11-30-08

Holy Crap: It’s Jerry’s Curb Service

Nom, fries, cheese and special sauce. Oh yeah. Jerry’s :)

11-28-08

Hipsters! Hide!

Once, Laur made an off handed, snide comment about hipsters…possibly eluding to the fact that we may be hipsters.

S: Eff you laur, you heinous bitch. The end.

Months later, I still have to ask D:

S: D, Does this make me look hipster?

D: No Shell

Months, months later the paranoia increases at an alarming rate, and finally I scour the internets looking for the solution to the problem:

Was Laur or was Laur not being a heinous bitch in claiming I was a, gasp, Hipster.

Then I stumbled on hipster clues and began to get angry that I fell into a few of those, ok, the first four of those categories.

Depressed, I put on my very gold ballet flats, my vintage trench and went for a walk.

That’s when it happened: the solution. 5’6″ of hipster goodness came scowling down the sidewalk passed me. Skinny Jeans, crappy ass top straight from the eighties and big effin’ sunglasses in a pale color that accomplished approximately zilch in the blockage department…in that it protected me not from the scorn she shoot me when I very happily, almost all too excitedly said:

S: Hi

Translations: OMG! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for proving to me that I am indeed only half way in love with a heinous bitch who often confuses scotch with whimsy and NOT a hipster.

As she passed I pulled out my imaginary sword, spun on D and:

S: Ah! A duel, she challenges my uber hipster status! Avenge ye!

So in a totally unrelated instance, I got lost in a pmog search (ok, distracted when we crossed the Girls Next Door site which somehow winded me up on adbusters (don’t get me started, hypocrites) and to this little ditty on hipsters. Which led to this little ditty which led to this little ditty because I only got to the first sentence about “Chloë Sevigny fellated Vincent Gallo” and I got distracted…sort of like the shoes over the electric wire that caught me away from yelling at D. Distracted.

Fellated in paradise (because, really, just the word sounds like a happy state? No? Or wait, “elated”?),

~Shell

(p.s. in case you missed the sarcasm between the lines, it’s there…look harder. It’s all bull)

11-26-08

For Christmas I got you FIRE!!!!

It all started at work, when I yelled a little too loudly for the cubicle walls “you bought what?”

“I bought you a chimnea for the back yard! I bought it for your birthday, and your Christmas…and my christmas” meaning he spent a lot on it. “Oh no, I got it on sale” he said when I asked him how much. “I opened a credit card and got $30 off.”

Here’s where my office cohorts REALLY loved me.”YOU DID WHAT?” I yelled, visions of his $2k in 2 week splurge in Miami a few years back we are still paying off.

Everything will be ok.

———-

So a few days ago the thing comes in. It’s not a chimnea, chimneas have limits…they have a roof, the flames can only go so high. This is a three foot, solid metal OPEN fire pit. It sits approximately three feet on all three sides by two wooden fences and a brick wall.

“I’m going out for fire wood” he says.

“Don’t we have a bag of briquettes in the back under the grill.” It;s not enough, he comes back in and sets a BAG of wood, nice, clean chopped, cliche logs of wood.

The girls drag the bag across the tile chanting “fire! fire!”

“The girls go to bed before you start it.”

“Awww” all three of them: instant bad guy. The girls go to sleep, I go about my business, alternating web surfing and crocheting until I smell smoke. I don’t look up, I municode.com the burning regs for Vero. Small=ok. Ok, good. I look up.

David’s dancing around the fire in some adrenaline enduced euphoria holding a poker in one hand and a bottle of lighter fluid in the other. Or at least this is what I envision if I wasn’t blinded by the flames leaping into the air rivaling the fires set by the drunk kids at A&M.

I, doing my wifely duties, fly to the door and chastize…in a low voice so as not to draw attention to the situation…which is great in retrospect because it’s hard to miss eight foot high flames. He has the fire set up boyscout style…all teepee shaped and ready to cook a frozen turkey in 9.5 minutes. ABSOLUTE MARSHMELLOW EXTERMINATION.

He is dejected, on the verge of protest, finally setteling on a “yes dear” as his body slumps.

I spin back around, sit on the couch and refuse to acknowledge my back yard for the next two hours. The smell of smoke is thick. I’m waiting for the alarms to go off.

This is the gift that rivals the “she wants a Playstation, she told me” Christmas where my brother got a new playstation after persuading my mom I wanted one so badly I couldn’t see straight.

Everything will be ok. As Ben Stein would say: Burn Mother F@Ker, burn.

11-25-08

Oglebay Park Christmas Lights

I was feeling very sad and heartachy, as I am apt to do this time of year, feeling homesick (in addition to regular sick…my voice is now gone gone gone. The minions will smell weakness and turn to attack.) So what’s a girl to do? Oh, I don’t know, how about go a googgling some of her favorite childhood memories to REALLY make things bad.

First stop, Oglebay’s festival of lights. I use to love going here and I am pretty sure we went every year within a year or two of it beginning in 1985. I remember being bundled up in the car, eating at Big Boys (RIP) and stopping by the glass factory, the mansion and the zoo. When we got older we use to stay at the lodge. There is a corridor that reminded me of the scene from the Shining.

We were there for New Years once, I remember sneaking into the ballroom and seeing it all decked out. We met a kid who taught my brother to play Magic the Gathering in the lobby and the piano in the gathering room always made me want to learn how to play.

I hope to take the girls there one day…when they are a bit older and will remember.

11-23-08

Laura Wing is the COOLEST PERSON IN THE WORLD!

L contacted me right around the time I took on the TreasureCoastMoms adventure and was all like “You’re freaking amazing” and I was all like “Effin right I am!” (ok, so I was more like eight shades fo red, flabber gasted and really, really honored…right after I realized her email wasn’t spam trying to sell me viagra. I’m in a lot of denial about my apparent awesomeness.) What makes her even MORE cool is that she put up with my crap for a couple months until I was able to get her all the information she needed (you guys remember…the hollow silence between blog posts and me going “OMG, nervous breakdown” it was during that time).

Without further ado…here it is: complete with pictures-of-awesomeness from my dear friend L.gravell. Ta-da! Click to read. I’m way to nervous to watch the videos yet. I started one and was all like “OMG” and stopped it. Sigh. Such a spaz. I will watch it, I promise.

11-22-08

Poor Slob, Poor Slob Without a Name

The dog was bequeathed to us by our neighbors when they decided to screw our landlord and us in the process (our landlord hates us now b/c D “referred” them, personally his ex GF moving in next door was less than exciting to me.). He was called Louie once. It doesn’t really fit him. We were thinking Linux, but that didn’t stick. We call him Lu, I joke it is short for Lucifer. We’ve washed him three days ago and he smells like dog again, a smell that makes me gag.

11-22-08

To Wong Fu, With Love

Sometimes my mind and body seem to separate, so the idea of self becomes thought and the mirror becomes foreign. I blame Ana for that. Sometimes the camera helps bring the two back together again. Sometimes it doesn’t.

S: I always feel like a transvestite in make up.

11-22-08

BPA is Nommy Mommy!

1. Eco-Friendly Play Kitchen Set, (recycled from old milk cartons) 2. fruit bowl, 3. pink kitchen, 4. “Who Will Lead Us Now?”

Somewhere along the lines I think my connections got crossed and now my childhood Christmas memories involve coming down to find the tree in the morning surrounded by mountains of presents. I know, logically, it’s not the case. I am switching some random marketing photo with my own tree and I can’t fogure out why. Regardless, I am having this terrible inner turmoil when it comes to planning for IsaLuna and Solaris’ Christmas presents.

The not-so-logical parent would like to spoil them, buy them the huge fake kitchen and eight sets of fake plastic foods so they can have a full fledged working kitchen. (yum, BPA tastes like chicken!) I think this is the same psycho that actually considers spending $500 on a nursery set. I try not to listen to her.

The logical parent side freaks at the idea of all that plastic crap and force feeding scenery to them when their imaginations need working. She also freaks out at the thought of Christmases past which shows they received way too many things and half of them they didn’t play with.

So maybe this year I don’t feel so bad about spending $40 on the Recycled Kitchen Play Set, $20 on felt for mom and I to set out creating some toy food while she is here and $20 each on an individual present. Not sure what to get Iz yet, but Solaris is getting a kids camera so she stays away from mine, which I just found in the bottom of a laundry basket. Then have mom make some of her awesome cupcakes and dad, his cookies for their stockings.

So $100 on two kids gifts. I can be ok with this, they don’t need a lot of presents and they more open to interpretation it allows them to be the better. Then why do I feel so guilty about not giving them a huge Christmas?

11-21-08

All I Can do is Click Stumble.

Hate being sick. Kids are @ Mimi’s and D is in West Palm for a regatta.

PS. This is not a picture of me. I know it resonates familiarity, but it’s not me.

11-21-08

Problem Solved

So what they don’t tell you when you are picking out nursery colors and baby quilts is that one day in the not to distant future, your two year old will become smarter than you.

Today is that day.

Butter Honey?” Sola asks (for her normal lunch: peanut butter and honey sandwich).

“In a minute, we have to wait for the bread to dethaw, I just took it out of the freezer. See, cold.”

“Put it in there” she tells me, pointing to the toaster.

My jaw hits the floor. In our no microwave (by choice) household, it was the perfect answer. I call D on Skype and find out if he showed her this before. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks.

One day, your two year old will be smarter than you are.

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