soapboxdiner


Anyways



Hellooooo!

So I haven't updated in a week, and in the meantime some of my favorite peoples have left me wonderful messages. Thank you, Skinny Girl, Boxxy, and SDG!

Nothing really to report, darlings. I'm in the throes of being all depressed that I'm not rich -- I actually have to work. D00d made the mistake of daydreaming with me about leaving the rat race to move out to some Green Acrey kind of 'hood to grow home grown veggies and a Pig. You see, That's the Way the Germans Used to Do It, and that makes it C00L.

Apparently.

But, hey. I'm all for growing and preserving my own veggies. I can can with the best of 'em. As long as *'em* aren't, like, people who can a lot and shit. Or something.

I mean, I know what a Mason jar is, and there are people in my family who own pressure cookers. They just aren't ME.

Would I get bored? Oh, probably. Staying home on the farm, weeding and, I don't know, making my own cotton or something? I can only assume that lacks a little in the excitement arena. But I could do it. I could totally read books and watch TIVOed quilt-o-matic marathons on PBS. I could grow my hair out really long and wear it in a braid or a bun with ZERO product keeping it neatly in place.

I could learn how to make lace! or soap! or render lantern oil!

I could name the Pig "Charlotte" or something, and brush her hide so when we kill her for food in the autumn, I'd have nice, neat rawhide. Or paper. Or something -- maybe those tasty fried cracklin' skins.

You see, I can think of many, many ways to have country fun. Maybe D00d would even stop making all his tiresome sideways comments about me liking R&B music and moving my hips in suggestive, "afro" ways. I could totally learn gospel hymns and bring Fried Chicken to the Church Social.

But instead of filling my days in the ways that I daydream, I get to go to work and print 956 copies of Macros: The Epic (even pages, reverse order; then odd pages, not reverse) one at a time because we don't have a duplex color printer, or a version of .pdf that collates.

But in other, not-depressed-about-barely-making-a-living-doing-stupid-retardolated-stuff, news, the Kiddo had me help him make refrigerated yeast bread dough last night. Two batches. Today he twisted them up and baked them into homemade pretzels. He gave me one when I got home! Kiddo is learning to cook!!! Isn't that exciting, darlings? He likes to help me bake. For the Fourth, he helped me make Strawberry Rhubarb Cobbler. DELISH!

Right now he's hunkered down in his room loading a picture on his MyF@ace account. Did I mention he's only 13? Online? On the Internet socializing with God Knows Who? In his room? Alone? Without supervision?

SCARY!!! S00d, however, blissfully (to me) shared, with a sigh, that Kiddo managed to track him down on MyF@ce to Friend him. So even if Kiddo won't give me his account info so I can monitor his activities, at least S00d is on there to do it for me. All on the Sly-sneakity.

It's a scary world out there. And pedophilia isn't just for the Greeks anymore. Thank GOD Kiddo doesn't have a web cam.

And right now I should be rehearsing my lecture for Macros: The Epic. This course -- did I mention that I did all the research, writing, and design for the manual? -- is broken out into two sessions: 1) Concepts, and 2) Practical App? But I'm not rehearsing the lecture. I'm here. Venting about not having the luxury of living the June Cleaver cum Eva Gabor lifestyle and having a meltdownbrainaneurysm.

Oh, and this past weekend I wen't over to Mom's. She asked me to design a garden for her backyard. Which I LOVE, by the way. (Designing gardens, not necessarily HERS.) So I came up with this really rockin' design with lovely English clipped boxwood hedges and silk trees and her beloved hydrangeas (heave). Then I made a special trip over to her house to run it past her, and the Stepdad promptly told me he hated it.

Boo, Stepdad.

So I don't know. I'm taking Mom to Flower World on Saturday to initiate Operation: Plant Selection. She wants Ornamental Grasses (heave, part deux). Sometimes I really wonder if I am the fruit of her plant-y-inspired-and-related womb. She should really love . . . I don't know, the Colonial style of garden design. Or Japanese. Or Victorian, OK.

Ciao, babies. We'll see y'all again on the flip side.



7:31 pm - 07.07.09
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