Soooo, SOMEBODY didn't like the profile picture of my eyeball so I have changed it to this little baby robin we found on the driveway last spring. I think he or she kinda looks like me with little tufts of hair all sticking up all over it's head. And it looks so resigned, like "Fine, do with me what you want, I haven't the energy to resist or fight you off." That's about how I feel most days when I get off work at my out-of-the-home job, and I come home to my second one with the kids. I feel that way to the degree that Logan, my 2-year-old, once at spoonfulls of ketchup for supper. Guess he got his recommended daily allowance of vegetables that day. I would argue that his diet is much more appropriate than that of my 7-year-old daughter who refuses to eat anything but macaroni and cheese, or a derivative thereof. I keep warning her that eating that much starchy foods isn't going to be her friend as she ages. I say "Look at mommy Caitlin! - I look like a Teletubby on steroids! That's from not eating right." But she just rolls her eyes and ignores me. Someday she'll regret her dietary choices. And I will probably discover buckets of vomit in her closet. Oh, the joys of adolescence that await me!
Today's post is shorter because the kids are about to return from the weekend with their dad. I think we will go sledding today. Might even go out to my sister's farm and sled behind the 4-wheeler. Yeah, today feels like a good day to break my neck. I will probably be typing my next blog using a pencil in my mouth. Ciao for now peeps.
16 January, 2011
15 January, 2011
The procrastination train will depart in a little while...
O. M. G. I cannot believe it is 3:41 in the afternoon already. I have spent the better part of this balmy South Dakota January day sitting at this computer desk messing with this blog site. Meanwhile a legion of dust bunnies are plotting their attack, and I have a small mountain range of unmated socks sitting in the clothes dryer which undoubtedly will avalanche atop me when I open the door. While on the topic of laundry... has anyone else accidentally inhaled laundry detergent??? You see,... I have this 'friend' who was putting the scoopful of the powder detergent into the washer, and I- err, I mean 'my friend', was yawning as she lifted the scoop and she inhaled some of the detergent powder. -OK so it was me, not a friend... but regardless of who it was- I did NOT see any surgeon general warning against this on the detergent box, and now my throat is very irritated and I think I have a great liability suit to take up against Gain. Whatdaya think?
For those of you who may be reading this blog, who aren't related to me, there is a little something you should know about my family. We are a group of immature little pranksters. Every December 26th, we start collecting dirt on each other,... like stupid things each of us did throughout the year, and then come the next Christmas Eve, we gag gift each other. So, I am certain now to get a gift having to do with inhaling laundry soap. I'll let you know next year what I get if this blog is still up and running.
Now, still on the topic of laundry... why has nobody ever come up with a way to keep socks in pairs as they are washed and dried, thus reducing the superordinate amount of time a person needs to spend pairing them up when they come out of the dryer??? I think I will create a line of socks that have snaps on them, so when you take them off, you snap them together with their mate and throw them into the washer and then the dryer. Just pull them out, and wallah! -they are already for the sock drawer! Now watch, someone is going to pirate my idea and before you know it, there will be a ShamWow infomercial endorsing snapped socks. And they will be all the craze, that person will be filthy rich and I will still be stuck here, sitting behind my real desk, at my real job, making real money, to pay to real debtors... (Don'tcha just love how this segways back to my first blog?!)
Well, that's about it for me today. I'm certain I have some Windex that needs to be sprayed into my eyes or something.
For those of you who may be reading this blog, who aren't related to me, there is a little something you should know about my family. We are a group of immature little pranksters. Every December 26th, we start collecting dirt on each other,... like stupid things each of us did throughout the year, and then come the next Christmas Eve, we gag gift each other. So, I am certain now to get a gift having to do with inhaling laundry soap. I'll let you know next year what I get if this blog is still up and running.
Now, still on the topic of laundry... why has nobody ever come up with a way to keep socks in pairs as they are washed and dried, thus reducing the superordinate amount of time a person needs to spend pairing them up when they come out of the dryer??? I think I will create a line of socks that have snaps on them, so when you take them off, you snap them together with their mate and throw them into the washer and then the dryer. Just pull them out, and wallah! -they are already for the sock drawer! Now watch, someone is going to pirate my idea and before you know it, there will be a ShamWow infomercial endorsing snapped socks. And they will be all the craze, that person will be filthy rich and I will still be stuck here, sitting behind my real desk, at my real job, making real money, to pay to real debtors... (Don'tcha just love how this segways back to my first blog?!)
Well, that's about it for me today. I'm certain I have some Windex that needs to be sprayed into my eyes or something.
14 January, 2011
Influencial ramblings
Well, here it goes. I am relatively new to this stuff (ok, I'm a blogging virgin)..., so let's see how much trouble I can get myself into. I will probably end up owning ocean-front property in Nebraska, but hey, aren't the best lessons those learned through trial and error? Speaking of error,... when I was applying to Adsense, it asks me to type my name as it appears on my banking account. So I did. It then tells me: "Those characters aren't allowed" What??!!?! I'm not allowed??! A virtual bouncer tried to restrict me from my own blogging site! That was crazy. As it turns out, I was not allowed to use the period after my middle initial, you know, as we are taught to do since elementary school. Those rules are all out the door now. So, I changed my name, and the bouncer let me in, and now here I am. Here for your amusement. -Or abuse. Whichever the case.
Now, I suppose the curtious thing to do would be to introduce myself, and what I plan to blog about. My name is Jobe Juan Canobie. Of course that is just my pseudonym. I guess I am unsure if you are supposed to reveal your real self on these or not. I'm going with "not" for now. I may get brave after a while and let you know my true identity. But for now, you may know that I am a divorced mother of three. I have a graduate degree, and work full time at a real job, behind a real desk, talking to real people, about real problems. ...as opposed to those people who have fake jobs, sitting behind fake desks, having fake conversations with fake people I guess. Actors come to mind... but I digress.
Most days I get up at 5:30, check my e-mail to see what nasty bills are due (which I will pay with the fake money in my banking account under a name that is not allowed), then I log into eharmony to see if my Prince Charming/soulmate has been matched to me yet. After viewing profiles of narcissistic germaphobes or some guy named Wilbur who has a wad of skoal 'tween his cheek and gum, I turn off the 'puter and get down to the business of my morning hygiene routine. Now I know this is more than what you all care to hear, but I really must tout my daily moisterizing foaming face wash with microderm abrasion beads and sea salts. That is the best stuff evaaaaaaa! My pores are so clean I don't think even my great grandchildren will have acne poblems. Ok, out of the shower, and now on to the dreaded closet. I say dreaded closet, because every week for the past several weeks now, someone has been turning up the heat in my closet and shrinking my clothes. What was once loose and comfortable, now gives me "camel-toe" at my armpits. This, of course, has nothing to do with my real job, sitting at a real desk, drinking real soda's and eating real snacks ALL DAY LONG. Ok, so now I've painted on some clothing. Off to the office for 8.5 hours minus my hour lunchbreak, two 15 minutes breaks, 12 bathroom breaks compliments of the Herculean amounts of soda I consume, 9 daydreams, "collateral contacts" with other agencies, and then of course the actual 26 minutes I spend doing my actual work. Whew! I'm exhausted. Now I go collect two children from the elementary school (sometimes they are mine, other times they are just random kids who venture too close to my van and I just snatch them up thinking they are mine. I find they are too traumatized when I unload them, so they just numbly "play along" that they are mine). Oops, forgot one at daycare. Now, THAT ONE I am not 100% convinced is mine. That one loves tractors. I don't know where this would come from. We have never lived on a farm or around tractors. That's all he talks about. TRACTORS. We call him Rainman. Maybe more about him in another post someday. Ok, home from work, daycare and school. Now the chaos begins. I have three hours in which I need to prepare a meal, poke it into their cute, mooshy little faces, clean up after dinner, help them with homework, turn on the "John Deere Action" movie for Rainman, bathe them and then tuck them into bed for the night.
Then I return to my eHarmony profile to see if Prince Charming has found me yet, shuffle my status on Facebook, tune in for the 11:00 episode of Nancy Grace so I can hear what the "bombshells" are for tonight, and then off to bed for my 5-hour nap. Lather, rinse, repeat...
Well, that's me, and that's my daily life, and I guess I'll blog-off now. I'm just certain my soulmate is waiting for me on eHarmony right this very instant. Until my next blah, blah, blog... g'night.
Now, I suppose the curtious thing to do would be to introduce myself, and what I plan to blog about. My name is Jobe Juan Canobie. Of course that is just my pseudonym. I guess I am unsure if you are supposed to reveal your real self on these or not. I'm going with "not" for now. I may get brave after a while and let you know my true identity. But for now, you may know that I am a divorced mother of three. I have a graduate degree, and work full time at a real job, behind a real desk, talking to real people, about real problems. ...as opposed to those people who have fake jobs, sitting behind fake desks, having fake conversations with fake people I guess. Actors come to mind... but I digress.
Most days I get up at 5:30, check my e-mail to see what nasty bills are due (which I will pay with the fake money in my banking account under a name that is not allowed), then I log into eharmony to see if my Prince Charming/soulmate has been matched to me yet. After viewing profiles of narcissistic germaphobes or some guy named Wilbur who has a wad of skoal 'tween his cheek and gum, I turn off the 'puter and get down to the business of my morning hygiene routine. Now I know this is more than what you all care to hear, but I really must tout my daily moisterizing foaming face wash with microderm abrasion beads and sea salts. That is the best stuff evaaaaaaa! My pores are so clean I don't think even my great grandchildren will have acne poblems. Ok, out of the shower, and now on to the dreaded closet. I say dreaded closet, because every week for the past several weeks now, someone has been turning up the heat in my closet and shrinking my clothes. What was once loose and comfortable, now gives me "camel-toe" at my armpits. This, of course, has nothing to do with my real job, sitting at a real desk, drinking real soda's and eating real snacks ALL DAY LONG. Ok, so now I've painted on some clothing. Off to the office for 8.5 hours minus my hour lunchbreak, two 15 minutes breaks, 12 bathroom breaks compliments of the Herculean amounts of soda I consume, 9 daydreams, "collateral contacts" with other agencies, and then of course the actual 26 minutes I spend doing my actual work. Whew! I'm exhausted. Now I go collect two children from the elementary school (sometimes they are mine, other times they are just random kids who venture too close to my van and I just snatch them up thinking they are mine. I find they are too traumatized when I unload them, so they just numbly "play along" that they are mine). Oops, forgot one at daycare. Now, THAT ONE I am not 100% convinced is mine. That one loves tractors. I don't know where this would come from. We have never lived on a farm or around tractors. That's all he talks about. TRACTORS. We call him Rainman. Maybe more about him in another post someday. Ok, home from work, daycare and school. Now the chaos begins. I have three hours in which I need to prepare a meal, poke it into their cute, mooshy little faces, clean up after dinner, help them with homework, turn on the "John Deere Action" movie for Rainman, bathe them and then tuck them into bed for the night.
Then I return to my eHarmony profile to see if Prince Charming has found me yet, shuffle my status on Facebook, tune in for the 11:00 episode of Nancy Grace so I can hear what the "bombshells" are for tonight, and then off to bed for my 5-hour nap. Lather, rinse, repeat...
Well, that's me, and that's my daily life, and I guess I'll blog-off now. I'm just certain my soulmate is waiting for me on eHarmony right this very instant. Until my next blah, blah, blog... g'night.
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