After packing several boxes of books (and donating several more boxes to the library), I sucked it up today and got a Kobo eReader. Not that I need to be fancy. Or that I liked spending money. Especially in the inevitable face of our move. But as a parting gift, I had several friends gift me with cards from Chapters. All tolled, I ended up with $125 in gift cards. So that put the cost of the device at $43. AND, since it has the ability to support ePUB files, and I can easily convert the thousand and one lit files that I never have time for into ePUB files, it seemed like a good investment.
And so far, I am loving it.
Plus, it is something nice and small that I can make a knitting project for myself for...to tide me over until I have all my knitting utensils back at hand.
Bah...I hate moving.
ttfn
k.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Today My Hair Looks Marvelous!
Not really, it does!
And while I do rock like Christmas in July, I am not just being conceited.
The reason why my hair looks so divine today? Because I am chopping it all off. My hair is pretty sick and twisted. It spends the majority of it's time being all angry and large and in the way...so I usually just tie it back and try to minimize the shame it is attempting to foist upon me. Eventually, I realize that no matter how much I try to bribe it with fancy haircare products and tempting offers of oil treatments and leave in conditioners, it just ain't going to work with me.
So yesterday I called my hair guy. We have an appointment for 6:30 tonight. He's taking away the dead, the decietful, the angry largeness, and replacing it with a manageable, loving, healthy 'do that will accentuate my stunning features and bring a loving light to my eyes.
And what does my hair do? It decides that it will try to buy itself more time. I wake up this morning and it is all pretty pretty. The curls look wonderful instead of frizzy and sleep deprived. It is doing exactly what I want. It isn't subverting the clips meant to hold it back from stabbing me in the eyes repeatedly. In fact, it is staying away from the general face area without any outside help at all. You see, it knows. It knows that it's time can be counted in hours. It is trying to stop the inevitable. It is making me feel sexy and all RAWR-y. Go get 'em, Tiger, is what it is secretly whispering in my ear.
And if I bought into it's lies? I would wake up tomorrow looking like a q-tip.
Sometimes, I hate the double-life leading hair I have.
ttfn
k.
And while I do rock like Christmas in July, I am not just being conceited.
The reason why my hair looks so divine today? Because I am chopping it all off. My hair is pretty sick and twisted. It spends the majority of it's time being all angry and large and in the way...so I usually just tie it back and try to minimize the shame it is attempting to foist upon me. Eventually, I realize that no matter how much I try to bribe it with fancy haircare products and tempting offers of oil treatments and leave in conditioners, it just ain't going to work with me.
So yesterday I called my hair guy. We have an appointment for 6:30 tonight. He's taking away the dead, the decietful, the angry largeness, and replacing it with a manageable, loving, healthy 'do that will accentuate my stunning features and bring a loving light to my eyes.
And what does my hair do? It decides that it will try to buy itself more time. I wake up this morning and it is all pretty pretty. The curls look wonderful instead of frizzy and sleep deprived. It is doing exactly what I want. It isn't subverting the clips meant to hold it back from stabbing me in the eyes repeatedly. In fact, it is staying away from the general face area without any outside help at all. You see, it knows. It knows that it's time can be counted in hours. It is trying to stop the inevitable. It is making me feel sexy and all RAWR-y. Go get 'em, Tiger, is what it is secretly whispering in my ear.
And if I bought into it's lies? I would wake up tomorrow looking like a q-tip.
Sometimes, I hate the double-life leading hair I have.
ttfn
k.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
How I Am Teaching My Daughter To Challenge The Way Society Thinks
So Princess asked what's for dinner tonight. It's hot and I'm lazy and I have an appointment at 730, so pizza it is. Our conversation went like this:
Me: pizza (pronounced p-ee-za).
Princess: mommy, it's pizza (pronounced p-eet-za)
Me: but there's no "t" in pizza.
Princess: :/ (at this point she just wandered away)
Yes, I am teaching her early on that it's ok to challenge things.
~the gang
Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.
Me: pizza (pronounced p-ee-za).
Princess: mommy, it's pizza (pronounced p-eet-za)
Me: but there's no "t" in pizza.
Princess: :/ (at this point she just wandered away)
Yes, I am teaching her early on that it's ok to challenge things.
~the gang
Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.
Things I Think When No One Else Is Watching
Lately, many of my strange and crazy thoughts have been given free reign. Unfortunately, the BoyBot and I have not been seeing much of each other lately due to work schedules and being so damn busy with organizing our move...so there is no one to reign in the twister of insanity which swirls inside my head, planting little ideas like poor little cowsies in an Illinois field (this is what I imagine the aftermath of a twister involves).
Like today. Today's big concern: My Not So Public Public Bathroom.
I cannot use a public bathroom unless there is an absolute emergency which would result in me having to change my pants when no pants are around to change in to. So, in light of the fact that I burn up 8 hours of every day in my florescent cubical of happiness, I have convinced myself that the potties here are NOT public. I mean, I need to have a security card with my picture (duly taken well after the "3" count so I look like I am in perpetual pain) to get on to the floor and get to them. I don't even need a security card to use the one at home. Pfff...if that doesn't say "Private Bathroom", I just don't know what does.
Yet this illusion of privacy sometimes back fires. There are times when I have been in there taking care of my business (I have heard that this is a much less offensive way of saying "piddling" - KB, now with 20% less offense) and there are some horrible noises coming from a stall nearby. Now I know, on a very basic level, that these are not things that can necessarily be controlled. And if it weren't for these bodily functions, we would likely explode (which would be much ickier). But I can't help feeling somewhat embarassed for that individual.
And then, of course, when I run into them at the sink (oh please, oh please...cuz if they don't go to the sink, they obviously didn't bother reading the sign about the proper way to wash your hands), I just can't bear to look them in the eye. I look at my hands, intensely paying attention to washing in between each finger, making sure every crease and groove is sparkling in hand washing glory. I check out my own reflection, making sure I am not trailing toilet paper or the sticky tabs on feminine napkins which have somehow missed the giant target that is the bin taking up 1/3 of retail space in the stall. I duck my head and run out, hoping they don't follow. And I feel this shame on their part for the rest of the day.
And then, of course, I go home and tell my children it is all a natural part of life and "if ya gotta go, ya gotta go".
But I swear I'm not a hypocrite.
This is what happens to my mind when I have 7 days of work left, and no BoyBot to calm me down. :(
ttfn
kb
Like today. Today's big concern: My Not So Public Public Bathroom.
I cannot use a public bathroom unless there is an absolute emergency which would result in me having to change my pants when no pants are around to change in to. So, in light of the fact that I burn up 8 hours of every day in my florescent cubical of happiness, I have convinced myself that the potties here are NOT public. I mean, I need to have a security card with my picture (duly taken well after the "3" count so I look like I am in perpetual pain) to get on to the floor and get to them. I don't even need a security card to use the one at home. Pfff...if that doesn't say "Private Bathroom", I just don't know what does.
Yet this illusion of privacy sometimes back fires. There are times when I have been in there taking care of my business (I have heard that this is a much less offensive way of saying "piddling" - KB, now with 20% less offense) and there are some horrible noises coming from a stall nearby. Now I know, on a very basic level, that these are not things that can necessarily be controlled. And if it weren't for these bodily functions, we would likely explode (which would be much ickier). But I can't help feeling somewhat embarassed for that individual.
And then, of course, when I run into them at the sink (oh please, oh please...cuz if they don't go to the sink, they obviously didn't bother reading the sign about the proper way to wash your hands), I just can't bear to look them in the eye. I look at my hands, intensely paying attention to washing in between each finger, making sure every crease and groove is sparkling in hand washing glory. I check out my own reflection, making sure I am not trailing toilet paper or the sticky tabs on feminine napkins which have somehow missed the giant target that is the bin taking up 1/3 of retail space in the stall. I duck my head and run out, hoping they don't follow. And I feel this shame on their part for the rest of the day.
And then, of course, I go home and tell my children it is all a natural part of life and "if ya gotta go, ya gotta go".
But I swear I'm not a hypocrite.
This is what happens to my mind when I have 7 days of work left, and no BoyBot to calm me down. :(
ttfn
kb
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Not Much To Report
Life has been so busy lately with doctor's appointments and follow ups (Riley is doing great, as far as his 12 month neonatal appointment), packing and culling, organizing and, well, more organizing. It's been a busy last few weeks. :S
But, I am sure that that will all be over with soon. (7 days left of work!!! WOOOHOOO!!!)
I have just barely started using my Halloween-y yarn. I am not yet sure if I want to make a pair of sockies or a much more visible pair of wrist warmers. Decisions, decisions, decisions.
So, in light of the fact that I don't have much to write, I leave you with:
BACON WRAPPED CHICKEN. Is there nothing that bacon can't do? (I do not mean to abuse the delicate sensibilities of any non-bacon/pork/piggy eating creatures with explicit visions of chicken being violated in such a manner, but I love bacon...it is great and good and so yummy. Besides, I think the chicken likes it.)
But, I am sure that that will all be over with soon. (7 days left of work!!! WOOOHOOO!!!)
I have just barely started using my Halloween-y yarn. I am not yet sure if I want to make a pair of sockies or a much more visible pair of wrist warmers. Decisions, decisions, decisions.
So, in light of the fact that I don't have much to write, I leave you with:
BACON WRAPPED CHICKEN. Is there nothing that bacon can't do? (I do not mean to abuse the delicate sensibilities of any non-bacon/pork/piggy eating creatures with explicit visions of chicken being violated in such a manner, but I love bacon...it is great and good and so yummy. Besides, I think the chicken likes it.)
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