Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Walking on Broken Glass

I have a nasty habit of breaking glass.  I think it's due to my inner Greek.  Often times it is unintentional, but I am nevertheless compelled to yell "OPA!".  I had always thought that this was just due to my natural clumsiness or the second large glass of wine I had consumed before attempting to wash the dishes.  Honest to God, last week I was just washing a wine glass and it actually exploded in my hand.  I have witnesses.  They are now all terrified of my super human powers.  

It turns out that this ability, or lack thereof, may be genetic.  This morning, after I realized that an orange crayon had gotten washed with MY WHITES, I decided to make biscuts and gravy.  Why?  Because my parents taught me to appease my emotions with food.  Really unhealthy southern food.  I was standing in the kitchen stirring my gravy while Ellie played with the drawer of measuring cups.  I have a glass pyrex cup that I usually take out of there when she plays in the drawer.  Usually.  Today I forgot.

The phone rang  and it was Jeremy.  I barely got the word hello out of my mouth when I heard what sounded like a plate glass window being hit with a baseball bat.  I turned around and the glass pyrex had shattered into ninty three million eight hundred sixty five thousand and six pieces.  I also have an inner rain man and that's how I knew exactly how many pieces of glass there were.

Oh the things you will do for love.  I was barefoot, but I stepped over and onto some of the glass to scoop up Ellie before she could move and step on any.  All those years of going bare foot must have paid off because, apparently,  the bottom of my feet also double as kevlar.   I stuck her in her high chair and swept the floor four times.  I think there is still some miniscule shards of glass on the floor.

It is very unfortunate that I had to accidentally blow up the vacuum cleaner the other day.  I could really have used it this morning.

I put Elsbeth down for a nap and planned on having a nice, long pity party in my room.  That's when I spotted Fairway (Chuck Norris's Beard) in my night stand and realized that compared to his, my problems are nothing.  

After all, he used to go places, he used to get baths, he used to get petted.  Now he's lucky if  I'm lazy enough to throw my clothes on the floor for him to sleep on and think of me.  I felt terrible, and so did he.  Knowing it would make him feel better, I fed him a hearty breakfast of biscuts and gravy and then put him to bed in my clothes hamper.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Chuck Norris's Beard and the Bionic Dog

I have two dogs.  A pomeranian and a large, mixed breed who was hit by a car and has had extensive surgeries to reconstruct his back legs.  

The pomeranian is perhaps 10 pounds, and suffers horribly from Napoleon complex.  I do further damage to his already fragile ego by shaving him to look like a lion in the summer.  A large part of his day is spent glaring out the window from his throne on the back of the sofa.  From this vantage point he can  berate every moving thing outside with his impressive vocal abilities.  

This stirring display of canine manliness often compels the bionic dog to express his glee with acts of destruction which are carried out in complete and utter abandon and with what I swear sometimes is  a smile.

I can usually stop these shenanegins by walking into the room and glaring at them.  Never. Underestimate. The.  Stinkeye.  

That's only when I'm there to stop them.  And I know better than to leave both of them out and leave the house.  Admittedly, I am an eternal optimist, and there's always this little voice in the back of my head that says, "They'll be OK, just have a nice, long talk about manners and be sure to pepper it with words like euthanasia and castration, and they will be good."  When will I learn not to listen to the voices in my head?

Last night we just had to run to the store, just to get ONE thing.  We were gone maybe 20 minutes.  We returned to find that Bionic also doubles as one helluva paper shredder.  Too bad it was a LIBRARY BOOK!  It was very reminiscent of the "doll incident"from a few weeks ago. He cannot be held wholly responsible though.  I know that it was incited by the pip squeak pom.  I can  just picture him barking his dictatorial orders of destruction from high atop his perch of superiority.  He was born out of the clippings from Chuck Norris's beard and thus he derives his power from Chuck himself.  Resistance on the part of Bionic was a futile endeavour anyway.  I realized this as I told Jeremy it was his job to clean the mess up.  Bionic is after all, his dog.

Monday, April 28, 2008

The great experiment

We are moving.  To Washington D.C.
At present we live on the Mississippi Gulf coast in a 3 bedroom house with a ginormous back yard for all my menagerie to frolick in, and in which I can be found sun bathing in the company of a naked baby on many days.

Here is a question I posed to myself and my husband last night: "Do we pick up our lives and continue living as we are only in a different location, meaning we rent a house outside the city and drive everywhere and be suburbanites?  Orrrrrrrr, do we get crazy?  And by crazy I mean, take our 2 dogs and cat (bunny and turtle will have to find new homes) and our maniacal little baby and live in the city."  

If we choose door number two I am prepared to sell a car; my heart breaks slightly at the thought of parting with my BMW.  I will ride my new bicycle everywhere or walk with Ellie and take the metro wherever we need to go.  I will stop doing bi-weekly grocery shopping and will instead go to the market or grocery daily and carry purchases home in the basket of my bike.  We will sell many of our personal belongings because they will not fit into an urban living space.  ( side note: I find it an ironic twist of fate that after losing every possession I owned in Katrina three years ago, I am now contemplating parting with much of what I have worked so hard to replace.)

This is my new bike, expept mine will be in white. Mmmmmm

This kind of lifestyle may seem standard and undaunting to many people, but it has been a long time since I have lived in a large, urban enviornment.  Not to mention with dogs and a baby in tow.  I am unaccustomed to public transport and bicycling around a city.  I think many people I know share these sentiments.  But, in my gut, I feel that door number two is the right door.

I have recently become obsessed with
Dutch girls and how they just manage to look effortlessly beautiful with their damn skinny legs, and all without going to the gym.  They just ride their bikes or walk everywhere.  Denmark has one of the lowest instances of obesity in Europe, and many people attribute it to their healthy bicycling lifestyle. We live in a culture of excess and consumerism and are often driven by the need for things that we don't necessarily need.  I am attracted to this idea of letting go of much of this "stuff" and living a more simple life.

So, for now, door number two looks like what we are going to choose.  Stay tuned for more info on this self-inflicted experiment.