Soup Is Not A Finger Food

Brown

A FEW WEEKS AGO, I was shopping in one of those big cosmetic stores. I looooove makeup and nail polish and beauty supplies. Depending on the day, I love them slightly more than, or just a tad less than, office supplies. (Don't judge.) If I had unlimited money, I would buy a lot more of this stuff. But I don't, so I often end up buying my stuff in hasty dashes to CVS.

That's why a trip to my local Ulta (or Sephora, oh how I love Sephora!) can be a dangerous thing for me. But in Ulta I was, with 20 minutes to spare, and so I was talking myself out of buying everything filling my basket with a few items I'd rationalized really, reeeeally needing. Including some new nail polish for Fall! You see, I'm either a nail-biter, or obsessed with achieving the perfect manicure. Right now, I'm the latter. And it's Autumn, so the bright, light colors of spring and summer are no longer appropriate, right?

Are you with me?

I wear a lot of brown. I tell myself this is okay not because I'm a harried working mother, but because it's oh-so... of-the-day. Brown is the new black. Or maybe gray is; I can never remember. The point is, I was in Ulta and I picked up this collection of four miniature bottles of OPI nail lacquer. It's their Touring America collection, and it features some nice autumnal shades of gray, a deep merlot, a medium pinkish tone, and... "A-taupe the Space Needle" - a deep taupe shade with a name that could only come from OPI:

(That's not me. My nails aren't that long. I got the photo from Amazon.)

I applied it to my nails, and I liked it. It was trendy. It matched all of my clothes! And I loved it right up until the moment when it occurred to me where I've seen that shade before:

It is the exact color of baby poo.

Not the very first poo - the meconium - it's a lighter shade than that. And not newborn breastfed infant poo, which is more of a puce tone than a brown. No, A-Taupe the Space Needle is more the shade of several-month-old baby poo, the kind they start having right after you start them on rice cereal.

Once I had that little epiphany, I couldn't stop thinking about it. And I couldn't wear it anymore. I came straight home and removed it from my fingernails.  And that's fine; I should be able to find another trendy taupe that doesn't remind me of baby poo, right?

Or maybe not. My fear is that now, all shades of brown are ruined for me forever, just because of this one little notion. And that's gonna be a problem, because I LIVE in neutrals. What about my eye shadow? Do my eyelids look as if I've swiped the feces of a wee human? And does it have to stop at human poo? Maybe I have slacks the shade of, say, deer poo. What about the paint on my bathroom walls? It's a medium brown shade... whose poo does THAT resemble?

Really, where does it END??

I really must figure out a way to overcome this. 

Or maybe I shouldn't think so much.

A close shave

I SHAVE MY LEGS ALMOST EVERY DAY in the summer. But now it's October and I'm wearing pants and, well, let's just say I'm lazy not shaving daily is a timesaver.  Plus, we turned on our furnace last night and it's no match for my drafty bathroom window, which

(Got this photo on Flickr)

means the bathroom features a brisk breeze isn't always ideally warm and conducive for close shaving.

(Um, hey guys? I hereby grant you permission to quietly excuse yourselves now. Head on over to the buffet - I think there's some ham left and some of that tangy honey-mustart - make yourself a sandwich on one of those nice crusty rolls and talk about football or something. Really, it's OK. You're welcome.)

ANYWAY, girls, where were we? You know how you go to shave your legs in the shower and you try to make sure the water is really warm and you kinda wait and do some other stuff first, waiting for the goosebumps on your legs to subside so you don't end up with instant stubble, or remove a layer of your epidermis during the shaving process?

Or is it just ME?

There was a girl on my freshman floor who had a thing about leg shaving and the whole goosebump phenomenon. Problem was, her roommate found out and used to torture her by throwing a bucket of cold  water over the top of the shower stall when she was in there shaving. The rest of us would hear her yell, "DAMMIT, LISA! NOW I HAVE TO START OVER!"

I was thinking of that girl this morning afternoon when I turned on the shower to "preheat" my bathroom. It had been a week couple of days since I last bothered made the effort to shave, and I was hirsute overdue. I waited till my shower stall was nice and steamy and stepped in. I shampooed, rinsed, conditioned. While the conditioner was on my hair, I loaded a body puff with shower gel and scrubbed everywhere, including a brisk few moments on my legs. Then I rinsed everything and allowed the hot water to focus on the back of my neck for a few minutes. Because I find that sometimes helps with the leg-goosebump issue.

Only, it didn't. So, I attacked my calves with a grainy scrub. One more rinse, some more time under the hot water, and I was ready to scrape them with a sharp blade, as is the custom of most modern Amercan women.

Then I towel-dried off, applied lotion, and put on jeans and socks and no one would even know the lengths I went to to achieve smooth legs. THE END.

If you have a sure-fire trick to eliminate this problem from which I've been suffering for, oh, the last 30+ years, would you kindly leave it in the comments?

One of those days

ONE ADAM TWELVE, ONE ADAM TWELVE, we've had a Wine-One-One emergency dispatch at 1800 hours. Caller self-identifies as a caucasian female, approximate age 30-35 (heh!), suburban-dweller. She commutes to the city, and shows evidence of foul mood, short patience, agitation and a sense that the universe has conspired against her today.

ROGER THAT, Wine-One-One response is en route with emergency reinforcements, OVER.

That's how my day has been, and I don't mean to bitch but - well, yes- yes, I do. It's my party blog and I'll cry bitch if I want to!

This was the second morning of the new school year and in the interest of fair and balanced reporting, I will say that the day started out fine. The a.m. routine went smoothly today. Peezer was in an unusually good mood. Nobody missed a bus or forgot a lunch. I was even able to catch Metro a little bit early, which was good, because I would have to leave my client early to hustle back to the 'burbs for a follow-up doctor's appointment. (More on this.)

Of course an earlier train means a more-crowded train, and I could see every single eyball in my car roll up into each individual socket when two women - nannies, apparently - each rolled an oversized stroller into the center doors of an older-model car. This detail matters if you know Metro - the older cars have vertical stripper poles grab-bars placed in such a way as to make maneuvering a wheeled bag or suitcase difficult, if not nearly impossible. Never mind a large-wheeled, jogging-style stroller!

The ladies positioned themselves so as to completely prevent anyone from accessing the center of the car to stand. But the real fun began when we got to the busy downtown stops, where most of us were trying to exit. It is not a stretch to say that it was a veritable game of Twister (only with shoes), all of us trying to jostle around the apparently oblivious unconcerned nannies, over strollers full of innocent toddlers (it's not their fault), while keeping our giant briefcases from colliding with heads, knees, or kidneys and avoiding stepping on any toes.

Did I mention, I reeeeeeally had to pee at this point?

I finally Houdini-ed out of the car and made it to work where I crammed as much as I possibly could into a small, four-hour window, accomplishing far less than I'd intended to, owing to meetings that were held to discuss all the work I needed to accomplish and whether my schedule would allow me to spend even more time on work.

At the appointed hour, I grabbed a sandwich, dashed for Metro and had a blissfully uncrowded ride home. I gobbled my lunch while walking from the train station back to my car. Because? No eating on Metro!

Fortunately, I was prompt to my doctor's appointment - a whole five minutes before my 2:30 appointment. And that's why I was so surprised when the office manager said, "Mrs. McCormick? We had you down at 2:00, I'm afraid you'll have to reschedule..." with this tut-tut look in her eyes.

"Um, noooo, I wrote it down for 2:30, I'm sure it's 2:30," I said, at which point I experienced a PTSD-style flashback to the time 15 years ago when I drove 40 miles with a screaming infant Seth to a dental appointment, only to be scolded for being 10 minutes late and told I would have to reschedule, upon which I promptly burst into tears and blubbered about crying babies and bad Beltway traffic. Amazingly, they managed to "squeeze me in" for my routine exam. And that was the last time I ever went to THAT dentist.

But I stood my ground as she pecked at the computer. "Oh, wait, let me check... AHA, yes, I do see it, your appointment IS for 2:30! So sorry!"

Of course you are.

They took my copay and escorted me back and I stripped from the waist down and underwent a diagnostic sonogram to rule out certain things that might cause heavy menstrual bleeding. Oh I know, I'm oversharing. But I just want to say this: Sonograms are infinitely more fun when you can see pictures of a wee, thriving embryo up in there.

When the violation procedure was over, I was told to dress and return to the waiting room, where I would be called back to see the doctor. That took about 10 minutes, but the wait in the exam room took close to 30. I finally poked my head out to see what was going on, when the doctor came 'round the corner, ready to see me. And the thing about her is, although she has run late both times I've visited, she makes me feel like I'm the only patient she has when I'm there. And so I will probably go back for that reason alone.

I just wish I understood why, if they thought I was 25 minutes late they were going to send me away, but they have no qualms parking me in an exam room for that long and then some. Because I get paid by the hour, PEOPLE. I don't work for a trade association accrue oodles of paid sick time to squander on routine examinations or "mental health days." If I don't work, NOBODY PAYS ME. Time is money, and I can pretty much count the money I did not earn while I was wasting time in the exam room. 

Work-life balance MY ASS.

Anyway. I hurried home, hoping to salvage the last two hours of the workday to catch up on all the work I didn't get done earlier. Only when I flipped open my laptop, it wouldn't connect to the DSL. (!) Further troubleshooting revealed that our router didn't need to be reset - it was actually a problem beyond that. This time, anyway; we often have to reset it but that usually does the trick.

THAT would explain the Verizon service tech at the top of our road with his head buried in the gray box-thingy up there!

Because I live near Civilization, I packed my bag and headed out to find me some free WiFi. On the way out the door, I explained to Seth where I was heading.

"MOM. YOU NEED TO GET RID OF DSL! IT'S ALWAYS NOT WORKING!" said Captain Obvious.

OH, thanks, Son. I AM VERY AWARE. WTH do you think I'm leaving for Panera now?

I immediately called Soup Husband Curt and implored that, if at all possible, could he please pick up the Peezer (say what?) (bonus points if you got that reference) by 6:30. No problem, says he. And I proceeded to workworkwork and feel rather guilty that I didn't buy anything at Panera in exchange for their reliable, superfast wifi because their shortbread cookies are truly effin' awesome. And that was all good until Curt called me at 6:08 pm, apologizing profusely but he wasn't going to make it after all and could I please go get Eli? Stupid Beltway.

Oh, sure, he offered to cover so I could go back out later to do more work, but now I'm home and the spaghetti is cooking and WINE ONE ONE is here, first glass of Malbec down, because you know, it's been that kind of a day. And I'm hoping I can catch up on the rest of my work tomorrow because frankly, the wind has completely left my sails and now that I've vomited all of this onto this screen I think Ima going to pour another glass of Malbec because IF A LITTLE IS GOOD, MORE MUST BE BETTER. And don't you even try to argue that point with me because I might have to cut you.

But hey - thanks for reading!

 

Dealing with a lot of, uh, stuff

THEY SAY IMITATION IS THE SINCEREST FORM OF FLATTERY and that's what I choose to believe as I embark on what my pal Foolery calls NO PUNCTUATION WEDNESDAY except that today is Monday but I have a LOT to share and I can't wait two whole days so why don't we begin with a few things that I just can't seem to get beyond?

First of which is the fact that IT'S REALLY REALLY HARD NOT TO PUNCTUATE and I really wanted to put a period after that but I can't and whose idea was this anyway?

Oh right it was Foolery's and she's freakin' brilliant so I'll just resist the urge and tell you first that I have one kid who seems to be fixated on visiting naughty websites and another kid whose Sunny Personality is what he'll have to rely upon for his Ivy League admissions because his grades probably aren't getting him there and yet another kid who won't poop without medical interventionand I'll leave it to you to guess which one's which and if you have kids you can probably identify with the challenge and the heartache and all that and if that isn't enough to keep me awake at night--

(sorry are em dashes punctuation oops my bad)

I looked around on Saturday and realized that there is STUFF sitting on EVERY SINGLE HORIZONTAL SURFACE IN MY HOME and after my left eye finished twitching I sorted piles of little toy-thingies into these bins

 
and you might think WOW WELL DONE SOUP except that what you don't know is that I ran out of time to tackle these

 
and address THIS

 
and THAT'S ONLY THE BEGINNING because I could sort drawers every day until Good Friday and probably wouldn't be done but nevertheless I did get rid of two giant trash bags of broken toys and another box of stuff we hope to give to a Very Nice Person with a Lovely Little Boy and that certainly helps to minimize the clutter but does absolutely nothing towards addressing THIS

 
and YES THANKS FOR ASKING that IS a photo of my wee tot snuggled onto a couple of SLEEPING BAGS on a drafty hardwood floor in our FAMILY ROOM which remains devoid of real furniture because the reconstruction has yet to begin but hopefully will start later this week at least that's what I'm crossing my fingers for because watching basketball on a tiny TV while perched on lawn chairs is not my cup of tea

[DEEP BREATH]

But none of this is really the biggest problem that I'm dealing with right now and if you're still with me more than 400 words into this diatribe then God bless you because I need to share something rather personal that rhymes with Cee Lo and this seems like a good place for a PERIOD

And another DEEP BREATH

Because I thought the first time was a fluke attributable to the new "deodorant" I purchased that did NOT have an aluminum-tinged antiperspirant in it because I read somewhere that that can give you breast cancer or herpes or the Clap or some reeeeeeally bad affliction and so I quit using it because the easy rule-out just makes sense y'all except that one day at work I was like EEEW WHOSE ARMPITS SMELL and then I realized MINE DID and what an unexpected realization that was for a 40-something lady who hasn't had occasion to sniff at her pits since the Mesozoic Era mid-1980s and so I quit using that organic stuff and went back to the cancer-causing aluminum-tinged formula and I was quite happy with that until TODAY when I realized that MY PITS SMELLED BAD AGAIN and I was all WTF WTF WTF?????

You can't deny me those question marks because you'd be asking yourself the same thing given the same circumstances and so now I am going to have to compulsively wash my clothes after one wearing and shower daily which is going to give me dry scaly skin but at least that doesn't stink and if this is some kind of pre-menopausal thing that Nobody Tells You About y'all who were born before me had better come clean to me FAST because I'm walking the streets of DC smellin' like some pubescent teenager except with saggier boobs and stretch marks and a C-section scar and I normally wear these badges of my age with pride but if B.O. comes with it then I need to talk to somebody about this because I am NOT TRYIN' TO HEAR that I'm gonna smell bad during The Change.

PERIOD.

WORD.

 

Shop much?

HERE'S WHAT I'M WEARING TODAY. Call it the Meg Uniform:

Brown trousers. Bass Outlet. I remember wearing them before I got pregnant with my Peezer, who just turned 6 years old, so they date back to 2003.

Black Sensible Work Shoes. Also purchased at the Bass Outlet, also predate the pregnancy. Probably 8 years old.

Black ribbed turtleneck. Target Couture. Impulse buy. This is its third winter.

Gray wool coat. Nordstrom Rack. I remember buying a hat to match it during a business trip to Montreal, when I was pregnant, so it’s from 2003-2004.  Or before.

Navy blue wool hat. London Fog outlet, which was near Lock Haven PA but closed at least 10 years ago. Probably more.

Black, brown and gray striped neck scarf. Matches the ensemble perfectly. I filched it from the lost and found box at the ice skating rink, five years ago.

My gawd, I have got to go shopping this decade year!