Today I met with our new landlady and gave her a big fat deposit towards our new house. My companion and I were having last-minute freakouts about moving, the kind where you’re like, “oh my god, do we really want to stop giving the current people a huge percentage of our income and start giving someone new a huge percentage of our income?” The answer turned out to be yes, but last night we had to stop and read the “for rent” signs on the way to dinner and the bank, juuust in case we stumbled across something better. I don’t know how there could be anything better than what we found, unless there was a place that had a man in a closet (Raoul) who would come out every night, 1. give you a handjob, 2. make you a mai tai, and then 3. go back into his closet. I’m Just Saying. Also it would have to be fifty dollars less in rent. Also, Raoul would wash his hands between step one and two, don’t worry.

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Dudes, let me tell you that I now have a reason to hate February a little less. Last Friday, when it “snowed” and left that frozen coating all over the ground and left black ice in unfortunate places, I made sure that Franny was ready for school early, so we could have a leisurely walk though the half-inch of snowy ice.

We walked slowly, and stopped to let Franny crunch icy puddles and make snowballs. We took the streets to school that seemed to have the most snow on them, so we took a slightly different route through the residential neighborhood her school is in. Frannie and I decided to turn down a street we never take that had a sidewalk covered with pristine snow as far as we could see.

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One: I Oughta Know

Yesterday we got a nastygram from our building managers. Apparently the new owners are considering raising the rent, and are taking away our free parking. They’ve got our nuts in a vice with the paid parking thing, because there’s no way in hell we’re parking the car on the street to save $35–not in this neighborhood, where we often wake up to piles of broken glass on the street. I don’t know what they think they can get out of this place; it’s next door to one of the (until very recently) skeeviest motels in town and is right on Aurora Avenue. Also, since we’ve moved in, quite a few minor things have gone wrong with the place, a trend that I suspect will continue, since this is new cheapie construction and the building’s just hit its tenth birthday.

So we’re dangling here, a little bit, because we should know at the end of the month whether or not my companion will become permanent at Giant Local Software Company. When we know that, we will have a steady budget and will be able to move into a house. But if he keeps contracting, then we will want to spend less money and move into something smaller and cheaper. They don’t even know if they want to go month-to-month, so we may just be out of luck. We wanted to get out of this place this summer, because it’s too small, but we may be out sooner.

Did you ever watch that show on Nickelodeon, “Out of Control?” I always liked it when Dave “I slept with an underage Alanis Morissette” Coulier would pull the “hurry up” switch. They would film these kids doing things they hated and then show it in fast motion, like they finished cleaning their rooms really fast. I want a hurry up switch, so I can see what’s going to happen next with the job and rent.

Two: Snot Vengeance Is Mine

I had a little accident in bed yesterday morning. The Strudel awakened and immediately demanded access to the milkbar. I have been slightly sick and congested all week, after the worst part of it happened this weekend. All of the sudden, this mongo sneeze snuck up on me while I was nursing her and then, KERSPLAT. It was one of those sneezes where you go, “Oh, shit, where did that go?” Of course it landed right in the middle of her forehead, and it was dark and I cleaned her up as best I could.

When she was done nursing and I took her out of bed I discovered that I had missed the bit that got in her hair, and the bath situation did not pan out like it was supposed to, so she was “there’s-something-about-mary’d” all day long. Except, you know, with snot. The great thing is that babies are usually a little cruddy, so everyone probably assumed it was some food or something.

I spent about thirty seconds trying to feel bad, and lamenting my lackadaisical mothering “techniques.” But then I remembered that this kid has vomited, sneezed, pooped, and peed on me, and is learning that neat trick of using me as her own personal napkin/nose-itcher. So, vengeance is MINE.

SJ: 1
Teh Baby: Forty-Ninety-Twelvedy

Three: “I once shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, but then I got distracted and missed it.”

This weekend we are going to Portland (so if I owe you an email you will hear from me next week), prompting a visit to the133test baby store 3vah, Babies R Us. There we purchased a portable baby jail so Miss Thang can have her naps and sleep safely imprisoned in mesh walls at her grandpa’s house. It came with its own tin cup, with a sippy top! She likes it so far, but I haven’t abandonated her in it yet. I am leaving it set up, because it reeks of newly-minted plastic and vinyl, so hopefully it will air out.

Look at the print on this thing. Just because we’re poor doesn’t mean we’re tacky. Well, actually, we are both tacky AND poor, and I think we will be rich and tacky someday. All I’m saying is that there should be choices outside the “fun” jungle print for under $100. Whatever, it’s done. And we’re out.

Four: WOO Pineapple Express

It’s warm-ish today! There are daffodils coming up! The Wallingford high school girls’ purple be-mini-skirted legs are out! (Yeah, that’s attractive, girls, with your teeth chattering and everything. Targeting the neighborhood necrophiliacs, are we?)

Anyway, Seattle, I forgive you for a month of rain. Let’s make up. What’s that? It’s ten degrees in my hometown? Don’t worry, guys. Mosquito season is just around the corner! EAT IT SUCKAS!

See yis Monday!

Or, The Weekend in Literal Review, Using a Cat-butt Rating System.

Hell-O bad. The cat has vomited on you while you sleep.
So-so. The cat tripped you while you were carrying a plastic bucket of salsa, the salsa asplode, and now your whole house smells like cilantro.
Pretty good. The cat came and sat in your lap, and did not freak out and start biting you like a little bitch.
Awesome! The cat is sleeping next to your head like a fetching and stylish hat and is purring in a soothing fashion.

1. Friday Night

Friday night sucked donkey balls. Franny and I were quarrelling about dumbness, as we pretty much did all weekend. Franny is always exhausted by Friday and acts like a pill. She flipped out about something and declared herself “stupid” and ran to her room. This always bums me out, because we try not to do any name-calling around here. My modus operandi is usually to say you are being sassy, rude, mean, etc., and here’s how you can fix your behavior. But sometimes when she gets really upset she just freaks out and starts calling herself names. She doesn’t fit in a jar, and the postage to China is too expensive, so what can you do?

Also, my companion and I were supposed to have a date night, but Strudel has been teething so we just couldn’t leave. The children were drugged and put to bed early, and then my companion made me a vodka and POB and I was drugged and went to bed early as well.

Friday night:
Children and their sassy and/or teething moufs:

2. Saturday

Saturday was better, but busy. I escaped to breakfast with my friend Halo, who is a librarian about town these days, because she works for multiple schools/systems. We braved the labyrinthine neighborhood Queen Anne, which freaks my fragile inner compass out, to go to the 5-Spot, part of the local Chow Foods chain. Halo and I joked about hitting all of them in the next couple of months but quickly dismissed this idea after realizing that Jitterbug has gone down the tubes in the past couple of years and that after standing at the door of the 5-Spot for ten minutes no one seated or even acknowledged us. So we split to another neighborhood for a different restaurant entirely.

Then I came home and the dryer broke. And you know, you don’t find out that the dryer’s broken until you try to use it, so we hung up our clothes all over the house until they dried. And then panicked, because we have two small children, one of whom is prone to nosebleeds and vomiting, and we could have a laundry crisis at ANY MINUTE. The building manager promised that she would have a repairperson out today or tomorrow, so I am trying to remain calm.

Chow Foods chain:
Driving around with Halo:
Fucking Dryer: and a *~3

3. Sunday

…made up for a lot of the other nonsense. We took Franny to see Narnia, which was a treat for everyone, and apparently Strudel behaved just fine (drugged up before we left). Children are much more tolerable when they’re in a drug-induced stupor. I believe those Victorians were on to something, with all their laudanum and whatnot. Actually, no, they weren’t, because they believed that women’s uteruses floated around their bodies and strangled people during full moons or something. But they were right about drugs, anyway.

The awesome part was that my stalwart companion hung up a curtain and rod that separates our room into two parts, so that Strudel won’t stand up in her crib and scream while staring at us at three in the morning. She’s not stupid; she knows we’re back…she just can’t make eye contact with us anymore.

It’s helping a lot so far. She can’t see us and we can pretend that we don’t have a baby two feet away from us. So last night, for the first time in over a month, we were able to “fight crime” in our own comfy bed. Take that, bad guys. Also, we had sex.

Chronic(what?)cles of Narnia:
The Thin Line Bewtween Love and Hate (by IKEA):
The Victorians’ contributions to medical science:

Late last night a Seattle-area man, who wished not to be identified by name, was the victim of a pack of roaming lampreys. Laverna Dixon, a witness to the attack and aftermath, commented “It was over in a flash–it was horrific.”

The victim of the attack would only comment, cryptically, “Hey, I thought we had a truce!”

Anyone with information on the whereabouts or activities of the lamprey pack should email hotscoop@iasshole.org.

In Other News: No One Can Tell My Daddy Dressed Me This Morning!

Yes, you are seeing blue and red chili pepper overalls with a pink leopard shirt. This is what you can expect from a man who wore red, brown, and orange all at once when I met him.

One night, in the Kingdom of Loathing clan chat….

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Last night we had some good clean family fun, as opposed to other kinds that you could have. We went as a foursome to the carousel they set up every year at Westlake. We went last year too, when I had a giant lady lump out front, so last year I decided to ride next to Frannie. This year I got my own mighty steed (light blue), and my companion got stuck with the caboose.

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This has been one of those, how you say, watershed years, which has become extra-evident to me now that xmas, my old arch-nemesis, is approaching.

I have a long and sordid history with Christmas. When I was five I left my grandmother’s house and moved in with my mother and her new husband, who was a control-freak ogre. When I was really small, like Franny’s age, he would yell at me, no joke, if I was opening presents “wrong” by tearing into boxes. The worst part was that I knew he wasn’t going to save the boxes; they were just going into the fireplace immediately after it was over. This can put a damper on enjoying Christmas morning. I think kids should be allowed to rip and mutilate packaging if they want to. I have encouraged Franny to have a free-for-all for a few years running now, but I have landed with one of those kids who delicately do the tape, one piece at a time, “pink, pink, pink,” until I want to yell at her to rip and shred. The irony, she is killing me.

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“Are you feeding the baby mints?”

“No, I’m not even remotely doing that,” I said.

“Are you lying?”

“Yes, I’m totally, totally lying.”

“Hmm.”

“It keeps her from taking bites out of the mousepad, or signing up for a Paypal account.”

Good news: I have had four nights of unbroken sleep for the first time since the baby was born eight months ago. Now that I have come out of my haze, I have discovered a few things.

1. My house is a mess. But you know what, no one died while I was too tired to clean it so…eh. Somehow I managed to keep the baby clear of the broken glass pile and the lit, unattended cigarette corner, so yay for me!

2. I can focus again, and have pleasant conversations with people. I have had the following conversation with more than one person in the past few months:

“How are you, SJ?”

“Oh, fine, good.”

“How’s the baby?”

“She’s good! She’s pulling up and clapping a lot.”

“What’s new with you?”

“….”

“SJ?”

“I…don’t know….”

“Are you still there?”

“Who is this?” To companion: “Someone left the phone on again.” (hangs up.)

3. I AM HAPPY. I laugh at my companion’s jokes again. Paradoxically (wow, my grown-up words are coming back), the happier I am, the more cantankerous I am. So no more “I, Semi-Coheranthole,” or “I, TooTiredToGetUpAndPee-hole.”

I, ASSHOLE. I will be perpetrating some badness on someone somewhere soon, and it will be like you were actually there, just wait.

4. In my circle (read: people who are contractually or financially obligated to spend time with me) I am known as a person who loves gossip magazines. I love Hollywood gossip like my cat loves humping socks. I can tell you where Britney Spears is RIGHT NOW (at her divorce lawyer’s office; later she’ll be at Fred Segal’s with a giant mocha-latty). People think I have no life (okay, true), but in reality gossip magazines are like a drug that has no harsh side effects. But the good thing is that now that I have slept, I can distinguish fantasy from reality. So I know that this is a real picture.

Urgent memo to butterflies and unicorns: Release Mimi. You’ve had her in your evil, iridescent clutches long enough.

I wanted to be a mermaid when I was eight. Now I’m damn glad I went to college…so I could be a stay-at-home-mom. DOH! *rimshot*

Reality: 1 (Yes, I have returned to you, sweet reality.)
SJ: elevendy points for sleep!
Daniel, trying to get me to stop writing about ASS HORNS: 0!