Yeah, yeah, you’ve been waiting forever for me to post, blah blah blah

You know, my life has been nearly perfectly bland of late. I don’t have much to report. Put up a few curtain rods last weekend. A valence in the kitchen, by golly. A new bookcase that has made little impact on the chaos of our study. (It doesn’t seem to matter what we do; going into the study is like entering a dimension of hell. Hell Part XI: Doom of the Fastidious Damned.) The triumph of the week was when I successfully moved Harriet onto the linoleum before she yucked up ten gallons of masticated potted palm. So, no, not a lot to write about. Good grief, people, I’ve taken to wearing pastels. PASTELS! Like I needed to look more washed-out. White walls, gray-brown couch, the Mean Sister in crappy colors: a veritable smorgasbord of insipidity, right down to my smug little smirk.

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In my defense, I’ve had to buy a new wardrobe for my job. Tattered jeans just aren’t as business casual as they once were. Limited time and zero interest aren’t exactly working in my favor, and also, I’ve set myself a thirty-second maximum time allotment in the morning for choosing each outfit. It’s ghoulish of me, but sometimes I don’t even give myself THAT long. “Great Scott, another fifteen-second day!” my coworkers shriek in anguish. “Shield your eyes!”

My sisters, both Weird and Concerned, have never had any issues with color. Item One: the baby of the family getting all TATTED UP. YEAH, BECAUSE WE’RE COOL, AND WE SAY STUFF LIKE “TATTED.”

Uh-huh. Sure we are. Cool. (Idiot.)

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You haven’t met the Weird Sister yet, have you? I haven’t seen her for a year and a quarter myself, ever since my Granny passed away. Before that, our family hadn’t all been together for probably two years. Maybe more. Thanks for moving to Seattle, jerk, and to employ one of That Guy’s favorite phrases, I will destroy you. I swear, the number of times I hear that…it’s like the theme to our marriage.

Me: We’ve run out of bread, so we’ll have to go to the store.

Himself: I will destroy you.

Me: Look, what a beautiful spring day!

Himself: I will destroy you.

Me: Remember how I always beat you at every logic game we’ve ever played?

Himself: I. Will. Destroy. You.

And so on. Well, never mind, back to the Weird Sister. Here she is, with Pinky N. and Safari Mom:

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Now here’s my cop-out ending to this post: a series of pictures of places I’d like to be and people I’d like to be with.

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Aren’t they cute? I’m so glad they’re mine.

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~ by themeansister on March 25, 2009.

17 Responses to “Yeah, yeah, you’ve been waiting forever for me to post, blah blah blah”

  1. Aw. Lucky that we have a cute family. Otherwise I’d probably duck tape my eyes shut. And I hear that hurts.

  2. Somebody’s grumpy about missing the family vacation…

    Also, I’m personally offended that you’re dissing pastels. Makes me want to go shopping.
    Additionally, we have Boston presents for you all, but the next week or so is crazy, so maybe we can plan on dinner here in about 10-12 days???

  3. Yes, and I have Anza-Borrego Desert presents for you. Well, just one little one. Next time, you make it to the oasis, too. Well worth the sweat and following the umpteen wrong trails. It was very, very hot hiking; at least 90 if not 100 F.

  4. Yeah, the heat and palm trees and cooling springs were real hardships. Whew.

  5. No, Concerned Sister, duct-taping your eyes shut is FUN! Start a new fad. It’d be awesome to see a bunch of Hillsdale ninnies bumbling blindly around campus.

    Presents for me? From my (now and forevermore until someone else also gives me presents, hint hint) two favorite readers? Yay, thanks!

    (Also: pastels still suck. Can we continue our friendship anyway, Anna?)

    And finally, yes, you poor babies, with the vacay in SoCal. But I love you despite it all.

  6. Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.

  7. Ok, now we’re waiting for you to blog again. Come, on, get with it. Hup, hup, hup.

  8. Ugh, I wish it would have been my turn again to go. Instead, I camped in rainy West Virginia for three nights and got miserably sick. It was still beautiful, but not in the sunny southern California sort of way.

    And I agree with the Weird Sister; get blogging.

    Oh, Anna, pastels are nice for about 4 days around Easter. That’s all.

  9. I bet you just posted this post to avoid being ridiculed for lack of production at the writer’s group… 😉

    And there is nothing you can do about the books. As long as you’re married to an academic you’ll have to accept that your house will resemble a used-book store. The books will expand to fill any extra space you manage to free up.

  10. Weird Sister: You wanna go, punk? You wanna take this outside?

    FAVOITE Child: Seriously, you criticize pastels, but you misspell your own INCORRECT title? Wassup? I will instruct Anna to send one of her children to sit on your head.

    Sorry to hear your spring break was soggy, though. Mine was…worksome. Hey, I was thinking that my cronies and I could come up to Prophetstown some weekend – think you could arrange some pig slopping or some other fun activity for us? I suPPOSE we could also hang out, yo.

    Spencer: I don’t know that it’s advisable to use your real name on this blog…things can get a little crazy. But, yeah, I’ve resigned myself to being perpetually buried in books. Forever. And, hey! I showed off my picture book! That’s got to count for something.

  11. At least you don’t have any children further cluttering up your space. As I walked to the car this morning on my way to work, I noticed that the sidewalk states (in hot pink sidewalk chalk) “My mother is torchering me.”

    So precious.

  12. I would KILL for a picture of that! If you send it to me, I’ll post it right away. So freaking funny.

  13. Sadly, it rained all day…. thus probably preventing a visit from Child Protection Services.

  14. Still, I’m sure it’ll show up again- next Sunday, on room-cleaning day.

  15. Weird sister: so you torcher your kid, too? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?

  16. Hooked on Phonics working for you all, hey?

  17. Mmmm, kid. Tastes like baby goat.

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