Caffeinated Sugar Monkey

So, I live in Iowa

2009-07-06T17:53:00.000-07:00

It is interesting to read the last post I wrote (almost a year ago, sheesh). I had NO idea that in just a few months after writing that I'd be moving to Iowa. No idea at all.

I think I am getting more comfortable with uncertainty. The other day Michael and I were talking about where we'll live next. We are both okay with Iowa, but just don't feel at this point that this is our forever place. Now that we've moved here, moving other places seems much more possible. Our dream, or one of them anyways, would be to live outside the US for some length of time. I'd love to give Miles the chance to experience life in other places and there is so much of the world I'd like to see.

But for now, we live in Iowa, in a creaky old farm house that-at this very minute-has a raccoon trapped on the roof and frogs in the puddles in the driveway and a mouse somewhere on the second floor. We are *thisclose* to opening our own petting zoo.

Too much

2008-10-26T21:51:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it just feels like there is too much to be worried about right now. The economy (both nationally and personally), the election (please, please, please no Palin), my job (secure but I'm bored), Mr. Monkey's job (not boring but next semester looks really uncertain right now).

I'm torn between wanting to write lists and plans of attack or sitting in front of the computer for hours, eating dark chocolate raisins, staying up when I should be sleeping.

Mr. Monkey said he was feeling disequilibrium last night. I think I'd be feeling that to if I wasn't so numbed by celebrity gossip websites and dark chocolate.

My boy

2008-08-27T20:11:00.001-07:00

Ways in which the little monkey is just like me:

1. He likes to sleep in. Given the chance, he'll usually wake up around 6 or 7am, have a quick feed and then snuggle back in until 9am. This is excellent.

2. He really likes to sleep in the middle of the big bed, surrounded by pillows. I love this to, though I have retrained myself to sleep only on one side so as to allow Mr. Monkey a couple of inches of sleeping space

3. He has hands and feet that seem frigid to Mr. Monkey

4. He loves, loves, loves the water

5. He does not like socks and has never worn them a day in his little short life. I've worn them quite rarely since he's been born and I am happy about that.

Ways in which my son is NOT like me:

1. He has, on more than one occasion, peed on his own head and then smiled about it.

Love

2008-07-29T14:16:00.000-07:00

Real men aren't afraid of a little open mouth baby kissing

Miles in his office

2008-07-21T18:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I look exactly like this at work too.

Monkey buns

2008-07-21T18:26:00.001-07:00

The little drunken monkey

2008-07-21T18:25:00.000-07:00

How we spend our days

2008-07-18T21:20:00.000-07:00

I've been on maternity leave for a little over six weeks now. This is the longest I've gone since I was 16 without working...though, of course, staying home with a baby certainly a type of work. This time has gone painfully slow and terribly fast. Some days I don't get out of my pajamas until Mr. Monkey gets home. On those days, I usually watch the clock, waiting for him to arrive so I can hand him the baby and get a few moments alone. Those are days when Miles, for reasons known only to himself, won't nap. He'll look exhausted and will gritch and fuss but won't be nursed or swayed or shushed to sleep. He doesn't cry, but just won't sleep. These days sometimes make me feel incompetent and helpless. These days make me think going back to work won't be so bad. I know what I'm doing at work.

Yesterday Miles napped for three hours in a row. I don't know why. I spent my afternoon holding him and breathing him in. We sat on the couch, his head on my chest, and I couldn't stop staring at him. His luscious lower lip, his starfish hand, his curly hair. He is delicious to me. As I watched him yesterday I ached at the thought of going back to work and someone else, someone who can't possibly love him as much as I do, getting to watch him sleep.

I wish I lived in Canada or Sweden or any one of the other developed countries in the world that have decent maternity leave policies.

He's Here!

2008-07-03T12:51:00.000-07:00

Miles Augustine arrived on 6/7/08 and is a delight.

What waiting looks like

2008-05-18T16:58:00.000-07:00

Come on and get here baby monkey...

Things I Should Not Watch: Special Pregnancy Edition

2008-03-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

1. Steel Magnolias

2. P.S. I Love You (by the way, this was a much better movie than the previews made it look. I sobbed and sobbed through it though).

3. This video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PtB5_eEpLs Sniff.

4. Rudy

5. This commercial: http://www.jnj.com/our_company/our_videos/index.htm (Click on the videos for "piano" and "sink")

Lord have mercy, I am sappier than a maple tree these days.

Share My Pain

2008-03-25T14:49:00.000-07:00

Ugh.

I just finished grading the mid-term exams for my 200 level class. It was fairly depressing, mostly because I get the impression that most of the students either A) don't care or B) don't know how to write a decent essay.

There were problems with plagiarism, with content, with structure and, oh good God, spell check. The following are all actual sentences (unedited of course) from some of the exams:

"During the last rodeo a cow trampled a young little girl and it brought the whole town in morning"

"hurricane Katrina in New orleans would not have an impact on Tucson, physically wise"

"Examples all over the world belief in many ways like Muslim belief in the morning sun while other belief in GOD" (no, I have no idea what this student is talking about)

"At every Monet we are being bombard with stimuli..." (but what happens at every Van Gogh?)

"The ideal form of argument is Login, Ethos and Pathos" (well, two out of three here)

"Ferraro leaving the clinton campaign and in Arizona the state orders KIDCO facility's closure" (huh?)
----------------------------------------
According to various students in my class, the following words no longer need to be capitalized:
i
united states
english
consitution (the specific one we base our laws on)
mexican
china
------------------------------------------

I do love teaching at a community college and I know I am not a grammar expert and that my relationship with spelling has been complicated in the past, but come on people.

These are not good love songs

2008-02-14T13:54:00.000-08:00

I had to go to the dentist today and while I was there I got sucked in to a local radio station's top 94 love song count down.

Now, I presume that they are doing "love songs" because it is Valentine's Day, an allegedly romantic holiday. I would have thought they would want love songs that are actually, you know, happy and stuff but apparantly the definantion of "love song" is broad enough to include the following songs:

"All By Myself"
"Nothing Compares 2U"
"Total Eclipse of the Heart" which includes the super happy line "once upon a time I was falling in love, now I'm only falling apart". Sweet!
"I Will Always Love You" Seriously people-- this is not a song about a happy couple

I'm holding out hope that they will eventually get around to playing "Every Breath You Take" by the Police. It seems entirely possible.

By somewhat popular demand

2008-02-10T12:20:00.001-08:00

A few of my far away friends have requested proof that I am, in fact, knocked up. So, here you go. I'm 24 weeks/6 months and, in this picture, in need of a good pressed powder.

At this moment...

2008-01-31T12:33:00.001-08:00

I would like to be on a warm beach somewhere. I would also like there to be homemade yellow cake with chocolate frosting.

I would, realistically, settle for just the cake right now.

An excellent new time waster

2008-01-25T09:09:00.000-08:00

www.freerice.com

You get to feel smart (if you have a good vocabulary) and donate rice through the United Nations food project.

I'm at level 43 but am determined to get higher.

Yay for babies!

2008-01-20T19:24:00.000-08:00

Last night Mr. Monkey and I got a call that one of our dearest friends was in labor with her first baby. Mr. Monkey did a little dance, I teared up a bit and then this morning we got the news that all was well and a 6 pound little boy had entered the world. We are so excited for them and it made me really look forward to the day in May or June when I get to meet little monkey man.

Speaking of the little monkey, here the first outfit I've purchased for him:

Aww.

Updates: not baby related

2008-01-18T14:29:00.000-08:00

1. Work is busy but good. I've started dreaming about teaching, which must mean it is close to the beginning of the semester. Last night I dreamed that I wanted to teach my study skills class in the bathtub but I was pissed off to discover that I had 50 people in the class and there was no way we would all fit. Then the class was filled with old people who wouldn't stop talking, so I started yelling at them and threatening to kick them all out of class.

2. I am currently without a book to read and am open to suggestions.

3. Mr. Monkey is in training for his second marathon and it looks like we will be taking a road trip to Kansas in a couple of months so he can do the race. Yay roadtrip!

4. I am sad that football season is almost over and the only thing that will make me less sad is if some team, any team, can beat the Patriots.

Updates: baby related

2008-01-18T14:20:00.001-08:00

In no particular order:

1) Baby Sugar Monkey is a boy! I thought for sure, for sure, for sure it would be a girl and I'm still a little bit getting used to the idea of it being a boy. I'm now bracing myself for getting lots of baby gifts in blue, even though I don't love the color blue. Not to be ungrateful for any gifts I may receive, but I'm trying to figure out if there is a subtle way to mention that I love orange and yellow and green and red for little boy babies. Hmm...

2) I'm starting to feel more pregnant every day. I've put on about 6 pounds now and I can feel the baby move and wiggle around. Mr. Monkey still can't feel the kicks, but I hope he will soon.

3)The second trimester is way better than the first.

4) Heartburn sucks

5) I still cry at almost everything. Mr. Monkey is still incredibly patient about it. Last crying bout: I wanted chicken nuggets and he said he'd get them for me. Yep. Bawled like a baby for about a minute. No good reason why.

6) No matter what anyone says, some people are destined for stretch marks, all the lotion and vitamin E and cocoa butter be damned. I am going to be one of these people and I am non to pleased...or surprised.

Overheard

2007-12-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

What follows is an excerpt from an actual conversation going on just out side my office door right this second.

"Brittany": So, um, what are you getting Mike for Christmas?

"Lindsay": God. I don't know. I need to get something but, like, I really don't know what he wants. Can you get someone, like, a gift certificate for, like, a tattoo?

B: I don't know. But, like, I bet you totally can.

L: What are you getting Tristan?

B: A bong. But, like, I'm lucky. He's really easy to shop for.

Hee.

And I shall call the baby...

2007-11-13T14:31:00.000-08:00

Tapeworm.

Seriously. I am starving today. After 6 good solid weeks of feeling totally repulsed by most food (including, sadly, chocolate and most forms of ice cream) I feel like my appetite is back with a vengeance today.

My stomach growled so loudly this morning that the student I was working with heard it and said "Dude, was that, like, your stomach?". Yes, in my professional life I often go by the name "Dude".

I'm still feeling fairly opposed to cooking, especially meat, so I need to figure out what Mr. Monkey is going to be feeding me tonight. Little Tapeworm is getting hungry again.

Confessions

2007-11-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

1. I am starting to get very interested in the idea of maternity pants. I have not gained any weight yet and I still fit in all my old pants, but I really just want to have a socially acceptable reason to wear elastic waistband type pants. It just sounds so comfy right now.

2. I really, really want a bag of Cheetos right now. This makes me worried that I am going to turn into Britney Spears and start eating Cheetos and Taco Bell while being stalked by the papparratzi

3. I don't know how to spell paparazzi.

4. I got stuck in my shower yesterday. I'll spare you all the graphic details, but basically the width of my increasingly bodacious ta-tas has started to exceed the width of my very, very narrow shower opening.

5. I didn't win the Halloween costume contest yesterday and I sort of think I got robbed. The prize was a $5 gift certificate, but still. I want it.

June 4, 2008

2007-10-29T16:25:00.000-07:00

We officially have an estimated arrival date for baby monkey. June 4th, 2008. Mr. Monkey and I got to see the little blob for the first time today--it has a head and a heartbeat and everything looks good so far.

I got a little teary at the heartbeat. That was pretty cool.

It all seems a bit more official now.

The top three loves of my life (current edition)

2007-10-27T12:50:00.000-07:00

1. Mr. Monkey

2. Our couch. It waits so patiently for me all day while I'm at work and doesn't seem to mind that I fall asleep on it every night lately. Sweet, sweet orange couch.

3. Tootsie rolls. Mmm. Can't get enough of them today. I don't want the little midgee size, no sir. I want a nice substantial chew until my teeth hurt size. Yum.

Begging to fail

2007-10-25T16:18:00.000-07:00

I'm teaching two classes this semester...one that lasts 16 weeks and one that ended last week after 8 weeks.

The 16 week class is pretty good: bright, engaged, mostly on top of stuff.

The 8 week class? Well, let's just say grading their finals was an exercise in frustration. They bombed. No one got higher than a B and half that class flunked it out right. It was not that difficult an exam but it sure turned into a bloodbath.

So, today I get an email from one of the 12 people who earned a big, shiny F in the class, wondering why he failed. I emailed him back that he failed because he missed 3 out of 8 classes, turned in 1 out 7 homework assignments and got a 20% on the final. He wasn't even close to a D.

His response? "is ther any room to negotiate this thing?"

Um, no. Nope. No. I am not a salesman. I do not negotiate.

Hee. I'm a mean teacher monkey.

Shocking pregnancy revelation

2007-10-11T12:04:00.001-07:00

Ok, I promise that I won’t turn this blog into an all baby, all the time kind of thing, but please allow me to share with you all a ground breaking insight I’ve recently had regarding pregnancy.

Are you ready for it?

You better be, because this is really going to blow your mind.

Morning sickness sucks.

No, I’m not making this up. It really, really sucks.

I am, of course, delighted to find myself with a bun in the oven (where did that phrase come from?) but I am currently getting my ass kicked by little Cletus the fetus. I’ve lost six pounds since I found out I was pregnant. Clearly this is the most productive diet plan I’ve ever been on. I am totally, completely and thoroughly uninterested in food. I don’t even want candy or caffeine, which is no small development.

Thankfully Mr. Monkey is taking excellent care of his sweaty, queasy, extremely emotional, and tired wife. Yay for Mr. Monkey!

The official blog announcement

2007-10-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

I'm pregnant!

Here's what we know for now:

Due date: Sometime in May, probably toward the end

First doctor's appointment: Two weeks from now

Are we hoping for a girl or a boy: just want it to be healthy blah blah blah, kind of hoping for a girl.

Current mood: elated with a healthy side of queasy

Spotted: the world's biggest dork

2007-09-25T15:31:00.000-07:00

The day: Friday, Sept. 21

The time: early evening

The scene: A no longer newly wedded monkey girl wandering around her house in her wedding dress.

Really, it was all I could do not to go out for the mail and to pick up some groceries in it.

Here's the thing- I love my wedding dress. I think it was so lovely and I felt genuinely pretty in it. It cost a pretty penny too, which is why I am now struggling to figure out what to do with it. Get is preserved at a cost of a couple hundred bucks so that someday a daughter I might have might wear it? Give it to Goodwill? Make crafts out if it? No kidding about the last thing. There are directions on-line for how to turn your wedding dress into everything from a quilt to a baptism dress to a Christmas tree skirt.

Any suggestions? I hate that it is just hanging in a closet but I can't quite make myself make a decision about it. Sad, I know.

Happy monkey

2007-09-25T15:27:00.000-07:00

I am one relaxed monkey right now. The mister and I had a fabulous weekend. We went here: http://www.sunglowranch.com and had two days of reading, hiking, canoeing and napping fun. It was quiet and lovely and perfect.

The food? Yum- think good bread, fresh produce, homemade desserts.

The room? Adorable, with a kick ass view of the pond.

The weather? Overcast and rainy, which I love. I even got to wear my favorite jacket.

The other guests? Mostly non-existent. We pretty much had the place to ourselves. The max capacity is 20 guests, so its not like it would have been packed either way, but it was still nice to stroll around and pretend we owned the joint.

It is good to get away sometimes, even if what you are getting away from is a pretty happy life.

I was going to blog

2007-09-13T16:49:00.000-07:00

But then I realised that I don't have much to say.

I feel a bit like I'm just treading water right now, trying to stay on top of things...work, teaching two classes, taking a class, Tastefully Simple, etc.

I had a doctor's appointment today that was kind of a reality check for me. I'm realizing that A) I'm not as young as I used to be and B) I've got to take better care of myself, for a variety of reasons.

I think I need to breath more, rest more, play more, do less.

Inhale, exhale.

Ow, still

2007-08-29T10:48:00.000-07:00

I finally sucked it up and went to the doctor about my sore neck and shoulder.

His verdict? Unsure, I'll need an x-ray and possibly an MRI, might be a pinched nerve and some sort of acute injury to the shoulder, possibly caused by the chiropractor. No swimming for me for a yet to be determined length of time. Boo.

I had blood work done this morning (thanks to Mr. Monkey who went with me and rubbed my foot and helped make sure I didn't pass out) to make sure my oven doesn't have a bun in it (I don't think it does, which is a bummer) before they do the X-ray. I feel already sort of annoyed and put out by this whole thing. It feels so dumb that I injured myself sleeping and now it is turning into a thing that requires multiple appointments, prescriptions and procedures.

I feel old and tired.

Reason #4357 I love my husband

2007-08-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

This is the message I had waiting for my on my office voicemail last night:

"Hi honey, it's just me. I made an appointment for you to get a massage with **** on Thursday night at 6pm. Just wanted to check and make sure that works for you..."

Yay!

The neck is still killing me and I am living through the three busiest days of the work year right now, so a massage pretty much sounds like heaven right now.

He's a good egg, that Mr. Monkey.

Ow

2007-08-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

So, this is what 29 feels like. Hmm.

I am distressed to report that mere days after my 29th birthday I somehow managed to strain my neck in such a way that, over a week later, still has me popping 800mg ibuprofen. I've been to the chiropractor (still not totally convinced I believe in them), I'm doing the stretches the yoga teacher in my office taught me, I've rested, I've iced and it still hurts. I think my next step is either the doctor or a really good massage therapist.

Please feel free to send get well vibes toward my neck.

Es la verdad

2007-08-09T20:06:00.000-07:00

The mister and I have signed up for Spanish 101 starting in about two weeks. I'm looking forward to the prospect of trying to learn the language, mostly because I feel that my lack of Spanish knowledge is really holding me back from something important, something valuable.

I'm speaking, of course, of the fine art form known as the telenovela. Since we got rid of the cable, I find myself watching shows like "Dame Chocolate" and "Yo Amo Juan Querendon" and though I understand the general themes (attractive people in tight clothing doing shocking, romantic and/or dramatic things to each other) I feel that I must be missing subtle nuances.

I must also confess that I have fantasy that Mr. Monkey and I will pretend not to know each other and then one day I'll stand up in class (dressed in a skin tight yellow miniskirt and a blouse that demonstrates the full grandeur of my heaving bosoms) and announce, in Spanish, that I am pregnant and that he (insert dramatic music and my pointed finger at Mr. Monkey) is the father. The class will look shocked, someone will gasp and for a brief moment I will be the star on my very own telenovela.

I just have to learn the Spanish first.

Team Snickers Salad?

2007-08-06T15:39:00.000-07:00

So, as you loyal blog readers (all 6 of you that put up with my casual posting schedule) know, I did the swimming part of a triathlon this summer and loved it. I enjoyed feeling all sporty, I like the competition, I want to do more. My dream is to some day do a triathlon all by myself, but my actuality is that I’m not quite ready for that yet. Not to fear though, because I think I’ve found myself another team triathlon to do.

A few weeks ago I went rock climbing (indoor of course, as I am not a crazy person) with my good buddies Kelly and Karna and, drunk with the success of our rocking climbing prowess, we formed an all girl team for a triathlon in October. I’ll swim, of course, Karna will bike and Kelly will run like she is going to star in a remake of Chariots of Fire. It should be fun, but there is a small hitch. Before we can enter, we have to name our team.

Naming the team should be easy, though a look at the roster of teams for the last triathlon reveals both a horrible number of boring names (“Team Smith Family”, “Team Blue”) and a large number of teams making puns out of the “tri” part of triathlon: “Moms who Tri”, “We Tri Harder”, “Teachers who Tri”, etc. Yuck.

So, what to do? Go for something obvious like “KKW”? Something descriptive like “Team Tall and Dutch” (Kelly supplies the tall, Karna and I bring the Dutch)? Share the monkey moniker and become “Team Monkey”?

Or…. We could name ourselves after the single best “salad” in the history of salads and become “Team Snickers Salad”.

Yep. Such a thing actually exists. Kelly recently spotted one in real life while Karna and I both grew up with it. We both also grew up in churches that had regular potluck suppers and very, very loose definitions of what constitutes a salad. Basically, a salad is anything made with vegetables, fruit, Jell-O, whip cream or some combination of the above. Adding a large quantity of candy bars does not, as one might expect, turn it into a dessert. I love it. I feel that not enough people realize that you can eat 6 Snicker bars and still be living on a mostly salad diet. Perhaps a triathlon is the best place to spread the message?

I definitely feel that my chances of winning a triathlon someday would be greatly improved if more athletes made Snickers salad a diet staple.

San Francisco by the numbers

2007-07-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

Number of wonderful, cool, relaxing days we spent in San Francisco: 4

Number of museums visited: 2 (Asian Art and Museum of Modern Art)

Number of men spotted wearing leather chaps: 7

Number of men spotted wearing only leather chaps (and a thong): 1

Number of Victorian houses described by Mrs. Monkey as "ooh, pretty": 27

Number of crazy fast cab rides: 1

Number of cable car accidents involving a cable car transporting the monkeys and a not so fortunate Honda civic that was totally not in the lane it should have been in: 1

Number of members of the monkey family that ran a marathon: 1

Number of times Mrs. Monkey(the athletic supporter) had to visit the port-o-potties at the race location due to pre-race nerves: 4

Number of times Mr. Monkey (the athlete) had to visit the port-o-potties due to pre-race nerves: 0

Number of racers that beat Mr. Monkey: 1,820

Number of racers Mr. Monkey beat like a rug: 2,435

Minutes it took Mr. Monkey: 259

I don't get it

2007-07-13T07:48:00.000-07:00

There are many things I do not understand: why teenage boys wear shorts long enough to qualify as capri pants, why I know who Nicole Ritchie and Paris Hilton are, basic principles of chemistry, the appeal of scallops, etc, etc.

But here is what I really don't get: tanning salons in Tucson.

On my morning drive to swim practice and then work I counted three tanning salons. I won't harp on why tanning salons are bad (except, of course, to say that they are bad. Cancer is bad) but I find it puzzling that people would pay money to sit under fake UV radiation when it is so damned hot and sunny here that I can accidentally get a tan just getting from the parking lot into work. We're expected to get around 100 days with a temperature of at or near 100 degrees... getting a tan seems like it should be the least difficult part of living here in the summer. Maybe I am just cheap (okay, no maybe there) but I just don't get it.

Baby racist

2007-06-21T14:30:00.000-07:00

I might be one.

Before I say anything else, I have to clarify that I love babies. I do. I think babies are a wonderful invention...I just don't happen to be of the opinion that all babies are cute. They are all precious and whatever, but some of them, well, some of them are funny looking.

Here's the thing though, I can't think of a single African American, biracial or Asian baby that I've thought was uncute. The only uncute babies I notice are all white. I notice lots of cute white babies, of course, but I also have seen a number that remind me a bit of aliens (in you see the movie Knocked Up, you'll know what I mean)

I'm totally going to hell for admitting this, aren't I?

Racer monkey

2007-06-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

July 1st.

The date has been set for my return to the world of competitive athletics.

July 1st, 6am

I got a call last night from a friend (also our realtor, who is great if anyone needs to buy or sell a home in the desert) asking me to do the swimming leg of a triathlon relay. I'll swim, our realtor will bike and his brother will run. It should be fun, though I don't know how competitive a team we will be. I checked out the times for the swims for last years meet and it looks like I should be able to swim faster than just over half of the women who swam last year, but who knows what the times will look like this year. I'm just going to swim my heart out and hope I don't come in last of all the relay swimmers.

I'm nervous (a little) and excited. I like to race.

Three years ago

2007-06-18T09:14:00.000-07:00

Three years ago today, I had a different job, a different home, a different car and no idea that I was about to meet my husband.

Three years ago today I met a man who I fell in love with almost immediately. Three years ago, I met a man who makes me happy, who makes me think, who makes me feel loved and who makes me want to be the best version of myself that I can be.

I love you Mr. Monkey.

Look what I learned to do

2007-06-12T11:08:00.000-07:00

Pictures! I can do pictures now. I feel so fancy.

Writer man

2007-06-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

My honey has been doing some writing and working on a new website. You can find him here. Check out the blog section...good stuff as usual.

Love and Hate

2007-06-12T09:22:00.000-07:00

It was beautiful here yesterday. We had a bit of a monsoons preview...there was wind and lightening and a general blusteryness. We didn't get much rain, but at least we got reminded that the rain is coming. Love. I love dark skies and clean, crackling air. I love rain and thunder and lightening.

What I hate is people (a few in my office who won't be named) who say stupid things like "I hate rain." or "I hope it doesn't rain". We live in the freaking desert here people--we need all the rain we can get, whenever we get it. I just do not understand people rooting against rain when we get like 900 days without rain every year.

If the gnomes who control the weather are, by any small chance, reading this blog I would like to say: ignore them. We love rain here. We want a bellywasher of a storm whenever you are ready to start the monsoons. I would love to see the river by my house filled with actual water.

I would also like to announce a new rule, effective immediately. You do not get to complain about the heat during an Arizona summer if you also insist on complaining about the possibility of rain. Anyone violating this rule will get poked repeatedly with a stick until the weather breaks...or November, which ever comes first.

Arrgh!

2007-06-07T09:32:00.000-07:00

Damn it.

Someone stole my good work pen. I just bought a brand new, extra fine point blue inked pen yesterday and now it is gone. I hate that. I am very pen picky, so I buy my own for work and now I have to go get another new one.

This actually makes me more mad than when the cleaning crew stole the bag of Sun Chips I had in my desk.

Grrr. This does not do good things for my mood.

I'm a Master

2007-06-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

Yep.

A couple of months ago I swallowed my pride, stuffed myself into a bright purple Speedo (I look a bit more like Barney than I would like to) and joined a master's swim team. Masters is for anyone over the age of 18 and is usually joined by people who are, frankly, past their competative prime.

It is an interesting group. There are former college swimmers (these people are still very, very fast), fitness swimmers, triathletes and people like me who used to swim a lot and who love the sport but need to get back in shape. One of the funny things about masters swimming is that you often can't tell by looking at someone how fast they are going to be. At my last practice I was in a lane with a woman who looked like she was incredibly fit and muscular and a 45 year old guy with a rather amazing beer belly and almost no discernible muscle tone. The guy? Kicked our asses. Turns out he used to be a national level swimmer back in the days before the paunch. The woman? A super fit triathlete who hates the swimming part. I can't think of too many other sports were that would happen.

I'm liking being back in the water so far. I started in the slowest lane and have moved over one, so I guess I'm making some progress. I have to decide today if I want to sign up for my first swim meet...still undecided about that.

My good body

2007-05-31T22:48:00.000-07:00

There are times when, I confess, I find it hard not to be obsessed with myself.

This is not a flattering admission, I realize.

Often my obsession starts with something simple. I'll pass a mirror and notice a sudden new pimple, all angry and red on my chin. I have to stop and stare at it, maybe poke it a bit with my finger just to see if it hurts. Once I notice that pimple, I'll find myself checking my eyebrows to see if they look woolly again or I'll examine my upper lip to try to figure out why it always looks a bit like I have a mustache, even though my upper lip is generally a hair free zone (thanks to the fine people who produce and sell Nair).

I can go on and on, to the zit on my shoulder or the ancient faded stretch marks on my breasts and belly (yay puberty). I could probably, if asked tell you a flaw I have on every appendage. Thankfully people rarely ask.

I'm finding though, that with time and age and maybe some wisdom, that it is starting to interest me less and less to figure out my top ten imperfections. I think this book http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw/104-6327239-3023127?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=intuitive+eating helped. I think having a husband who thinks I sexy helps. I think starting to swim again helps. I think that now that I am really starting to think a lot about what it means to be pregnant, I feel slightly awed by the way that all sorts of really small things have to go well for that to happen.

I sometimes see people with profound physical disabilities at my job. Invariably when I see them I feel a small measure of gratitude that my body is whole and functional in the traditional sense. I realize, of course, that people with disabilities can have lives that are as full and meaningful as mine, but I can't deny the fact that I suspect life is easier to navigate for the able bodies. I try to be aware of myself as able bodied, as functional, as maybe even strong. I think I can rest in those moments of awareness for longer now.

I may not ever have a good body in the way our culture has defined good. I'm not ever going to be a size 6... or eight or maybe even 10. I think I'm getting to be okay with that.

Happy Mothers Day?

2007-05-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

I have a wee confession to make: I kind of hate mother's day.

When I was younger I really hated mother's day, a fact that is largely related to the fact that I have a difficult mother. I resented having to buy a card or a gift though I bought one every year because it was easier to shell out the $1.99 for a card than to deal with my mother's anger/hurt feelings if I didn't acknowledge the day. Buying a card was always an exercise in frustration. I didn't want to buy anything that implied that she was, oh I don't know, a good mother or something. I usually ended up getting something along the lines of "Oh mom, there is no one quite like you", because, if nothing else, that was true. There is no one quite like my mother. I consider this a good thing.

As I've gotten older and have lived outside of my parent's home for over a decade I'm not as angry at my mom as I used to be so the mother's day thing isn't as angsty on that end as it used to be. Now my angst is more directed at my current situation. As a step-mom, I just don't know where I fit. I don't know if I think I should expect a card or something from Mr. Monkey or the boys. I'm not their mom, that much is clear, but I like to think that I am more than just their dad's wife. Sometimes I feel very removed from the real experience of being a parent.Sometimes when people ask me if I have children I don't quite know what to say. Yes, kind of?

I feel very much like a wife (that is a good thing indeed) but sometimes I wonder if this is what being a step-parent is supposed to feel like. I don't have much of a frame of reference for this and, after nearly two years of being married, it is the part that I worry about most.

Life without cable

2007-05-10T13:17:00.000-07:00

One of the many changes in the new Monkey house is that we no longer have cable. We had it at the old house because it was free but now the budget is a little tighter, so unless we get another lazy cable guy who doesn't put in the filter because he doesn't want to have to climb the pole to do it, we'll be without the good cable for the foreseeable future.

Now, we are not with out television at all, of course. We still get the basic channels (including C-Span and QVC, both of which offer unintentional comedy programming from time to time) but nothing past channel 20. No TLC, no HGTV, no Bravo, no Turner Classic Movies (a bigger issue for the mister than for me, I must admit) and none of the other trashy channels that I don't want to admit to watching *cough* E! and VHI *cough*

I'm sad to admit it, but I miss the cable. I miss the many, many shows about buying or selling or renovating houses. I miss watching both Flip This House and Flip That House. I miss, in advance, the next season of Project Runway. I don't want to be a person who misses TV, but I do.

I got home at around 8pm last night and discovered that 8pm on a Wednesday night on regular channels is a television wasteland. According To Jim? Won't watch it. American Idol? Never seen it, don't want to change that. Cold Case or Criminal Minds or CSI or whatever dead person/detective show on CBS? Nope. My heart belongs to Law and Order and I don't stray.

I know that there are better ways to spend my time. I know I haven't written anything, like at all, since January. I haven't painted in months. I'm averaging reading one book a month, which is a sad state of affairs. I haven't seen the inside of my gym in months. I know I can fill the time that not having cable frees up...I just want to do those things and be able to watch Buy Me or House Hunters too.

Moving sucks

2007-05-08T12:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here is the thing about moving: it sucks. Now, not all of it sucks, of course. The new house is pretty great and the paint colors are lovely (in my ever so humble opinion) but the process of moving sucks. Everything about moving seems to take longer than you think it will, it is tiring, it is stressful and it turns people who are normally quite nice and even tempered (i.e. me) into short tempered and easily irritated grumps.

I like things to be orderly and settled. Order is hard to come by when your stuff is all in boxes and it is hard to feel settled when you can't find your shoes. Grr.

I know I promised a new blog starting, but it looks like that will be on hold while I still live in boxville.

We got the keys!

2007-04-30T21:43:00.000-07:00

Woo hoo! The great moving adventure of 2007 has officially begun. I'm aflutter with excitement.

We started painting a bit tonight. The following is a list of the paint colors soon to adorn the walls of Casa Monkey:

asparagus
fire brick
Arizona
apple crisp
bittersweet
winetasting

I'll give anyone who can correctly guess what color each of those is a special prize. Paint names are more fun that the J.Crew catalog's naming craziness.

Sexy man

2007-04-26T22:01:00.000-07:00

There is something very sexy happening in the Monkey house right now...

Mr. Monkey is packing some boxes of books. Big, heavy boxes of books.

I love a man whose hands smell like cardboard and packing tape.

Psst...

2007-04-25T15:03:00.000-07:00

I'm starting a new blog, details to come soon...*

* I'm not getting rid of this one, just starting a second one. A sister blog, if you will... hopefully with less hair pulling and Barbie stealing than the normal sister relationship though

An open letter to the current residents of Casa Monkey

2007-04-25T14:55:00.000-07:00

Please, please, please stop being stupid.

Seriously.

Please read your contract (you know, that paper we all signed when you sold us the house). Please stop changing your mind about the refrigerator. I know you are mad at us because we made you abide by the terms of the contract (yep, there's that pesky legally binding piece of paper again) but please stop being petty and just get your stuff out of the house by April 30th.

We don't dislike you (okay, maybe we do a little right now) and we weren't trying to rip you off. Really. Now just get out of the house and give us the keys.

Oh, just an FYI, when we say that we need the keys "first thing in the morning" on May 1st, we don't mean "noonish". Don't want to get up early in the morning to drive the keys over? That's fine, by all means bring them over the night before. We're more than ready to move.

Grumpily,
Mrs. Monkey

Dinner time: Act I

2007-04-12T20:17:00.000-07:00

The setting: It is early evening in a living room in a suburban home. A woman sits alone, reading a magazine. Suddenly, a noise breaks the silence.

The stomach: "Um, just a quick heads up, I'm pretty empty here"

The woman doesn't look up. All she hears is a soft growl. She turns the page in her magazine, desperate to know if there really is a cure for cellulite. Not that she has that. She totally doesn't have that.

Stomach, louder this time: "Seriously. I'm really empty here and I have been for like days now. I'm getting tired of the water and Gatorade. I want some real food. And also- GROWL"

The woman pats her belly gently.

The brain: "Nope, we're not hungry, nope. We don't like food anymore."

Stomach: "You don't really believe that. You want mashed potatoes with real butter. And some ranch dressing. Yeah, mix in that ranch. Mix that right in."

Brain: "Mmm, mashed tatos. Mmm."

The woman rises from her chair and goes into the kitchen. Mashed potatoes are made.

Stomach, in sing-song fashion: "Taters, taters, taters. Warm yummy taters. Eat em up and send em down. Taters, taters, taters..."

The woman raises the spoon to her lips. She hesitates for a moment...

Brain: "Eat it! Eat it now!"

The woman takes a bite. A new character enters the scene.

The throat: "AAARGH! What the holy hell? What are you trying to do to me?"

Stomach: "Shut up throat! I am sick of your crying. It has been almost a week since she feed me right."

Brain, in a mild panic: "Um, keep eating. No, no stop eating. I don't know, I don't know"

The woman takes another bite.

Throat: "Arrgh. Stop. Just stop"

Stomach: "Eat it, eat it now"

Brain, increasingly confused: "Hungry but painful. Hurts but tastes good. I don't know, I don't know"

Somewhere off stage we hear the menacing cackle of the menacing antagonist, Strep T. Hroat. The woman pauses and slowly, slowly takes another small bite.

Throat: "Bitch you crazy"

The woman puts down the bowl, depressed. Strep T. Hroat laughs.

The curtain closes.

Whine, the follow up

2007-04-11T16:36:00.000-07:00

So, apparantly the reason I was up in the middle of night hating my throat and whining was because I have a nasty case of strep throat. Ugh. I got sent home from work this morning because, well, basically I am germ filled and infectious. My boss cancelled my class, so now I am home on a Wednesday night with nothing to do but watch the series finale of Friday Night Lights.

Quick side track here...are you watching Friday Night Lights? If you aren't, you are seriously missing out. It the Mr. Monkey and I's favorite show these days. So good and very, very well written. If you missed it, I'd highly recommend renting the DVD's when they come out.

Speaking of Mr. Monkey, I am under strict doctor's orders not to kiss him for the next 24 hrs lest I give him the germies. This is not going to be easy. I've literally never spent time with him without some kissing. Yes, in case you are wondering, we kissed the first night we met...what can I say, he is awfully cute. I'm not usually quite that easy.

Tonight will just have to be platonic, firm handshake night. Good times.

Whine

2007-04-11T02:46:00.000-07:00

Please note that the post below was written at the unholy hour of 2am because I can't sleep because my stupid, dumb throat hurts too much.

I think I'm taking a little trip to urgent care tomorrow morning....I mean this morning...in like 5 hours.

The Big Move

2007-04-11T02:37:00.000-07:00

Exciting night tonight at the current Casa de Monkey...I began the packing process. As my loyal readers (all 7 of you) know, Mr. Monkey and I bought a house last November but have been renting it back to the previous owners since then. It has been a fine arrangement as far as these things go but Mr. Monkey and I both hate being landlords and have grown to hate our current house, which we loving call "the crap house", so we have been looking forward to moving for months.

Well, we finally have a moving date and tonight I gathered some boxes, took a deep breath and headed into the disaster area we call our office (my housekeeping has gotten a touch lax as of late). Our office is filled with books, all organized by genre. I was able to pack up two sections (religion and children's literature) before I came to a profound conclusion.

My conclusion- packing kind of sucks. And also? We have a buttload of books. It took me 8 boxes to do those two sections and that accounts for less that one of the 10 bookcases in that room.

Is it wrong to offer the students in my night class extra credit points for every box they bring to class?

Bad Monkey

2007-04-06T09:14:00.000-07:00

Wow, no posts at all for a the whole month of March? Sheesh, did I turn into my husband or something?

I do actually have a semi-valid reason for the lack of postage...March was a nutty month for me. I went to California with a dear, dear friend who happens to be as directionally challenged as I am so we ended up driving from Santa Monica to Phoenix by way of San Diego. For those of you not familiar with California geography, one look a map will tell you that this is not exactly the most efficient way of getting from point a to point b. Truly, I am lucky to have made it home at all.

After I got back from California I had a few days at home and then had to go to Nashville for a conference. The conference was at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel. Hee. I was there for four days and saying Gaylord never stopped being fun for me. Yep. I'm 12.

Now I'm home and starting the somewhat daunting task of packing for the big monkey move. It looks like we'll get our house in about 2 weeks. Yay!

I'm going to try to post a bit more regularly this month, so more later.

The Last 10 Songs on My iPod

2007-02-26T08:25:00.000-08:00

God bless the shuffle function on the iPod...it really helps me understand the depths of my crappy taste in music. Behold, the last 10 songs played:

10. Baby Got Back. Nope, not the Sir-Mix-A-Lot version. Ever heard Baby Got Back sung ballad style by a white computer nerd? No? Then you, my friend, are missing out. Check out Jonathan Coulton's version as soon as possible.
9. Seasons of Love from the Rent soundtrack. Okay, actually I don't really think this is that embarrassing. Moving on.
8. America by Neil Diamond. Hee.
7. Why Can't This Be Love by Van Halen. Actually, this song is pretty awesome. It makes me want to put my hair in a side pony tail and dance in acid washed jeans.
6. Not Ready to Make Nice by the Dixie Chicks. Love it. Nothing to be ashamed of here.
5. So Yesterday by Hillary Duff. Oh, there's that sense of shame I was looking for. I have no excuse for this one. This song contains the lyric "If the light is off, than it isn't on" and yet I paid 99 cents to put it on my iPod. Yes, I am 28 years old. Why do you ask?
4. Fanfare for the Common Man by Aaron Copeland. Not sure how this got on there. I pressed the next button after about a minute. I listed to the whole Hillary Duff song, but Copeland I fast forward through. I'm going to music hell, aren't I?
3. Money Maker by Ludacris. Heh. I will shake what my momma gave me. I'll shake it indeed.
2. 40 by U2. I love Bono and the boys. Love, love, love. That's a good sign, right? My taste can't be that bad if I like U2, right? Right?
1. A New Day Has Come by, oh the embarrassment, Celine Dion. Did I listen to the entire thing? Oh yes, yes indeedy. Did I maybe sing along, maybe just a little? Um, yeah I did.

Okay, now that I've shared my shame I'm off to go figure out which New Kids song to add to the iPod. Its a toss up between Right Stuff, I'll Be Loving You Forever and Step by Step. Thankfully I have the NKOTB Greatest Hits CD so maybe I can add more than one.

Lost week

2007-02-18T19:50:00.000-08:00

Oh Lordy...was I ever sick last week...ugh...my stomach clenches just thinking about it.

It all started at about 2am last week Saturday night. I was innocently sleeping, minding my own business, when I started dreaming that I was queasy. I woke up to discover that, ta da!, my dreams were coming true (lucky me) and I was quite queasy in real life. I alerted Mr. Monkey who promptly, let it be said that there are benefits to being married to someone with childern, hopped out of bed and got the bowl (does every family have a designated puking recpticale?) and tended to me for the rest of the night. The rest of the night included a stint sleeping on the cool, healing tiles of the bathroom floor, *a lot* of throwing up, and some unfortunate incidents of what we in the Robinson house of euphemism call "the bad poops". It was awful for all involved.

I ended up being sick all week which is so weird for me. I went to work once and I've never missed that much work in a row before. I didn't accomplish anything, at all. I didn't do anything at home, I didn't do anything at work, nada. I have a slightly over active Protestant work ethic so this is a little unsettling for me. I feel like I lost a week and I have nothing to show for it, other than the fact that I weigh 7 pounds less than I did a week ago.

I'm better now and looking forward to going back to work next week and am really looking forward to my regular Monday afternoon walk with Miss Kelly. I really need to process my feelings on the whole Britney shaving her head thing.

Stupid Things

2007-02-05T14:01:00.000-08:00

In the last two days I have done and/or discovered I've done the following stupid things:

1. Lost one of my swim flippers. How do you lose one flipper? I can see losing both...you take them out, use them, forget to put them back in the swim bag...but how do I lose one? Anyone seen a blue and black Speedo flipper roaming around town on its own?

2. Lost a $20 bill. I clearly remembered put it in an envelope (with the intention of labeling said envelope "vacation money") but then I could not find the envelope anywhere, Mr. Monkey couldn't find it anywhere. I thought for sure it was gone...until I opened an envelope that I was sending to a Tastefully Simple customer. She had requested a catalog and so I stuffed one in the first envelope I found. Oops. Unfortunately for her she won't be getting the special promotional "Request a catalog, get $20" envelope.

3. "Lost" my sports bra. I had my poor husband tearing through the dirty laundry pile this morning looking for the danged thing so I could go jogging tonight. Turns out it was in my gym bag, exactly where it is supposed to be. Oops.

4. Vented, several times, that my previous employer had not sent me my flipping W-2 forms. I was so assed up about this because I really just wanted to get my taxes done. I finally decided that enough was enough and I was going to call the payroll office... then I found the W-2 in my folder labeled "2006 Taxes". It was the first W-2 I got this year. I just forgot that I had it.

Is this some sort of preview to my elderly years? If it is, I feel sorry for Mr. Monkey already.

Sigh

2007-01-30T11:28:00.000-08:00

I want to do my taxes. I like doing my taxes. I suspect Mr. Monkey and I might owe money this year, but still. I want to do them and now what I owe.

I'm ready to do my taxes. I bought my Turbo Tax. I have a handy little folder to organize things. I have the necessary tools.

The only thing I am missing...all three (hmm, how did that happen?) of my W-2s. Grrr. They better get here soon. I want to be a responsible citizen dammit.

Teacher monkey

2007-01-26T13:29:00.000-08:00

So, I'm a teacher now...or at least I pretend I am every Wednesday night from 5:10-7:50pm. I'm teaching my first ever college level class ( a 200 level critical thinking class) and so far it seems like it is going mostly okay. Most of the class came back for the second week, so thats a positive sign. Some of the students even seem to think I am somewhat funny and interesting but some of them just stare into space and seem not to notice me. A few seem confused when I joke around and appear to take notes in all the wrong places in the lecture. This concerns me a bit.

It is interesting being in the front of the classroom. It is amazing how un-subtle people are about falling asleep, talking, doodling, scratching their balls (I'm thinking, of course, of one student in particular who sits right in the front and is an especially itchy human being). I'm reminded of how clever I thought I was when I was in college and would wear a baseball cap to class when I was sleepy...as though that would make me invisible to my professors. Heh. Probably not.

Even though we're only two weeks in, I've already identified the teacher's pet (she offered to carry my bag and supplies to my office after class and keeps telling me how good a job I'm doing. I love her), the class weirdo (ball scratcher) and the suspected slackers (a table of 4 guys who are trying to out cool each other and put forth the barest of minimums on the few assignments we've done). I'm curious to see how many of the students last the whole semester. I'm curious to see if I'll do a good job. I hope I do, but I'm not really sure how to measure myself. I think getting teacher evaluations will scare me a bit. We'll see.

Monkey sadness

2007-01-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

I was watching TV tonight, reveling in the mind numbing powers of a good soapy drama (yep, it is Grey's Anatomy night) when I saw a heart breaking commercial.

The commercial opened promisingly enough: a shot of a monkey in a pink dress picking its nose. Hee. Nothing funnier than that. The monkey continued to put its finger in its nose and then smile at the camera. I continued to laugh and delight, as I always do during monkey commercials. Then, it happened.

The screen went to white and the tag line said "Monkeys are hard to work with...and we're not going to do it anymore." The commercial was for careerbuilder.com, the genius folks who have had an on-going series of monkey centric ads. These ads, as one might expect, are my favorite. Yes, I know having a favorite ad is a shallow, bad, consumerist, blah, blah, blah thing...but c'mon...monkeys...in suits...dancing...my heart is not made of stone, people.

So it looks like they are dropping the monkeys and I must protest. What is funnier than monkeys? Goldfish-no, panda bears- cute but no, turtles-slow and no. Nothing is funnier than monkeys. Why would they want to stop being funny?

I don't understand the world sometimes.

Best Sale Ever

2007-01-16T07:14:00.000-08:00

I went to the grocery store on Sunday and discovered the following sale:

Buy 6 Lean Cuisine frozen meals and get a half gallon of ice cream free.

I love it. Get some nice low cal frozen lunches and a big old container of cookies and cream ice cream to go with it.

I, of course, took advantage of the sale. I had to. I had a coupon for the Lean Cuisines. I can't refuse a bargain.

Home alone

2007-01-13T19:03:00.000-08:00

My sweetie has left me for the day/night (and taken the step-monkeys with him) and I am home alone. I'm almost never home alone any more, at least not at night and not for hours and hours. The house feels quiet and I'm finding myself spooking easily and pushing open the blinds to check every strange noise. I feel a little lonely and I can't help but think about what my life was like when I was always alone.

Before I met Mr. Monkey (thanks again to Rie and the Abstract Gecko for making that happen) I lived by myself in a series of crappy apartments in sometimes questionable complexes. I didn't miss having roommates, though I had loved my college roommates. I felt like living alone was an important thing to do, a necessary step in becoming a grown up. There were things I took real pleasure in during those years. I liked decorating for myself and watching whatever crappy TV show I wanted to. I really liked not having to clean up after any one but myself. My last crappy apartment was a little studio that I could, quite literally, clean from top to bottom in less than two hours. I slept in the middle of my queen sized bed and I never, ever made the bed in the morning. It was my space, completely.

I'll always be glad I lived by myself but the years that I was alone were, in many ways, a really tough time for me. I was lonely a lot and I was pretty thoroughly convinced I'd never meet someone who would love me. I felt fundamentally unworthy and I really didn't think I'd ever get married. I had a pretty serious eating disorder that living alone allowed me the privacy to get really, really dangerous with. I had a self-destructive streak that would, I think, surprise most people who know me now. It surprises me sometimes when I think about it. When I think about the years from about 20-25, I feel grief for that version of myself. I wish I could have known that things would get better, that I would get better (therapy can be a very, very good thing) and would, in time, meet the love of my life. I wish I had liked myself as much back then as I do now. I wish that I had trusted that other people would like me to.

There are days when I still don't feel comfortable in my own skin. There are days when I still think all of my problems or frustrations would be solved by being skinny. Sometimes I still worry that I'll be found out-that everyone who likes me will suddenly come to their senses and stop thinking I'm funny or nice or whatever they think I am. But those are just the bad days and not everyday and for that I am grateful. Tonight, though, as I sit in my house alone I can't help put think of all of the other Saturday nights I spent alone. I don't know that I've really made peace with that time yet.

My husband won't be home until late tonight, long after I've gone to bed. I suspect he'll find me sleeping in the middle of our queen size bed. He'll probably push me over and then, hopefully, curl next to me with his arm around my waist. We'll sleep curved like kidney beans and I know I'll be the last one to wake up tomorrow morning. The house will probably smell like sausage and toast and Mr. Monkey and the younger monkey son will be fighting about the merits of watching football versus Sponge Bob on TV. This is a normal Sunday morning. This is the life I wished for back in those crappy apartments. I know I won't be lonely in the morning but a part of me wants to hold on to what I'm feeling tonight. I guess that's why I'm writing tonight. I want to remember that sometimes the past isn't quiet or distant.

My resolutions

2007-01-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

I think I must be an optimist. Every year I make New Years Resolutions and every year I break them and then the very next year I make them again. For a long time I made and broke the same resolutions over and over (lose weight, exercise more, get out of debt) but not this year. No sir. I am making brand new, totally attainable resolutions. I'm not aiming to do anything life changing or inspiring or impressive. Nope. I'm making piddly small baby resolutions that no one will notice but me.

1. Finish bottle of vitamins.
I've never been good about remembering to take vitamins and I've thrown away more bottles of expired vitamins than I'd like to admit. But no longer! New leaf being turned over here. I bought a bottle of women's one a day about six months ago that had 100 vitamins in it. I'm giving myself a year to finish it. I'm no math major but I think I can through 100 in a year.

2. Eat better chocolate.
I've come to terms with the fact that I have a massive sweet tooth and I've embraced the fact that I will never give up eating chocolate. Never ever ever. I have decided, however, to stop eating crappy chocolate. It cheapens the chocolate experience and doesn't really satisfy the chocolate urge. So, no more shall a piece of Palmer's chocolate or chocolate that has started to get crumbly pass these lips. Cadbury:yes. Ghiradelli:yes. Godiva: oh hell yes. Hershey's: maybe, if it is dark and fresh.

3. Get up the courage to tell Mr. Monkey's boys that I love them.
I'm afraid they'll think I'm weird or won't say it back. Clearly some bucking up on my part is required.

4. Go dancing with Mr. Monkey
We dance a lot in our house. A lot, especially when Law and Order is on and we can groove to the theme song. We've danced at weddings but we've never gone out dancing. I wanna dance*

Any one else have any resolutions?

*and all the old school Whitney Houston fans added "with some body who loves me".

Nose, meet grindstone

2007-01-01T21:03:00.000-08:00

Sigh. So, back to work tomorrow. Now, don't get me wrong....I like my job. Its a good job and I'm glad to have it but after an all too brief holiday break I'm not quite ready to go back.

I had such grand intentions for this break. I was going to hike and shop and organize (oh how I love a good organize) and spend fun time with the husband and with friends. I was also going to finish my syllabus for a class I'm teaching this spring (yup, I'm teaching. How scary is that?). I was going to be a whirl wind of productivity and good holiday cheer. Instead, I got a head cold and spent most of the week riding the couch, being clingy, needy and whiny. I went as far as to force Mr. Monkey to bring me juice and keep me company in the living room while I watched many, many episodes of A Baby Story on TLC. He's a very patient man, that Mr. Monkey.

I finally started feeling better by the end of the week, so I got a little fun time with friends (Kelly and I saw "The Queen"...two thumbs up) and even managed to do just enough shopping to find a new pair of jeans but I still feel cheated. I want more time. I don't want to have to get up and get going while it is still dark out.

I should go be an adult and put myself to bed early. Boo.

My husband is gay.

2006-12-17T19:28:00.000-08:00

Or at least he is going to be, according to this obviously well researched article:

http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=53327

As some of you may know, my husband Mr. Monkey is allergic to almost everything. His no-no list includes chocolate, milk, eggs, cheese (I could not live), nuts, fish, bananas and possibly avocados so he drinks a lot of soy milk...clearly he is a ticking gay time bomb.

I'm going to miss our loving heterosexual marriage. I am. I'm going to miss the loving heterosexual nookie a lot too. We'll have to stay married, of course. I love him far to much to consider leaving him just because the soy milk has turned him. I will learn to adjust to whatever form our new relationship takes. Maybe we'll take long walks and hold hands and talk about the crush that both of us have on George Clooney. That could be okay.

On a serious note though, can I just say that dumb ass articles like this make me so irritated to be a Christian. I am okay with my Jesus believing self but when I read nonsense like this written by people who are apparently ministers of some sort I just get so annoyed. I believe, truly, that there are many, many kind and rational and loving Christians out there. I am happy to be friends with quite a few, but sometimes it feels like the whack jobs and assholes and bigots who claim the mantle of Christianity are so much more out there the rest of us (those of us who don't think soy makes men have teenie weenies). Grr.

The day after Thanksgiving: a time line

2006-11-24T15:18:00.000-08:00

8:59am Wake up, reluctantly. Curse smallness of bladder.

9:01am Find the husband. Demand kisses and affection.

9:05am Settle into arm chair. Attempt to read lousy new book. Discuss with husband all the reasons the book is lousy. Try to figure out what the author is trying to describe when he says Robert Bly looks like "a leprechaun riding on a polar bear".

9:10am Breakfast: Diet Coke and stuffing, just as God intended.

9:15am-12:07pm Watch TV. Alternate between college football and TLC's What Not to Wear. Appreciate the fact that husband see the merit in TLC's fine day time programming options.

12:08pm Make vague promises to shower and get dressed. Soon. Yeah. Soon. Maybe at 12:30

12:30pm Lunch:Turkey and corn casserole, eaten in front of TV.

12:35pm Wrap self in blanket and set a new shower deadline. Promise to get out of pjs by 1:00pm

1:00pm Watch more TV

1:15pm Sexually harass husband. Pout when said husband refuses to take pants off and dance just to amuse me

1:30pm Say goodbye to husband who is going running. Admire his ambition. Watch more TV

2:00pm Check email, celebrity gossip blogs, read husband's blog (finally updated). Set new shower goal= 2:30pm

2:30pm Still on internet. Take break to have Diet Coke and Vanilla Wafers for snack. Mmm.

3:00pm Finally brush teeth. Congratulate self on this progress. Lay down and rest a little.

3:30pm Take shower. Admire self vigorously for making such progress.

4:24pm. Blog. Procrastinate on actually accomplishing anything today.

Something to occupy you with

2006-11-17T14:49:00.000-08:00

while I fix up my blog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjXi6X-moxE

I laugh every time I watch this. Yes, I am a gigantic dork.

Warning- don't watch if you hate babies.

Hey wait

2006-11-17T14:40:00.000-08:00

Why does my blog look so weird all the sudden? And where did my ode to Kelly go? Must try to fix....

Ebay is bad

2006-11-17T14:22:00.000-08:00

Oh gosh. I should know better.

I love a certain brand of purses. Love them, love them, love them. They are cute, they are functional, they all come with a monkey attached. Love. The thing is that there is really only one store in Tucson that sells them and they only sell boring, basic ones so I'm not usually all too tempted (which is good because these bags are not cheap).

Ebay, on the other hand, has tons of them so I usually avoid going on lest I drive myself crazy with longing.

I went on today.

I want this purse: http://cgi.ebay.com/KIPLING-Destinee-Top-Zipped-Tote-Bag-in-Milkshake-BNWT_W0QQitemZ120051465934QQihZ002QQcategoryZ63852QQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem

Someone please tell me why I shouldn't have it. C'mon. Give me some good reasons.

Homeowners

2006-11-17T14:05:00.000-08:00

So, we did it. Signed a million pieces of paper and became homeowners last night. Yay... I guess? I don't know. It feels very anti-climactic right now. We aren't going to actually move into the house until May so we're not packing or excitedly choosing paint colors or anything fun like that yet. I know the time will go quickly and we'll be in the house soon enough but I kind of wish we could move in sooner.

On the plus side, I made it through my terror at going deeply, deeply into debt and managed to sign all the paperwork with out fainting or vomiting (both of which seemed like real possibilities at the time). Yay me.

Updates

2006-11-10T21:15:00.000-08:00

1. The story is finished and in the hot little hands of all of my classmates. They have until Monday night to read it and make comments before they give me feedback in class that night. I am deeply nervous about this. I know that I am a decent enough writer but I don't exactly trust all of my classmates to be constructive in their critism.

2. We got the house and we close on Thursday! Yippee! We'll become home owners and land lords all at once as the current owners will be renting the house back from us for several months. So, no worries about packing for the moment, though I'm sure the time for that will come soon enough.

3. I am still caffeinated, sugared and monkey brained most days.

Somethings never change

2006-11-05T22:27:00.000-08:00

Sunday night. 11:20pm.

Why am I still up? Well, mostly because I have a major assignment due for my class tomorrow. Yep. My class that I'm taking "just for fun". I have a story due and I did almost everything but write it. I pouted. I whined. I procrastinated. And now I am tired and I have a headache and I want to go to bed, but instead I'm blogging and spending far to much time at this website:

http://www.bighappyfunhouse.com/

The pictures posted on October 26th and 27th (Imagination, Aged and Pride) are my faves. Check it out.

The two things I'm thinking about right now

2006-10-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

Thing One: Mr. Monkey and I are in the midst of buying a house. This is, for me, a big and scary and stressful experience. This is, for Mr. Monkey, not such a big deal since he's been a home owner before. One of us, and I won't name names here, has a nervous stomach and is currently considering marketing a new diet plan called "Poop Yourself Skinny". It is not necessarily a complicated plan but there'll definitely be an informational to explain how to use the thought of a mortgage payment to induce feelings of, um, bowel urgency. It’s gonna be great.

Thing Two: My writing class. My class meets tonight, in three hours to be exact and I have nothing to turn in. I wrote a little last night but what I wrote sucked like a Dyson on a shag rug so I tossed it out. I intended to write today but I actually had to work at work so that didn't pan out for me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do.

Happy birthday little blog!

2006-10-05T21:41:00.001-07:00

My blog turned 1 year old yesterday...yay little blog!

I went back and read my first month or so of blog postings and it was interesting. Some things have changed since October 2005 and some things are depressingly the same. I wrote about wanting to redeem myself from a terrible sugar and caffeine habit and, well, I'm still a sugar and Diet Coke junkie. Maybe worse than before. I know that I weight exactly the same as I did then, despite 365 days of thinking about wanting to weigh less.

I wrote about wanting to have a baby but struggling with the timing...and tonight I took my bc pill and a women's vitamin loaded with folic acid, so I'm thinking that means that I'm still basically in the same place. I want a baby but the timing isn't right yet so I both try to prevent it from happening while trying to prepare my body for it. Some times this makes me feel a little depressed.

Let's see, what else...Mr. Monkey is still a runner man and I still like hearing him call me "wife". I did finish grad school, so all those whiny and petulant entries about my thesis did amount to something. I also changed my job, so there was some progress there too. I don't shill lotion anymore, but I'm still trying to work an extra job to save money for a house (please feel free to take this as a shameless plug for www.tastefullysimple.com ....go visit, you'll love the beer bread). We still live in our little rental house but that looks like it might change in the next six months, so that's good news.

I wrote 69 posts this first year, which amounts to a fairly respectable post every 5 days. This is the one thing I beat my husband on this year. Woo!

Word Play

2006-10-04T13:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, I have a new mini-obsession that I am totally cracking myself up with…Tom Swifties. We had to come up with a bunch of these during my writing class last week and now I can’t stop myself from trying to think of more. For those of you who haven’t heard of them, a Tom Swiftie is a type of word play where an adverb is used in a speaker attribution in a way that is both proper and punning. Here is a pretty standard example:
“I ate a hot dog today,” Tom said frankly.

A “good” Tom Swiftie should make you laugh and/or groan. Here are some of my personal favorites:

“I need some Viagra,” Tom said limply

“Don’t call me Howard,” he said sternly

“I bought a new thong,” she said cheekily

“Please fill it in,” he said blankly

“It can’t be fixed,” Tom said brokenly

“Are you a diabetic?” she asked sweetly

“The doctor said I need a bypass,” he said heartily

“Will you marry me?” he asked engagingly

“I’m a lumberjack,” he said woodenly

“I dropped the toothpaste,” Tom said, crestfallen

“I think it might be radioactive,” Tom said glowingly

I know some you out there are word nerds too…so…contest time! Submit your best Tom Swifties and I will choose the best one and write a poem of praise about the winner. A real, honest to goodness poem (rhyming and everything) posted forever on this here blog. Post early, post often!

Dairy Queen

2006-10-01T09:22:00.000-07:00

Oh my. I think I have an issue. Please look at the following things I've eaten this weekend...tell me, do you see a theme here?

Thursday night: Two cheese grilled cheese sandwhich on sourdough (so yummy)
Friday night: Chicken tortilla soup garnised with shredded chedder (does it count as a garnish if you use 3/4 of a cup?)
Saturday snack: Tuscan Valley cheese ball spread on chips (said cheeseball is 99.9% cream cheese and .1% spices. It goes without saying that it is freaking delicious). This cheeseball is followed by a Key Lime dessert cheeseball.
Saturday supper: Cheese pizza.

It is now Sunday morning and what am I considering for breakfast....why, a cheese omlet of course.

Maybe I wouldn't feel as concerned about all of this if I used love fat cheese, but I firmly believe that low fat, or even worse non-fat, cheese is an abomination. It makes the little tiny baby Jesus cry.

I'm trying to justify this cheese eating ramage in the following two ways: 1. At least its not sugar and 2. I'm Dutch and this is, therefore, an important way of celebrating my culture. Maybe if I eat enough my meager Dutch speaking skills will come back...

Oh look...it works... Ik houd van kaas! Kaas, kaas, kaas...

Mosquitoes

2006-09-23T15:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Mosquito population of greater Tucson,

You win. I give up. I don't know what exactly it is that you want from me (other than my blood obviously) but what ever it is...you can have it. You have broken my spirit and sapped me of the will to fight. I am too busy scratching myself to resist any longer. My husband thinks I have West Nile virus and my legs are covered in scabs and bites. It is not a pretty picture and I am willing to agree to any terms to get some relief.

I would like to point out, however, that I am not the only warm blooded mammal in this house. Now that you have my unconditional surrender, perhaps you'd like a change of pace and might like to feast on someone else's blood for a change...just a thought.

Yours truly,

Caffeinated itchy monkey.

An explanation

2006-09-20T21:24:00.000-07:00

So, below is my first writing assignment for my class. Our assignment was to write a letter from the perspective of a purse snatcher to the person they stole from.

I think it is okay, not great, but okay. I'm mostly publishing it so I can get braver about being a wanna be writer person.

Also, Kelly made me.

By Request: My first writing assignment

2006-09-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

Inmate Number J450341
Brooksville Women's Correctional Facility
Brooksville, OH 46874

Mrs. Miranda Caraway
1471 Cottonwood Lane
Marysville, OH 47584

Dear Mrs. Caraway,

Pursuant to the terms of my recent plea bargain agreement, this letter is to stand as my official apology to you as well as my admission of guilt and remorse. I have been strongly advised by my attorney (a man whose advice I listen to despite the fact that he wears the same brown shoes every single time we meet) that my plea bargain was a "gift" and that I should thank my lucky stars and that six to nine months is "no time at all" for a chronic thief like me. He says that a nicely written letter might facilitate my early release. I certainly hope so. Orange does not flatter my skin tone.

I do want you to know that I have a great deal of remorse for the events of October 13th, 2005. Sometimes, late at night when Theresa my flat mate (sounds so much nicer than cell mate, don't you agree?) is exuberantly snoring and sleep eludes me, I find my thoughts returning to that pivotal moment in the feminine hygiene aisle of the Kroger when our paths crossed. I distinctly remember the first moment I saw you. You were wearing a velour tracksuit in a shade of purple best left to eggplants. I'm not sure if I noticed your white tennis shoes next or your permed hair. I am certain that both upset me greatly. It was, after all, after Labor Day and no longer 1986. You had a cart full of disgusting food: corn dogs, frozen pizzas, ice milk and several Lean Cuisine frozen entrees that, judging by your rather ample figure, must have been for someone else. I noticed your cart because it was parked directly in the center of the aisle, left unattended while you struggled with an economy size box of generic tampons (in super absorbent size, which I found a bit unseemly I must say).

It took me only a moment though to notice the thing that upset me most: your purse. There it sat in the front seat- a perfect purse. A Hermes Birkin bag in black. It had the stunning gold hardware, the gorgeous leather, the clasped opening. It was just as I remembered it from the September Vogue where it was featured as the fall "must have item." I remember drawing a breath, simultaneously awed by its loveliness and stunned by its presence in your cart. I felt sure there was some sort of cosmic error. You, a woman who no doubt reads Women's Day or Ladies Home Journal not Vogue or even Elle, carrying a Birkin. It just didn't make sense. You clearly have children (four, I would later learn during your deposition). Who would allow a child to live in the same house as a Birkin? Children have such sticky, dirty fingers.

I knew, instinctively, the way one just knows not to wear sequins before nightfall or spandex unless you are racing through the hills of France on a bicycle, that the universe had meant for me to be at that Kroger at that exact moment. I knew that I was the one meant to liberate that Birkin.

As you no doubt remember from my recent deposition, yours was not the first expensive handbag I have liberated from an undeserving owner. There was a Chanel in the floral department at Target, a Fendi left on the changing room floor at Macy's and even a Prada from a restroom at Applebee's. All of them rightfully removed into my protective custody, all of them finally achieving their true potential upon my very thin, very fashionable arm, but none of them cried out for me the way that your Birkin did. I didn't hesitate. I didn't need to. I grabbed it and quickly, but gracefully made my away out of the Kroger and toward freedom.

I was, of course, stunned when the police arrived at my apartment a few hours later. Who would have thought that our humble Kroger had such a high tech security system? Who would have thought they could trace me from my frequent shopper card? I knew I should have just paid full price for my magazines and salad fixings. I must always remember that it never pays to be cheap.

The hours after my arrest were a bit of a blur. The search warrant, the amazement of the officers as they found my climate controlled walk-in closet filled with purses and shoes, their delight when they found the Birkin with your wallet and identification still inside-- all of it seemed to happen so fast. I didn't even have time to say goodbye to my new camel colored leather boots before they took me away.

The next few hours were upsetting, as you can imagine, and it was obvious to everyone involved that I would be found guilty of grand theft, owing to the high price of all of the liberated (or "stolen" if you must be technical about it) purses. I felt sadness as I sat in that first cell but I also felt certain of the moral justness of what I had done. I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard something so terrible, so horrible that it haunts me still.

"Hey, are you the lady that stole that knock-off purse?"

"Me? No. I took the black Hermes Birkin."

"Yeah, the fake black leather purse. Get up. Your lawyer is here."

The young officer seemed impatient with me as I struggled to form words. A knock-off? A fake? Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as I tried stand. I couldn't breath. The room started to spin. It couldn't possibly have been a fake. I thought I heard myself screaming as the room went black.

Later, after the brief stay in the infirmary and the unfortunate outburst at the prison chaplain and then the lovely calming pills, my lawyer explained to me that your purse was not a real Birkin and was, instead, a souvenir from your recent anniversary trip to New York City. It was a Canal Street knock off. I was going to prison for a knock-off. I felt in that moment such shame and such disappointment in myself. I should have known. I should have checked for the serial number, for the tiny Hermes logo inside. I should have sniffed the leather a bit more intensely. I will have to come to terms with being fooled by a fake for the rest of my life.

Now, as I begin my stay here at Brooksville, I want you to know that I am sorry. You did, in fact, deserve to have that purse. You should also know that I feel real remorse that I got caught. I plan to read as many fashion magazines as the guards will allow my mother to send me...I will certainly never make this mistake again.

Please tell the district attorney that you received this letter. You should probably mention to her that I used real linen stationary. I am making an effort here.

Yours truly,

Blythe Fulton-Kennsington
Inmate J450341

Writer Monkey

2006-09-12T09:42:00.000-07:00

So, as some of my readers may know, I’m taking a writing class this semester. Officially I’m just taking it for fun and to develop my creative side. This is mostly true. Unofficially, I want to be the best writer in the class and to have the teacher love me more than anyone else and to get the bestest grade ever given and to be worshipped and adored by each and every one of my classmates.

I realize that maybe, just maybe, I’m not quite over my teacher’s pet phase.

I’m not sure how this class is going to go for me. First of all, the teacher doesn’t believe in grading creative writing, so we get graded mostly on attendance and participation. My “A” loving little heart and my deeply seated competitive side are not thrilled with this policy. How will I know who I’m better than if we can all get A’s?

Second, it turns out that there are some very annoying people drawn to writing classes (obviously this includes me). There is Booming Voice Ted (BVT), who always has a comment to make and who has the loudest indoor voice I’ve ever heard. BVT really, really likes his writing and has promised (threatened?) that he will always be willing to read his stuff out loud. He says he wants to write about “powerful words. Words like birth, hope, transformation, love and death.” I am really not looking forward to BVT’s dramatic readings of his birth scenes.

Also annoying the Egg of Expression Girl (EEG). EEG is one of those “look at me, look at me, I am ever so creative! I have artfully messy hair and black fingernails and I name drop authors I am allegedly reading. I drink a lot of coffee and talk about the hidden darkness in everyday life” type of people. Her nickname stems from an exercise in class where we all had to finish this sentence: The art of writing is __________. Her response? “The art of writing is the act of frying an egg of expression on a sidewalk instead of a skillet.”

Gag. The worst part is that everyone in class sighed reverently at that. I dare anyone in class to come up with a coherent explanation for what that even means.

There is also a group of students, the “Gen Eds”, who are in the class despite their stated aversions to both writing and reading. This class is a transferable so I can understand the need for credit but I think it could be a long semester for the guy sitting next to me who claims to own 600 DVDs and no books.

The rest of the class is a hodgepodge of elderly folks, a couple of people like me taking it just for fun and creative writing and journalism majors. We haven’t really started reading each others stuff yet, so it will be interesting to hear what the folks in this group come up with.

I am, despite my annoyances, glad that I am in the class and I do think I’ll get something out of it…even if that something is just the realization that I am a completely judgmental and competitive person. Self-knowledge is valuable too.

Run, Mr. Monkey, Run!

2006-08-21T20:49:00.000-07:00

So, just a quickie to report that we are back from San Diego (one of my most beloved placed to visit) where Mr. Sugar Monkey ran his first half-marathon. How did he do you ask? Well, to put it simply, he kicked ass. Finished in the top 14% of a race with 7000 runners that featured a hill at mile 11 that was so steep that I didn't totally want to drive up it. He was awesome.

The rest of the trip was great. We got some beach time, drove out to Coronado Island, saw the place where we got married (yes, I burst into tears when I saw it again. I am a the biggest sap ever), had some really great dinners in Little Italy, and got to see a good friend. Not bad for a two day trip.

My Grandmother's book

2006-08-07T22:34:00.000-07:00

In 1987, sitting alone in her retirement condo, my grandmother wrote a book. She titled her book "From Friesland to Michigan" and her handwritten introduction promises to tell her life story for the benefit of her children and grandchildren. She worries that her English won't be good enough.

Her English occasionally limits her, but she wrote anyways, telling the story of her family and her childhood and, eventually, her courtship with my grandfather. Her book is small, maybe 75 pages, but when I read it again tonight it seemed a much bigger story to me.

I was given a copy of her book several years ago but I never read it. I didn't know my grandparents very well- my grandmother always seemed the model of a certain kind of prim Protestantism and my grandfather always sounded like a jerk in the stories my mother told about him (it should be noted that my mother is a notoriously bad family historian and has an unquenchable impulse toward martyrdom, so I realize I should take her accounts with a grain of salt. Or a shaker). I officially loved my grandparents and all, but I didn't know them. They were caricatures to me.

But tonight, I read. Read about a wedding planned for 1939 that was delayed by a German invasion. Read about a marriage that survived a massive flood, an economic depression, a two week boat trip to immigrate to America, and other challenges until a heart attack killed my grandfather in 1985. It occurred to me, I'm ashamed to admit, for the first time that my grandparents deeply loved each other. My grandmother, the most pious woman I've known, writes about her aching loneliness and deep anger at God. She screams and she cries and she curses God for her loss. I think I had always assumed that my grandfathers death made my grandmother sad of course, but I always thought it was somehow easier because he was old and they were married so long. I don't know if it is because I am married now but I think I am starting to understand that maybe you are never really prepared to lose the love of your life.

My grandmother is dead now and I believe that she is with my grandfather now in some way. I sometimes wonder what my grandmother would have thought about my marriage to Michael. I think that there would have been a part of her that would have been shocked at first. I'm not sure what would have shocked her more: Michael's age? His ethnicity? His previous marital status? But I think that she would have seen how much I love him and it would ultimately have seemed very familiar to her and I think she is happy for me.

Leggings: Could I be at risk?

2006-07-24T14:30:00.000-07:00

As anyone who has even glanced at a recent issue of US Weekly/People/OK/In Touch/Star magazine can tell you leggings, those black fashion faux pas of my junior high years, are making a serious comeback among the emaciated celebrities crowd. While it is bad enough that certain frail, starving actresses (maybe they need to wear them for warmth?) are wearing what are essentially panty hose with out feet, the problem seems to be spreading. A recent fashion magazine I subscribe to just included leggings in a fashion problems and solutions page…as a solution. Target is starting to sell them. I am growing nervous.

The thing is, I wore leggings. I wore them a lot. I wore them with HUGE sweatshirts and under dresses and even, and this is regrettable, with shorts. I was, in my defense, going through puberty at the time and was quite possibly insane from the changing hormones. Still, I look back at that era as a simpler time. A time when bangs were beautiful and Aqua Net was my friend. It was a time when I longed for the love of only one man (Jordan Knight) and hoped desperately for my boobs to come in right. It may have been a simpler time…but I don’t want to go back. I looked ridiculous in leggings but I harbor a quiet fear that in a matter of months, which regular media exposure, I might succumb to the siren song of the black leggings.

Why the fear, you ask? Two words: capri pants. Capri pants really came into fashion my freshman year of college and I hated them at first. I thought they looked ridiculous and gave the impression that the person wearing them had just, very recently, experienced a growth spurt and no longer fit their pants. But, after about a year of regular exposure to them, I grew to tolerate them and then even to like them. Now? I love them. I probably own more capri pants than regular pants. I can’t get enough of baring my ankles. What if I fall back in love with leggings? From there it is a slippery slope back into stirrup pants and hypercolor clothing. I just can’t bear the thought of it.

So, I demand accountability…if you see me gazing longingly at leggings or remarking that “Mary Kate looks really cute in that picture” please show me my junior high year book. That should snap me out of it pretty quickly.

Things I Think But Do Not Say: Work Edition

2006-07-10T18:11:00.000-07:00

#1: You are 48 years old. You are a grown woman. Enough with the baby talk. It is a financial aid appeal. It is not a “widdle mean yellow form”. You are not being cute or funny. You are being annoying and weird.

#2: Larry, stop talking to me about Star Wars. Stop it now. I do not care. Knowing that you saw all the movies in the theatre 3 times each does not help me place you in the correct math class. It really doesn’t.

#3: Get off your cell phone, annoying UofA student. Get off it now or get the hell out of my office. You need me more than I need to hear about how “Heather was so drunk last night! She was totally shit-faced”. Also, stop being such a stereotype about UofA girls. Put on a shirt that covers your damned boobs. Stop wearing shorts that are from the toddler section.

#4: Mmmm. You smell good.

#5: Why are you here? Why are you wasting your time and money? You haven’t passed a single class in three semesters and you claim that you don’t like any classes that have to do with math, reading, writing or science yet you are majoring in Business. Drop out. Get a job. Come back when you are ready.

#6: My name is not Madame Cleo. I can not guess what classes a school I’ve never heard of in a state I’ve never been to will accept for transfer.

#7: Ooooh. Starbucks. I want. Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee….

#8: Wow. You have 7 kids and you are only 32 years old. I can’t even imagine. Was that on purpose?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, I know I sound mean but I am so brain fried right now. We have had over 200 students in the office today and only 7 advisors. I am growing fearful that I might not be able to contain my internal monologue for very much longer.

Not at all listless

2006-06-20T22:11:00.000-07:00

A brief listing of some of the lists I have going right now:

1. Things to do at work: this week
2. Things to do at work: this summer
3. Things to do at work: to get step progression
Okay, this one is a little sad. There are at least 10 items on this list that I need to do to get a whopping 30 cents an hour raise.
4. Things to do for TS business
5. Things to do: this week at home
6. Things to do before my birthday
7. Groceries
8. Songs to add to my Ipod. This list, if I had any sense of musical pride or snobbery, would be a source of shame. But I don't. So "We are the World" and "We Belong to the Night" both get added tonight.
9. Things to do before I die: I haven't crossed anything off this list in nearly a year. That must be rectified and soon
10. Books to read: Just added "The Book Thief" at the request of the wonderful Chris. There are a few open lines, so feel free to send a suggestion.

I feel busy when I look at that. I'm not sure if that is a good or bad thing.

The Caffeinated Sugar Monkey's Guide to the World Cup

2006-06-13T11:24:00.000-07:00

My husband, the delightful Mr. Monkey, loves sports. All sports. There is, to my knowledge, no sporting event that he won’t watch on TV (except maybe golf) so we are, of course, watching the World Cup as often as possible. I am quite happy to watch both because some of the commentators have Irish accents and because some of those soccer players have some, umm, delightfully sturdy thighs (not that I’m noticing at all. Nope. I never peek. Mr. Monkey’s legs are the only ones I’ve ever noticed). Also, I love to hear “GGGGOOOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!” first thing in the morning.

So, while watching the first round of the World Cup, I have developed several strategies to help me determine which country to cheer for which allows me get more emotionally invested in a match between, for example, Iran and Mexico than I might normally be. Feel free to steal this cheering flow chart for your own use at home:

1. I will always root for the US if they are playing. This satisfies any patriotic urges I might have while also soothes the part of me that roots for the underdog. I know we are officially ranked 5th but after the trouncing on Monday I think we are safely back in underdog territory.

2. I will always pick the Netherlands. I have to have some love for the motherland and I really like all the Dutch last names. In the event of a US vs. Netherlands match, I will hope for a tie.

3. In any game between an African country and a non-African country, I will choose the African country. My first trip overseas was to Ghana and I loved my time there. I know every country is different and blah, blah, blah but I liked Ghana, so I like Africa. Also, the whole underdog thing usually works for me here.

4. In a match between a Latin American country and a team that isn’t US, Dutch or African, I’ll root for the Latin American country. Unless it is Brazil. I think they are cocky and deserve a loss.

5. In a match between two European countries (not including the Netherlands) I’ll root for which ever one seems closest to the Netherlands. Except Germany. A good Dutch girl doesn’t cheer for Germany.

6. Korea. Sigh. I’m not totally sure what to do with Korea. I guess I’d cheer for them in the event that they were playing a team that isn’t US, Dutch, European, African or Latin American (so, basically if they play Iran or Germany) but I don’t really want them to win. When I lived in Korea I heard endlessly about the innate Korean superiority when it comes to all athletic endeavors, so that got pretty tiring. On the other hand, I do have a “Be the Reds!” Korean soccer t-shirt I could wear in the event of a Korean win. I do want them to beat Japan.

7. I don’t care about Australia one way or the other.

I think that covers all my cheering needs. So, cheer with me now: Go Team US/Netherlands/Ghana/Togo/Ivory Coast/Angola/Tunisia/Mexico/Costa Rica/Ecuador/ Paraguay/or Argentina!

My new gig

2006-06-11T10:05:00.000-07:00

So, I've got a new gig. Nope, I haven't left the hallowed halls of community college academia just yet. Instead, I've sorta kinda started my own business. I'm now (insert drumroll here) a Tastefully Simple consultant. For those of you not in the know about the fabulous world of home sale parties, Tastefully Simple (TS from here on out) is a company that makes lots of yummy food mixes and dips and spice. I genuinely love their stuff and have for awhile, so the selling part of it is pretty easy for me. The tricky part for me is balancing how to let people know what I'm doing while balancing me deep desire not to annoy/pressure/bug anyone to either buy stuff or host a party (though, if you do want to do either of those things, let me know!). I trust that there are people in my life who will stop me if I become irritating.

That said, I have my own TS website (see link on the side of this little blog) and I may mention TS related stuff here from time to time but I promise that I am going to do my best not to become one of those obnoxious sales people who tries to insert a reference to their business every opportunity they get. I have no need to become dorkier than I already am.

Okay then. I'm out of the home sales closet now. Feels good.

Funny

2006-06-02T13:20:00.000-07:00

Confession time: I don't really like the movie Animal House very much.

I realize that this isn't the most shocking confession of all time but as a person who prides herself on having a pretty decent sense of humor, I kind of feel like I should like that movie more than I do. It is a classic after all and I know some people completely love it. I was watching a special on Bravo the other night that proclaimed Animal House as the funniest movie of all time and I just had to shrug, because I remember laughing a few times while watching it but it certainly doesn't crack my top ten of funny movies*.

So, how about you? What is your favorite funny movie? What is an allegedly funny movie that you just don't get or like?

* The top ten would include (in no particular order): Airplane!, Blazing Saddles, Spaceballs, Dodgeball, 40-year old Virgin, Rat Race, Ocean's 11 (George Clooney version), and at least one Monty Python (maybe Holy Grail?)

I'm a runner

2006-05-31T15:05:00.000-07:00

Yep. I'm declaring myself a runner. I ran two miles last night. In a row. Without stopping. Or puking (though the thought did cross my mind toward the end there).

I'm pretty excited about it. Running does not come easily to me. I'm not exactly built for it (there are distressingly few world class runners with boobies as big as mine*), I'm not exactly good at it and I've never, ever been fast. I ran my two miles at about a 13.5 minute pace. I think the fact running is so unnatural for me makes me enjoy any success I have in it even more. I know I'll never win a race or be especially good at it, but I can work really hard and I can train and I can be better than I have any business being. That is enough for me.

* I'm totally not bragging about the size of my boobies, by the way. They are more a pain than a source of pride. If I ever have insurance that would cover it, I'd seriously consider a reduction.

Addendum

2006-05-25T21:35:00.000-07:00

A full 20,000 gold stars to the lovely Kelly for being as weired out by Billy as I was.

On that note, have a safe trip to France Kelly! I'll miss you!

Stars for Billy Blanks

2006-05-25T21:20:00.000-07:00

10,000 gold stars for inventing Tae-Bo
5,000 gold stars for putting out Tae-Bo videos
5,000 gold stars for making me sweaty and getting my heart rate up
7,000 gold stars for making my booty sore the next day

Total: 27,000 gold stars

Oh, but wait...

Minus 4,000 gold stars for opening said workout video in a creepy prayer to Jesus (no, Billy, I don't think your workout is so challenging that I think I need divine intervention to complete it)

Minus 5,000 gold stars for wearing a lilac shirt tucked into eggplant colored tights. I do not need that much information about the relative size and shape of both your testicles and your ankles.

Minus 5,000 more gold stars for saying (and this is an honest to goodness quote) "Your legs are like your car tires-- You only get two and they have to last your whole life". Really, Billy? May I just, ever so politely, inquire what the hell kind of car do you drive, exactly?

Minus a big 9,000 gold stars for telling me to "speak the Word" to my legs when they get tired. Listen, I think Christianity in and of itself is weird enough. I don't need to add an extra layer of weird by quoting the Bible at my quivering thigh muscles. Besides, the only verse I really have memorized is "Jesus wept" and I don't think my legs would find that encouraging.

Minus 75 gold stars for having crazy eyes.

So, let's see, that gives good old Billy 3,925 gold stars. Sad. The teacher of my hip hop dance class gets more stars than that just for being cool.

I'm not writing the Great American Novel

2006-05-23T16:02:00.000-07:00

When people ask me about my husband, as they sometimes do, I always say he’s wonderful, he’s smart and that he is a writer (all things that are true about Mr. Monkey). About 50% of the time people respond by asking some variation of “So, is he writing the Great American Novel?”. This is, I imagine, a question that annoys anyone who writes, wants to write or thinks about describing themselves as a writer. It’s dismissive and mocking and implies that if you haven’t published a specific thing (The Great American Novel, for example) that they have heard of, then you aren’t actually a writer.

I have no hesitation about describing Michael as a writer. Beyond the fact that he writes beautifully, writing is at the center of who he is. I think he sees the world in words and ideas. I suspect that he has voices in his head sometimes. I think that there are characters that exist in his mind that are as real to him as I am. I love that about him.

I haven’t ever published anything and I certainly don’t aspire to writing the dreaded Great American Novel but sometimes I daydream about maybe writing something good and true and interesting. I daydream about being brave enough to show someone other than Michael. I daydream about describing myself as a writer without feeling like I am somehow bragging or exaggerating myself. I sometimes feel the same way about describing myself as a runner or an athlete. I feel like I’m waiting for some certificate or something that comes in the mail from the official accrediting agency of writers/runners/athletes/whatever that says I have met the standard and I am that thing that I aspire to be.

I find myself wondering today where the line is between doing something and being something or if there even is a line. How much to do you have to run/write/sing/act/etc before you add the “er” at the end and can describe yourself as a runner/writer/singer/etc? Is it enough to just do something a lot? Do you have to be good at it too? Do you have to do the thing that you want to be in a public way for it to count? If I sing like Ella Fitzgerald but I never leave my house, am I a singer?

What do you think?

15,000 gold stars for me

2006-05-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

Why?

Because I was up at 5 freaking 30 this morning to go to the gym where I had a very good (for me) run/walk.

I also award 20,000 gold stars to Michael who had the grim task of waking me up this morning at 5:25am to go to the gym. I'm a nice girl and all, but morning isn't so much my most delightful time of the day.

Peace

2006-05-08T21:08:00.000-07:00

I, how to put this gently?, completely and totally suck at meditation. I've taken yoga classes, I've read articles on prayerful meditation and I still get completely monkey brained everytime I'm asked to sit in stillness, with a brain that is silent.

I am almost always thinking. Not always deep things, of course. I have, after all, woken up for the last three days with the fantastically horrible song "I'm in Love Wit a Stripper" in my head. That certainly doesn't indicate a lot of deep level nocturnal thinking. I think about food, I think about work, I think about whether or not Katie Holmes is locked in some Scientology dungeon somewhere getting reprogrammed. Serious stuff. Clearly worthy of minutes of my undivided attention.

I often believe myself to be a much better doer than be-er (I can't not think if a better way to spell that). I'm not a "be in the moment" kind of person. I like to dwell in the future and try to rearrange the past. I am a champion worrier.

Except...

I can swim. I can swim well. I can swim easily and when I swim I am the most peaceful person I know.

When I swim, which is not often enough, I stop thinking. The rabble of voices and songs and wonderings is quieted and I hear: my breath, water flowing past my ear, the faraway, indistinct sound of voices on the pool deck. I am quiet.

For a long time there wasn't anyone on the planet who loved swimming more than me. I woke up at 4:45am to swim before school (which shocks my husband who has seen me struggle mightily to get out of bed before 9am on a Saturday). I swam 3-7 miles a day, nearly everyday and I loved it. I like meets and winning ribbons and trying to improve my times but I loved to train. I love the muffled silence of being underwater, I love the repetition, I love the simplicity of movement (arms, legs, breath, repeat).

My love of training actually led to the end of my swimming career in college. I had injured my shoulders and trained when I should have rested and ended up burning out half way through a swim season. I quit the sport, exhausted in mind and body, and didn't swim again for years. I just couldn't because I missed it so much.

I sometimes think about starting to swim again and it scares me. I worry that I'll hate my former love because I won't be good at it anymore. I think I might also worry about letting that stillness back into my life. It so much easier to think about a million little nothings than to be silent and see what happens.

I swam tonight and it was good.

Claim to Lame

2006-05-02T15:02:00.000-07:00

I must confess, before I write any further, that I totally stole this idea from my good friend and workout buddy Kelly. Kelly came up with the concept of a claim to lame, which is basically where you can freely and proudly acknowledge something about yourself that you really ought to feel some embarrassment about. Kelly's claim to lame is that she has seen every movie that stars Freddie Prinze Jr. in the theatre and she paid full price for them. She even saw some of them more than once. That is, quite clearly, a claim to lame.

It should surprise absolutely no one that I have several justifiable claims to lame. I shall now, for your amusement, list them here.

1. I have a deep and long lasting aversion to cotton balls. I can not stand to touch cotton balls. I have to use tweezers to get the cotton out of a pill bottle. If forced to touch a cotton ball I get an instant case of the bad goosebumps and my skin feels like it wants to crawl off my body. I seriously, seriously can not touch them. When I was still working at the lotion shop I once had to put cotton balls on a plate near some lip gloss samples. I had to swaddle my hands in paper towels to avoid skin to cotton ball contact. We do not allow cotton balls at the monkey household.

2. I fervently long to go to Dollywood.

3. While I officially acknowledge U2 as my favorite band, I still secretly love the New Kids on the Block and still have all of my NKOTB tapes and their greatest hits CD. I may have listened to it last month. I may also have sung along. I may, in fact, be Hanging Tough. Jordan Knight was my first love. Don't judge me.

4. I've never seen the following classic/well regarded movies and I have no intention of ever seeing them, even though I know I probably should: Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, Casablanca, The Matrix, Citizen Kane, Dances with Wolves, Lawrence of Arabia and almost every Star Wars movie (I've seen one all the way through, but I'm not totally sure which one it was. I've seen bits and pieces of the rest). My darling husband, a true lover of movies, could probably list even more great movies that I'm missing from this list. After he listed them he would most likely shake his head with a deep sense of sadness in his heart as he contemplates spending a life time with a person whose favorite movie of all time is Steel Magnolias.

5. I cried at the end of Armageddon...both times I saw it.

6. I think the best smell in the world is my skin after I've been swimming. I love the smell of chlorine. The second best smell in the world is Michael's armpits. The third best smell in the world is the inside of new shoes. There is a reason I can't find a perfume that I like.

7. I really want to get called for jury duty someday. I think it sounds great. Lots of waiting around = plenty of time to read. Plus, I love Law and Order and I harbor a secret hope that if called to jury duty the case would be presented by Jack "Junkyard dog" McCoy. I get that he's a fictional character and all, but I still sort of believe he'll be there.

8. In addition to cotton balls, I am most afraid of strange dogs and live chickens.

I could, sadly, list more but I'll save some fun for another day. Anyone else care to share?

Good Read?

2006-04-25T15:19:00.000-07:00

Last month I joined a book club at a friend’s Presbyterian church. The club is all women, mostly of the elderly variety, and filled with retired teachers and librarians. I am the youngest member by literally decades (which is fine by me. I like the role of spunky young thing I guess). Last month we read Teacher Man by Frank McCourt. The book was an easy read, funny in parts, with some lively dialogue. The discussion was a bit rowdy, more so than usual, apparently, because all the teachers had stories to share. It was, in short, a blast.

So, I was eager to return for this month’s meeting even though I was warned that the book was a little “on the dark side” and “maybe a little depressing”. I picked up a copy at Bookman’s and was a bit surprised to find that it was 819 pages long. I had a moment of reservation about starting a depressing book of such length. I have a tendency to hang on to things. Depressing or gruesome or sad books or movies just stay with me longer than most people, I think. I regularly self-censor my movie watching for this reason. I’ve made exceptions, of course, and have sometimes wished I hadn’t (case in point- the movie Boys Don’t Cry. Great film, but it seriously upset me for days afterward. It took me a solid week to stop having rape dreams).

I read the book anyways and found that it was, in fact, completely depressing. The book starts with 150 pages of set up where the reader learns that the protagonist family is a good family. They are happy. They love each other well and deeply. I read with gut clenching anxiety, knowing that awful things were bound to happen to them. No one could stay that happy for 700 more pages.

Finally bad stuff does happen. Lots of it. There are Nazi’s and a concentration camp victim. There is a teacher who molests dozens of little girls, who never tell anyone. There is a little girl raped and murdered. An innocent and heroic young man is falsely accused, beaten by the police, convicted with virtually no evidence, sent to prison, and raped. He is eventually released and is then diagnosed with a terrible disease. The happy family falls apart in multiple ways and is never restored. The book ends with the revelation that the little girl was raped with a corn cob (!) and killed by two other 9 year old girls.

I finished the book and was exhausted by it all.

As I prepare for book club tonight, I find myself wondering what to say about this book. We have to rate the books on a 10 point scale and I have no idea how to rate it. The writing was powerful and the author has a fine descriptive voice (though she could rein it in a little bit. This book could have easily been 100 pages shorter) but I hated reading it. She has some scenes and moments in the book that are pitch perfect and I admire that but… ugh… it was all so bleak.

So, my question for all four of you who read this blog…what makes a good book? Do you have to actually enjoy reading it to count it as good? How important is the pleasure of the read compared to the quality of the writing? Finally, what is a “good” book (a classic perhaps) that you hated reading?