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Later, on the moonlit veranda

Today was Memorial Day, which – shamefully – has never meant much more to me than grills and days off of work and school. Perhaps a flaw in my raising.

But nevertheless, grilling was had.

Early in the day, we all went out to my parents’ house, where my oldest children preened and vied for attention. It’s their way. I don’t even fight it anymore.

(However, in this same vein, Max gave Ava a makeover this weekend. Makeup, hair, nails. Is this something I should address? Ignore? Should I buy him some antiques?)

Later on, Max and Ava went home to hang out with Dan and we the Steens followed up a Bye Bye, Birdie rehearsal with some nutrients and liquids at our friends’ the Fraxedons.

In other words, David and Tonya decided we deserved their company for some holiday fun times with charcoal and meat.

Now, I just have to say – Tonya is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and I always feel special when I get to hang out at her house. It always feels like a magazine. Like, cloth napkins and pretty chairs and made beds, and also farts don’t stink and toilets are clean. Even her dirt is endearing.

It was lots of fun. Lucy was doted upon, I got to drink a margarita, and Josh got to cook. Pretty much everything we all like best.

Writing prompt #324

Make a list of: 7 Signs It`s Time to Take a Bath

1. You can smell yourself and think it’s someone else.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been standing in a crowd or, well, sitting by myself, and I’ve thought to myself, “Damn, someone is ripe….” and then, well, I’ve realized it was me. Perhaps that tells you more than I would like for you to know about my hygiene, but I live in Mississippi, people. It’s 98 degrees with 117% humidity in the refrigerator. Things get funky.

2. Flies follow you.

Chances are, if you have a swarm of pestilence and Pharaoh has already let your people go, they’re chasing your cloud of fumes. Blame it on an overripe banana if you want.

3. You watch the Peanuts holiday special and Pigpen makes you self conscious.

Can someone please tell me why Pigpen never got taken away by DHS?
Or Dennis the Menace?
Or Tommy Pickles?

4. You can style your hair into a fauxhawk with no product.

We all have oil in our hair, but that’s just nasty.

5. You had sex since your last cleansing.

That should be self explanatory.

6. You wouldn’t want the lice lady to check your head for bugs.

This one time in sixth grade (maybe seventh), I hadn’t had time before school to take a shower. I sprayed a little extra Aqua Net in my hair to keep it from looking too oily, and I went on about my business. That was the day the school chose to have us all file into the nurse’s office to have a routine lice check. I suppose my hair looked pretty gross and the hairspray had made flakes, because I had to be rerouted twice to be rechecked before they finally determined that my hair was just dirty and not buggy. Of course by the time I got back to class (ten minutes after all my classmates), everyone had determined that I had bugs and all the seats around me were empty.

7. You give fewer hugs.

I’ve caught myself thinking, “Don’t breathe in please don’t breathe in,” at times. That just shouldn’t be so. We should all be able to freely hug and be hugged.

Now, go take a shower.

Wordless Sunday

20110529-114324.jpg

Better than second place in the spelling bee

20110528-104523.jpgGuys.
You like me!

Sorry today’s post is late and probably most of you won’t see it until tomorrow.

See, I have this routine where I write the next day0
Ol”
ooh.

O!Lp

Sorry, Lucy decided to type with her toes.

(see what I did there? Most people would have gone back and deleted the toe typing and continued on like nothing ever happened. Me? I leave it and then tell you about it because I’M JUST THAT REAL, YO.)

Anyway, my routine. I write the next day’s post the night before after I’ve gotten Lucy to sleep, and then I schedule it to autopost the next morning. That way I can sleep till noon and none of you are any the wiser.

Not really. Have I mentioned it’s summer now and I have three children?

Lucy, though, hasn’t wanted to cooperate with the routine lately and so Friday night I was exhausted and forgot to write today’s post.

Nay, I didn’t forget. I simply was too tired to do it. There.

Honesty.

I say all that to say, “Here, it’s Saturday’s post!”

And guess what. I’ve received accolades. Well, accolade.

My friend Genevieve has bestowed upon me an award.

I am thrilled.

So the terms of this award are that I tell you seven amazing things about me and then I award this award to 15 (fifteen!!) other bloggers. So it’s like virtual blog award relay, because I don’t get to keep the blog baton.

Or something.

So, seven amazing things:

1. I hate choosing music. Also I almost never know the title and artist of whatever music I’m listening to or song I currently like. I think that’s why I like soundtracks so much. The music gets chosen and chances are if I liked the movie I’ll like the soundtrack. Done.

2. I want to live in weird places. Josh gets annoyed because whenever we drive past abandoned warehouses or factories or the like, I always mention living there. Do you not think that would be awesome? Because I totally do.

3. I am developing various phobias as I age. Spiders, snakes. All that kind of etc.

4. I love pie.

5. I suck at typing.

6. I just made a list kind of like this the other day, so I’m quitting.

7. Plus this post is coming dangerously close to going the way of last night. So. Tired.

Now here’s the thing. I don’t know fifteen blogs and also I have good friends who blog and what if I forgot one?

So if you have a blog, please link it in the comments and then put this lovely photo on your own blog. Pass the baton, YO.

Gainfully or leechfully

I’ve been looking for a job.

I haven’t said that out loud in wow, a long time, but there it is.

I just really don’t think I have what it takes to be a stay at home mom, wife and whatever else. You guys already know I have a habit of staying in my pajamas all day, but lately I’m realizing that it’s been so long since I’ve actually put on makeup that maybe perhaps I might’ve forgotten how. Like Wednesday – I was going to the school to get the kids and hopefully catch Max’s awards ceremony (which I didn’t, because they started at 8:30 instead of 9:30 like I thought, which meant that instead of calm clapping and proudness I spent almost an hour walking muggy elementary school hallways that always seem sticky, trying to locate my children in end of school hoopla), and in getting out the neglected makeup bag I was totally intimidated. It was like being thirteen. If I’d had time to get into eyeliner and brow pencils and such I probably could have managed to leave the house looking hungover, bruised, and old instead of just tired.

There’s always next time.

So, job. I’ve been looking. I probably don’t have to elaborate for anyone out there with a pulse and a credit score, but just in case you’ve missed how things are…

Guys, it sucks trying find a job.

I mean seriously, even if I had degrees and a love of human fluids and my CDLs, I think I’d still be out of luck. I haven’t worked in over a year, and I haven’t worked locally in…almost two? Is that RIGHT? Ugh.

But y’all I am not even playing – I am a stellar employee. I really am. I even friend my bosses on Facebook. You would think that I’d have no problem finding some place to slip in and make my own – except how do you convey that? Without sounding like everyone else, I mean. Because of course everyone will say that to get a job. People will say anything to get a job.

WANTED: Nancy Drew expert who has never broken a bone, farts glitter and eats sunshine and ponies, for secretarial and surgical duties. Salary DOE.

I’M YOUR GIIIIIIRL!

Except of course it can’t be like that. There are all sorts of hoops to jump through and then what if the job ends up not even being worth paying someone six figures to manhandle my three kids (three kids, my sweet rubbery trouty mouth, three kids!)?

I mean really. I want to work. I enjoy working. I’m good at it and I can learn almost anything very quickly. But it’s like dating – how do they know I’m the one? Do I say, “Hey, if you want to know me, read my blog, I ramble and sometimes I’m foul and if you look at my Twitter feed on the side can you please ignore that one tweet about feeling bad about bleeding on my cute maxi pads?”

I’m thinking maybe no.

But you know what, this is me. It in no way means I’m unfit to work, and if it were going to offend a potential employer I probably wouldn’t really enjoy working with them anyway, so why not head it off at the pass?

I’m not an idiot. I know boundaries. I can veil things and situations that don’t want to be colorfully exploited via the Internet courtesy of yours truly.

It just seems like a lot to ask. And maybe it is.