cliquishness. The person who sent the email is really involved in town improvement issues, which was something I was hoping to be able to get into, too, but if this is the way they are, I don’t want to now. I tried to play that joining-in game in high school and college and failed at it because I wasn’t cool enough or something. I’m too old to do that again. My self-esteem doesn’t need the bruising either.

I hate this shit. I hate that my ego is so fragile that something like this sends me into a tailspin. I hate knowing that people find me annoying because that’s not my intention at all. Mostly I hate that this has changed my mind about getting involved in town stuff. I was really looking forward to that. I love where I live and I was hoping to help out in some small way with the improvement efforts that are going on.

And whoever wrote that little sticks and stones ditty was full of shit. Words do hurt. A lot.