Titles are overrated.

My children are driving me to drink.

Well, one of them. Baby Z is developing the nasty habit of requiring constant entertainment, especially at bedtime. And when he isn't being entertained, even for the slightest of moments, he is screaming. At the top of his lungs, his tiny little baby lungs, he is screaming. It doesn't matter if I have laid him down because rocking him for hours has given me a cramp in my shoulder or if I have to pee or even if the freaking house is burning down. The entertainment must continue or my ears (and my sanity) will pay the price.

And so now, with a sleeping baby (and toddler and husband and dog), I am having my second glass of wine. Because my nerves can't take that much screaming. And because I had the points to use up this evening, seeing as my dinner was pretty cold and crappy by the time I got around to eating.

Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?

Along the lines of Christmas (since that is one my all-time favorite lines from one of my all-time favorite Christmas movies), it flurried in our neighborhood today. Three words: DE-PRESS-ING. Fall is my favorite season (I mean, when I take the time to venture outside) and it doesn't last nearly long enough (eleven months would be good for me, how's about you?). I came across the Christmas tree decorations when the Bee and I were on a purging spree in the garage last weekend and it took all my willpower not to bring them inside and put up the tree. I love my Christmas tree. I would really love to have it in my living room year-round but the Bee gets pissy if it's up before Thanksgiving and after his birthday. He can be such a fun hater sometimes.

Have you seen this?



Hilarious.

Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket

Is there a full moon? Have the planets aligned just so? Is today really my lucky day?

Because I convinced the Bee to partake in some furniture shopping and I know I didn't succeed in that endeavor based on my charm alone.

(Although I can be pretty charming...)

Not that we bought anything. Do you know that Staples commercial, the "Wow! That's a low price!" guy that walks around and screams, "Wow! That's a low price!" at everything in the store. Yeah, see, furniture shopping with the Bee is kind of the same thing, except you have to replace "Wow!" with the "Fuck!" and "That's a low price!" with "They want how much money for one fucking chair? Are they serious? Where's the clearance section? Is it made of freaking gold? Is it going to rub my shoulders and bring me chicken wings and tell me I'm good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me? No? Well, keep walking then sister. We can't afford that shit."


(This is the Staples commercial. It's sort of like shopping with the Bee but far less obscene.)

I was okay with not buying anything because the only thing I liked was the exact same chair that we currently have in the living room, just in a different color. I think I liked it because it wasn't broken, it wasn't covered in dog slobber and dog hair, and there's not a Hot Wheels car rattling around in the innards. Or maybe I just have a fear of change - that might be. (I have been sporting the same hair cut since the ninth grade - I know I have change issues.)

Anyway. Furniture shopping made us all cranky. Then we took our cranky asses to Perkin's where we indulged in a fantastically abysmal meal while surrounded by two screaming children (our own). Overall, a good night.

How was your day?

What's bugging Janel?

I kid you not, about an hour ago, I committed murder in my living room. My victim was a giant, brown, hairy, scary spider. I would have taken a picture to prove to you how big this thing was - I swear it was as big as a silver dollar pancake with big long nasty legs - but it was chasing the dog across the room and I didn't have time to get the camera. Ugh, I'm giving myself the heebie jeebies just thinking about it. But I talked myself down (literally, like, out loud, said to myself, "Dude, it's just a bug. You're seven million times heavier than this thing. Just kill it.") and grabbed one of the Bee's shoes and smooshed it. After I scared it onto the tile first, I didn't want to have to clean bug guts out of the carpet.

I've still got a nasty case of the shudders. Ick.

I broke the chair in our living room today. Well, I was the one that was sitting in it when it broke. I'd hate to think that I'm paying for all this Weight Watchers hullabaloo and still weighing enough to break furniture. Truthfully, it was a cheap chair when it was purchased four years ago and I'm kind of surprised it's lasted as long as it has - I've hauled it across the state and back again, it serves as a trampoline for Brodie after I tell him to stop jumping on the sofa or for the dog when he's in the throes of one of his "boxer blitzes." Anyway, I'm sitting here, trying to feed Baby Z when this spring apparently pops out of place and after I figure out that I have not been bit on the ass my something under the chair, I find that I'm sitting basically on the chair frame and leaning about 45 degrees to the left. Neat-o burrito, baby. So I flipped it over and thought maybe I could "fix" it - me, being as mechanically inclined as I am and all, I had visions of fishing line and duct tape and a MacGuyver-like scheme to hold that spring back in place - but when I got up in the innards I saw there is no fixing to be done; it's toast, it's trash, it's junk. Plus, I wasn't too excited to poke my eye out on that giant piece of metal poking through the fabric - wouldn't I feel like a big horse's patooty? My butt can vouch for the velocity of a sprung spring; I've probably got a bruise. I think I'll save face (ha!) and stop playing Dr. Quinn, Furniture Fixer.

My ESP(N) is buzzing... I see furniture shopping my future. Or at least chair shopping. I doubt I can talk the Bee into purchasing multiple pieces of furniture... unless I can manage to break the sofa, too. :)

What's your excuse?

I have a case of blogger's block. It's not that interesting, bloggable events aren't taking place in my life every day - I just have zero motivation to write anything about it. It probably has something to do with the fact that I'm living on five hours of sleep a night, every night. Baby Z is a demanding little thing: "Feed me, change me, hold me... ME, ME, ME..." It's the Baby Z show, all day every day. It's Baby Z's world and we're all just walking around in it. Well, except for him. He's still lying down and letting us all tend to him.

Babies are so selfish. Good thing he's so cute.

The Bee is out of town this weekend, working, working, working. It's sort of disrupted all the plans I had set up for the next couple days. Well, that and I discovered that I forgot to pay the electric bill this month. I was rudely reminded of that when the electricity went off this yesterday. Not because we didn't pay the bill, it was for a squirrel that met an untimely death at the substation. But my first thought was "OMG, did I pay the bill?" and my second thought was, "Oh shit." But the power came back on. Now I just feel sorry for the squirrel.

I'm bored. I think I'll go to bed.

Settle down, I'm breaking a sweat

Um, what the heck happened to September? Was the whole month unworthy and unbloggable? No, probably not. I'm just that unfocused lately. I have all these projects going and things I want to do and can't seem to finish anything. I have a bookcase in the boys' room that I want to paint and a pantry I'd love to organize (all the cabinets actually; I threw them together pretty haphazardly and even though we've lived here for nearly four months I still can't remember where I put the cutting boards without opening two or three cabinets - but maybe that's premature dementia and not a lack of organization) and a garage to clean (OMG, that's making me crazy, there are boxes stacked everywhere and toys and loads and loads of crap) and about 14 books that I'm the middle of reading and an entire season of True Blood to catch up on. Not to mention, a constant barrage of laundry and diapers and dishes and cooking and cleaning and kids to chase after and a dog to let outside...

I've officially exhausted myself and I haven't even moved.

And that's good enough for today.