This is the 13th Brain Dump I’ve done…although I think it’s only the 13th with no extra to the title…so it’s technically not the 13th, but it is. So if it just says “Brain Dump Friday”, then it’s number 13, but if there’s anything added to it, like “blah blah blah Edition”, then it’s not the 13th. I have more argyle socks than I have polka dot socks. Does this mean I actually like argyle more than polka dots? GASP! NO! It just means that there are less polka dot socks to choose from. Or that I’m pickier with dots than I am with other styles. I can’t like argyle more because then I’d have to re-do my mixer, and that would be so much work. Can you imagine argyle-ing a mixer? That would be really hard. I could do it. I just don’t want to. My small wallet matches my mixer. I wonder if I can find socks to match it. Then I’d have “baking socks”. I dreamt about what’s going to be happening on Saturday night. It went well. I hope that’s a good sign. I was reminded this week that no matter how well you think you know your kids, you don’t. Not necessarily in a bad way. But for every thing that they tell you, there’s a lot more under the surface. They really are capable of showing you only what they want to show you. (Which means they just turned out like you-scary!) There’s this whole life they live inside their heads, just like we do, where they aren’t who you think they are. Where they are scared, or angry, or hurt, and there’s nothing you can do about it unless they tell you, and if they choose not to tell you, then you are left feeling helpless. You are left standing…begging to help them. They may or may not let you help them, and it scares you because you wonder, if they are so young and already broken in some way, is it your fault? Is it something you did? Didn’t do? Did you ignore or miss something? Are you doing something that you aren’t even aware of? The older they get the scarier it is…IMO. I really struggled with this on Wednesday. It was a bad, bad day. I have a brand new label maker (inherited) and no batteries to make it run. I can only imagine all the fun I might have with a label maker…and yet it just sits. Waiting for batteries. This blog had 23 views on my busiest day. Considering no one reads this nonsense, that’s pretty good. It means that 23 people accidentally stumbled upon this blog. They probably looked around and found all the cobwebs that gather here when it’s not Friday, and bailed. I should write more. I have a couple things I’ve been wanting to write about, but between the hysterical sobbing on Wednesday, and the migraine I’ve been fighting since then, not to mention the busy-ness of life, I haven’t done it yet. Right this minute, I can’t even remember what it was I wanted to write about. I thought about live-blogging cleaning out my desk, but that would probably ensure that I don’t ever have 23 readers again. If you saw my calendar for this past week, you’d probably pass out. Speaking of passing out, I may not survive November 3rd. I’m just giving you fair warning so that you can enjoy these brain dumps while they last. November 2nd may be the last one. Why does “dreamt” sound like it has a “P” in it, but it doesn’t? I’ve said it lots of different ways, and every time I hear a “P”. I’m sorry you had to sit through this…That is all.
Well, mostly from my phone. Whatever
That’s right, folks! From my phone. I love a guy with an accent. I don’t mean I LOVE a guy with an accent. I mean that, back when I was meeting guys, I loved it when they happened to have an accent. Not that I was ever meeting guys…well, some, not a lot…oh forget it. British. Southern. Australian. Not French. I don’t like French. All French guys sound like Joey from Friends to me. Not that I know a lot of French guys. Or any. But if I see one, like in a movie, they sound like Joey. My favorite artist is Jackson Pollack. My favorite painting is Starry Night. That’s from Van Gogh.(You should know this, but I wanted you to know that I know this) I would like to have a pool. I think I would like it in my basement. And a boat. When Barry and I were dating, and right after we got married, we talked about buying a boat and living on it. I wish we had done that. It would have been hard to have a kid on a boat. But there would have been water. I love water. French people aren’t bad. I just want to throw that out there. They’re nice. Well, the two that I met when I was in Europe. They were nice. I just don’t care for the accent. I’m not McGuyver. In case you thought I was. I’m not. According to Foursquare, I’ve been in my basement working out for six days. Good for me! I keep forgetting to check into places. I ate a carton of yogurt today. You should be amazed because I don’t like yogurt. Unless it’s AE Cherry Vanilla. And it was. It was even yummy. And I didn’t gag on it like I thought I would. I know…gross. Sorry. I went to a Bible Study Thursday night and it was all about joy, and not grumbling. My first thought was, “meh…I don’t wanna learn this…waaaaah!”. It hasn’t really stopped me, but I’m so much more aware of it now. I moan and groan a lot. I don’t know if that’s necessarily grumbling. I started using my favorite bag again. Polka dots. I knew you’d never ever guess, so I just told you. You’re welcome. I love it. It’s a discontinued pattern from Thirty-One called Mod Dot. (I’m trying so hard right now not to grumble at the thought that they don’t make my favorite pattern anymore…) Bacon. I’m sleepy. That is all.
I hope I’m never famous for being dorky. I mean, I am dorky, I just hope I’m never famous for it. It would be awesome to be famous…for about a week. Then I think I’d be done with it completely. Part of the reason I started my own business with The Pampered Chef is because they appreciate the polka dot. It is a thing, and if you’re not on the bandwagon, you’re out of luck. (OK, I didn’t really sign up because of that, but they do have several things that are polka dot, and I love them all. In fact, there is FREE thing on it way to me right now…and it’s polka dot! I love that I have to do so little to be recognized and appreciated!) Last night Jessup and I were sitting in the car for a few moments after I pulled into the garage, and suddenly someone came up behind the car, slammed into it, and yelled, “BLLLLAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” I jumped and screamed, and Jessup did something that shocked me. He threw open the door, leaped from the passenger seat, and threw his cup of Pepsi (which I consumed most of while he was watching a movie at the high school) directly at
the perpetrator Barry. Jessup hit him right in the face and the lid to the cup blew off and ice and Pepsi covered him. Then I started to cry, and I was shaking so bad. I did not appreciate being scared. It seems as though I take the brunt of the scaring. I scare Barry (only once when we were dating), and his Navy and self-defense training kick in, and before I know it I’m flat on the floor. He scares me, I almost pee my pants and then cry. I don’t think I can win this one. Barry’s punishment was not only to be sticky, but to carry in my gigantic bag of products and supplies, and then help me wash them. I couldn’t believe Jessup’s bravery and accuracy in the face of what could’ve been actual danger! I’m really overwhelmed. He jumped up and tried to save me. Look out attackers! (I think he thinks I’m going to keep giving him icy sodas…just in case he has to defend himself. Or me. That’s not going to happen. We are a nearly soda-free family.) FYI: if you get mugged, you’ll want Jessup and a soda nearby. If you have me, you better hope for an OCD, germ-a-phobe, who can’t stand pee…or a crying girl. I miss my first job. Just one part of it, really. This guy and I paired up early on to “perform” for the kids who would come in really early. (I worked at Discovery Zone) His name was Ali, which the kids loved because of Aladdin. Anyway, we would put a soundtrack into the system first thing in the morning and do a “show” near (sometimes in) the ball pits. Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Rescuers Down Under, Beauty and the Beast. We would sing and dance along with the music. There weren’t very many kids in the place yet, and it was still pretty quiet. We’d recite the words and sing the lyrics word for word, and we just had the best time. One day I sang all the boy parts and he sang all the girl parts. It was a fun job. I don’t think I’d like it now, but I remember loving it back then. I’ve only been hired “on the spot” for two jobs, and that was the first. Both of those jobs were awesome and fun experiences. Both jobs taught me a lot. Neither job gave me polka dot things for free. :( I just realized that I was sort-of famous for my “shows” at DZ…and those were dorky. It doesn’t count though. Pre-school famous, isn’t really famous. Unless you’re Thomas, the Teletubbies, or Barney. And all of those are too dorky for me. That is all. #BrainDumpFriday
I have this thing for polka dots. It’s not just that I like polka dots.
It’s more of an obsession.
I’ve wanted one for years, and I knew that if I bought the dots, I’d have to finally break down and buy one. Otherwise, the money I spent on the dots would be wasted, because I’d never be able to figure out just the right thing to do with the dots. (I get overwhelmed easily)
Dave’s wife did it first, and sold me the dots, so all credit goes to her!
Here she is, the newest addition to my kitchen! Isn’t she just gorgeous???
Every Friday (almost every Friday) on Facebook I post a status called “Brain Dump Friday”.
I post whatever random things pop into my head.
This was yesterday’s:
I got polka dots in the mail. I found out you can buy polka dots online, and I bought 400 of them. I have big, BIG plans for them! Barry is afraid to come home and see what will have polka dots on it. (Too bad the ceilings in this house are white…so are my dots. Can you imagine how fun it would be to look up and see polka dots??? I think that would fun to look at. Maybe it’s time to paint the ceilings…)
My cat keeps wanting to play fetch with me, and I don’t want to. But then he looks at me with those big green eyes, and I’m such a sucker. His ball is by my feet right now, but I’m extremely busy with this. He just glared at me when I told him ;).
I’m on what appears to be the second day of a migraine. I haven’t left the house for two full days, and I need to go out, but I can’t even get dressed in “outside of the house” clothes.
In my office is a chair. A chair that used to be my Grandmother’s, and then got passed down to my mother, and now it is mine. It is apparently the most comfortable chair in the entire world. Yes, folks, it does exist, and I have it. I will never get to sit in it though, because I can’t pry a cat out of it long enough to get in it. One or the other is always in it. Cats are jerks.
It’s been 120 days since I last tweeted. I think everyone knows what that means by now, and I don’t have to explain. If you don’t know, it’s not dirty. There should be some kind of coin or pin for that.
I still don’t care for purple, but the guest room looks very nice, and I’m happy with the color. I keep walking in there, but every time I do, I apologize to my mom, and walk out. I’m not sure why, or what that’s about. We got the carpet remnant last night, and it’s rolled out now. It feels amazing to walk on carpet again. I kind of miss it. Not in the “Let’s carpet the whole house” way, but more in the “Let’s consider carpet remnants for a couple more rooms” way. It cost more to bind the edges than to buy the whole piece of carpet. Weird. It was still reasonable…far more so than carpeting a room would be.
I think it’s funny that my husbands shaving cream can says “ultra sensitive” and directly below that it says “ultra sensible”, which I assume is the French word for “sensitive”, but I always take that as, “Hey, Vicki, well done! You’ve made a wise choice and the universe is proud of you. Just don’t use me like you did that one time in a pinch. I have aloe and that makes for a pretty horrible scenario.” To which I reply, “Oh, I remember that rash very well…very well indeed.” This causes me to make a face. Then I stop talking to the can of shaving cream and go about my daily activities.
That is all.
I don’t think anyone read passed the polka dots.
And one person is constantly accusing me of being a goody two shoes…like we’re still in grade school. It’s childish, and it really bothers me. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve made plenty of mistakes, and proven myself to be bad on more than one occasion. I’m going to stop responding to him. I don’t even understand how any of that would qualify as “goody-anything”. Whatever.
All of my brain dumps are truth.
I mostly leave out the sad stuff.