Category Archives: Strudel

Heartbroke’d But Still Loc’d

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Tonight is the end-of-the-year school picnic and do you even have to ask? Hells yes I am dreading the CRAP out of it. Awkward conversation with people I usually avoid? YEAH SIGN ME UP. But Strudel is singing and this is Franny’s last hurrah at the school, so I feel obligated.

Strudel has been positively Satanic lately. A couple of nights ago her father, who I am getting along very well with since I know you are wondering and who shall be henceforth referred to as P., ahem, put her to bed without reading to her since she was being crazy naughty. She was quite distraught and stood at the top of her stairs screaming down.

Eventually she climbed into bed, and all was well until about 2 a.m. when she woke up and began emitting an ear-piercing scream until I came in to see what the ruckus was.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“I am still mad because Dad didn’t read to me!”

“What, you woke up and were so furious you had to scream? It is the middle of the night.”

She looked at me with Bambi eyes and a quivery lip. I actually understand waking up furious.

“All right, want to get into bed with me?” She nodded.

The next morning she was still sleeping when I left and I told P. what was going on. He talked to her later after I left.

“It is not nice for you to scream in the middle of the night like that and wake your mother up,” he said. “You should apologize to your mother when you see her tonight.”

“Well, you did not read to me,” she said. “So you should apologize to Mom for making me scream.”

OH SNAP. I got the evil twin.

Strudel is singing tonight for a moving on ceremony before the picnic. Will post video later. Also, on Friday I wrote about Literal Video and forgot to tell you. I am still getting back into this filthy habit.

Three things I am all about today:

Bitches Ain’t Shit

Your Missus is a Nutter

Also sitting in my office in the dark with my hood up and listening to Chet Baker. EEEEMMOOOO

Nothing new here, just thought you should know what is on repeat. Have a good night. Ruby is getting me drunk at the picnic. I am unashamed. I will relate the inappropriate things I say later.

UPDATE! 8:24 p.m. A fun time was had by no one.

Strudel did not sing, and refused to stand with the other children, so there are no pictures.

Sample dialogue:

“SJ! I haven’t seen you in forever! You look–”

“Drunk?”

“I was going to say ‘great,’ but okay!”

This Evening Before Dinner with Ruby

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“Mama are you wearing this one?” Strudel said, holding up my favorite eyeshadow.

“No, I’m wearing some gold stuffs,” I said.

“This is how you open it,” she said, kind of to herself.

“Hey, don’t open my makeup, please!” The little brushes fell onto the floor and behind the toilet.

“I wasn’t opening it.”

“Yes, you did, I saw you. It’s open right now.”

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

I took the makeup out of her hands and put it back in my box.

“Scoot, toots. I don’t want a fibber in here.”

She moved into the hallway and resumed playing with her blocks.

“I’m still in here, Mama.”

“I don’t want to talk to a fibber, how’s that?” I said, finishing my mascara.

“Guess what? You are talking to a fibber right now. Because you said you didn’t want to talk to a fibber, so you are actually talking to one.”

OIC

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“I can’t wait until Christmas Steve comes, Mom,” Franny said. “When does he come again?”

“Christmas Eve eve, remember? And only if you’ve been naughty enough.”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

“CHRISTMAS STEVE! YAY! I GOT A LAUNDRY SCOOP!” Strudel said.

“I hope I get road-marking tape again,” Franny said.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get some crap that breaks in the first day, from whatever place Steve hits before he gets here. Maybe you will luck out and he will break into a construction site again,” I said.

“That wasn’t CRAP! And it didn’t break in the first day. Remember, mom, we made tapey lines all over the house.”

Uh-huh, I remember.

“So, Franny, what else did you get for Christmas last year? Like from me and Strudel’s dad?”

“Umm….”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” she admitted.

“Strudel, what did you get for Christmas last year?”

“A LAUNDRY SCOOP!!”

While Making Lunch

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Inky was keeping Strudel company on the couch. She obviously wasn’t feeling well from her flu shot yesterday. I half-listened as she jabbered on.

“Inky and I are alike,” she said.

“Oh really?” I replied. I can do three-year-old jabber in my sleep. Throw in some “you don’t says” and some “I did not know thats” and you’re good to go.

“We are the same because Inky is a mammal and I am a mammal.”

Wait, wut?

“How do you know Inky is a mammal?” I said.

“Because she is, Mom!”

“Who told you about mammals?”

“Inky did,” she said.

Of course.

In Other News

Because I like me some November hibernation, I like to stay home on Fridays and watch new television that I have acquired through non-pernicious means. My big stockpile of How I Met Your Mother, Life on Mars, Dexter, and Top Chef have all gotten eated for the time being by Hester Prynne. Looks like tonight I am going to be watching Doogie Howser, MD.

Thanks to Pootie Tang and Dr. Horrible I have been on a huge NPH jag. I realized this afternoon why I never watched Doogie Howser when I was a kid: NPH is blonde, and blondes are invisible to me. This also explains why my childhood BFF adored ‘ol Doogie and what’s-his-bucket from Silver Spoons. She loved blondes. But I am enjoying the hell out of it in that classique 90210 way. So wrong, and yet so right.

Death and Technical Writing

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Yesterday was pretty weird. Imagine me saying that like Larry David: “Pretty preeetty weird.” It started off normally enough, considering that I had just scheduled yesterday’s job interview at 5 p.m. the night before. I was hustling to fill out an application, gather writing samples, and defuzzing my favorite interview shirt. I was mentally girding myself to speak with five people in a three-hour gantlet, finishing with the recruiter, which kind of made it six. It was exhausting, but I feel like I made a connection with all five of the people, including the person I would be a direct report to. They may feel differently. And HO SNAPPLE I have another interview tomorrow, which also involves writing. I am not ready to tell you about my retail training yet, but I will soon.

As I was walking out and daydreaming about a nice glass of wine as I dematerialized into a puddle on the floor, I noticed I had a message. Franny’s grandpa called, and I figured he wanted to snag her for the weekend. It was not what I expected: Franny’s grandmother died yesterday morning.

I have never written about her. She was my mother-in-law for eight years. When Franny was one or so, they announced that she had early-onset Alzheimer’s. She was still in her 50s. I did not know the woman who became confused, and then later frequently violent, as she was described to me. I knew only a woman who was quiet and gentle. They say at the end she was refusing food and water, and ripping out her IV. On some level she was done.

I returned the call and got Franny’s dad instead of who I expected. “Want me to bring Franny?” I said. “I’ll be nice.”

I brought a big bottle of scotch and the kid. We talked about politics and drank and talked about old times. We tried to remember where we got the clawfoot tub that lived in our backyard for so many years. It was pretty weird having the new wife there, though in reality I am the odd one out now. Probably in the end she will have more years with them than I did. SeaFed always seems subdued now, older, diminished in his power.

It was nice somehow, though. It felt like an old family gathering. Any annoyance I felt at SeaFed was always put on hold at those times, because I always enjoyed talking to his parents. Franny’s grandfather mentioned that Auntie Jaguar is coming up to see him and that we should all get together. I hugged him before I left and he said, “You can’t get away, you can’t choose your family.” That and his mention of having a big reunion made me realize that the past, when we were all together was some of the best times in a way. I always clicked with him in a really perfect way and I felt like I was his third child, not the feckless one or the bossy do-gooder, but the prickly, funny one.

SeaFed had a couple of moments where he actually said some nice things to me, about how I was with his mom. About how I was the first to cry when they announced she was sick and the first to get up and hug her, and how that meant a lot to her. Stupid starchy WASPs. Of course that’s what you do. You cry and cry until you’re all empty, and then you start over. I think his new wife fits in better than I did–she seems nice and calm. Franny’s other sister sidled over to Franny gently and stroked her hair and face, whereas Strudel jumps on Franny and says “DO YOU WANT TO PLAY FUCK YEAH CAPS LOCK!” Probably Auntie Jaguar likes having complete bossy-control over his family now. Franny tells me stories about being disciplined by Auntie Jaguar that makes her jaw clench as she tells them.

Sometimes I feel a lot of regret in leaving that family, but still not SeaFed. I think about if I would have stuck around so I could have reaped the benefits of all that time and love and history. It was being loved, even at times I was terribly uncooperative and contrary. But having SeaFed around…it’s like living with a donkey in your house so you can hear the bells on its harness tinkle sometimes.

Franny in mourning
stays away from school today
autumn leaves swirl down

In Which Nicholson Baker Can Suck It

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I am sucking down Mad Men like it is 2007 and I am Britney Spears with a Big Gulp of Purple Monster before me.

Likes:

1. Child “abuse”
a. Children with plastic bags on their heads
b. Children mixing drinks
c. Children being told to sack up and go to bed

2. Constant Smoking and Drinking*
a. At work
b. After work
c. Before work
d. During the commute
e. With your spouse
f. In a house
g. With a mouse
h. In a box
i. With a fox

* Makes me regret not smoking constantly, or at all**
** Makes me remember old relatives who died horribly of Cancer of the Cirrhosis in the ’90s.

3. Stylistic Stuffs
a. Clothes
b. Music
c. Women being exploited at “nudie bar” somehow mitigated by the fact that I cannot see each individual rib.

Dislikes:

1. Egregious Littering/Resource Hogging
a. But I know that people are running after and picking up the beer cans chucked in the woods.
b. Also, three-mile long Cadillac, lol.

2. “Sweetheart, Make Yourself Useful and Get Me a Glass of Water.”
a. I can’t help it, it makes me cringe every time. I keep expecting women to say “bite me,” but they never do. And if they speak up they spend more time apologizing after.

In Other News: UGH

I have to go downtown today and buy black pants for my job, which starts tomorrow. Yes, there is a dress code. What is the opposite of a dream coming true? I am going to be working in a MALL. I have avoided working in a MALL for 31 years. If Satan chooses to smite me on my way downtown, that is okay at this point. What the hell happened to me?

I have two phone screens in the can at the moment and I am waiting to hear something, anything back about them. They both pay about the same but are different types of writing jobs. I would be happy with either. I guess at this point I feel lucky I am still getting interviews? In the meantime I will be wearing a nametag and making $9.25 an hour, which won’t even cover rent. WOW. Living in Seattle is stupid.

I have been feeling kind of anxious and frustrated lately, because I feel like I am exactly where I was during the last election: tense, not enough money, looking for temporary work. Life Same as Four Years Ago, except now I am probably wiser (read: moar bitter). In a way that situation was scarier because I was pregnant then, but it was also giving me something to look forward to, at least until I lost Strudel’s twin, which I thought was all of Strudel. Now the child is here, and I love her, but her feet keep growing and she keeps termiting my cabinet bare. When I was pregnant the first time, I was like JFC this is hard, but then the baby came out and had to eat and be clothed and put somewhere besides a sack on a nail in the barn, and I was like OH SNAP LIFE JUST KEEPS LEVELING UP. I think I would rather be carrying my children around inside me at a time like this. Maybe I can put them in stasis for a while. I’m sure that wouldn’t mess with them psychologically at all.

Again with the Pumpkins

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There’s been a lot of this sassypants business lately. I kind of jokingly corrected Franny, reminding her to keep the guts over the pot. Then the other one chimes in with “I’m not doing that.” If I correct Strudel, then the other one says, “It wasn’t me.” I KNOOOW. Sheesh, meddlers.

Quite a difference from two years ago, in some ways.

I carved my pumpkin for a contest for an online game with a first prize of ten million meat. I hope I place, because even second and third place is good, and there are two of each place. Bonus points if you know what this is! Where my fellow nerds at?

Well, At Least We Won’t Get the Plague, Probably

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Ugh, what a drag, we have a flea infestation up the ass.

I am fighting the big fight right now, doing pretty much every recommended thing under the sun to be rid of them. The cat is NOT helping at all. We treated her with Frontline on the nape of her neck, and she cleared up in a couple of days, but she is not helping by being a mobile poisoning unit because she figured out where the fleas were and avoids those areas now! Frontline is supposed to work by allowing fleas to jump on your cat and ingest the poison in their blood. Sadly, Nietzsche is now spending all of her time on the kitchen stepstool, a sewing machine that for some reason lives in the kitchen now, and an end table in the living room. She refuses to set foot in the girls’ room, where she dropped her big load of fleas in the first place on their little rug.

I have tried shutting her in the girls’ room for short periods of time, trying to get her to sleep on their beds in the sun, and she cries and paws the door. Useless thing!

So I am vacuuming, putting their blankets through the dryer on hot, washing things, sweeping, and spot-spraying with Knockout ES. One morning we wake up and the girls have no bites, and the next morning they wake up with twelve. Of course they have no self-control, so they scratch and scratch, and end up all scabby. They insist on showing me this repeatedly: “Look, this one burst!” Ugh, lovely.

This morning I was stretching before my run when I stopped to slap some of the bites on my ankles, rather than scratch them. I have tried to teach the girls to do this as well, but when Strudel gets mad at me or tired, she claws herself raw. That will show me who’s boss.

Franny noticed I was itchy and said, “Mom, do you have flea bites too?” All amazed.

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“I didn’t know!” she said.

“Well, I don’t complain about them.”

It was like you could see the hourglass turning over. I love these moments where there’s a little glimmer of realization that adults have problems too. Sometimes it takes her a couple of days to discover that I have the same cold she does. She is always amazed. I am not playing momtyr, but I was raised not to complain until I am half dead, so generally I don’t. That’s what this place is for. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

In Other News: The Wall, I Have Hit It

Oh my heartbreak this morning as I was out, dashing happily around the lake, when I was taken out by shin splints. I was so angry I thought the top of my head was going to pop off. I NEED this running right now.

I slowed down and stopped to rub my legs. “FUCKITY FUCK FUCKLOAF ASSBURGER FIDDLESTICKS COCKTOAST…Oh, hello, ma’am, I did not see you and your stroller full of impressionable preschoolers there.”

The lake is kind of a funny place to run, since I kind of fall into myself and pretend I’m invisible when I’m doing it, and it’s full of people. This morning the center of the lake looked dead white, like it was the gateway to the edge of the world or something. I saw herons and falling yellow leaves. I am so happy that I can’t see shit generally, except, er, when I’m driving at night. People’s faces are a blur. I pipe music in through big ass cans instead of ear buds, which always hurt. This makes the world even more muted. Today I was listening to A Night at Birdland, and with Art Blakey’s wet cymbals you can’t even hear the gabbling, latte-swilling stroller moms.

So I hit that wall and walked until they settled down. I think I need to change a few things: more stretching, and new shoes. I think I am resting enough. I also need new jog bras. My currents are from before Strudel, and they are not quite doing it. They fit around, but the cup…it is a little like putting a small egg into a regular egg carton. It just rattles around and looks sad in there.

By the time I got to “Night in Tunisia” my shins felt okay again. That’s gotta be one of my all time favorite songs. I think I have a dead musician crush on Lee Morgan. I have almost all of his albums and a few of Blue Mitchell’s. I think trumpet is my favorite. Rock N Rolla!

There Will Be Blood, It Might Be Yours

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How to Make a Horse Ears and Mane Headpiece, Shabbily and In a Hurry!
Approximate time: 3 hours
Difficulty: BWUH? I can has make a needle threaded.
Cost: $10, for ears, felt, and yarn, with loads of yarn left for another project.

Well, as I have mentioned, Strudel decided she was going to go as Bad Horse for Halloween this year. Display and Costume could give me no love on the plain brown horse ears or a mane, so I was forced to make my own. This is very bad, because I am the shoddiest seamstress in the world. There’s no quality control, no pride of work. Only “CRANK THAT SHIT OUT, YEAH.” I am conversant with the deadly art of the sewing machine, but I prefer to handsew. I sew fast as HALE, too, WHAM WHAM sewing ninja!

Bad Horse is just some brown horse that Joss Whedon rented from somewhere in Hollywood, so my main objectives were to provide brownness, in the form of suit and ears, with a black mane and tail. I am going to paint her face night of, if she holds still.

I started with these ears because they looked the horseiest in shape. I decided to use them as a “frame” so I didn’t have to stuff ears (buy fluff) or attach them to a headband. Plus they were like two dolla.

As you can see, I already started sewing brown felt to them. I sewed white triangles to the inside of the ears and WA-BAM, done. If you look too close, though, it looks like Horse Ears of Frankenstein, so, err…don’t look too close.

Then it was time for the mane event. HO HO HO, Lame Giant. Okay, I was puzzling how to make the mane. I wanted something that would kind of cascade, but not just be strings hanging down from the headband. Ultimately I decided to cut a piece of brown felt to about 12″x3″. I made black yarn loops to sew onto the felt piece. I left a space on the felt piece for the headband, which I would need to attach when I was done.

Yarn loops!

I cut the yarn about 14″ long.

I was doing this part while I was watching Dexter, so I was sitting on Hester Prynne. Please admire caps lock, the most used BUTTON ON MY KEYBOARD!

Then I doubled the yarn twice…

And tied it in the middle with a piece of yarn that was the same length as the loop. Yarn Loop! This means that some ends were loopy and some were straight. I liked the texture, but once sewn on you could cut all the loops in half to make all the hairs straight.

Then I took the loops and sewed them to the felt by their middle knot in rows of twos and threes, alternating rows until it was jammed and your couldn’t see the brown. About a half an inch seemed like enough room between rows. I made sure that I was securing the knot by sewing it down well.

Then it was done, lurking like an unholy keyboard mirkin!

I sewed it to the headband, and voila! Quick and dirty horse ears and mane! I sewed the felt to the underside of the headband, and then sewed in a couple of rows of yarn loops on top of the headband so it was not a brown gap in the middle of the mane. I did not make the length of the yarn loops shorter, though the headband stuck up in the middle. It didn’t seem to matter.

I hope she will use it for dress up after Halloween. Pictures on the kid later.

Now go kill someone!

Signed, Bad Horse.