o_0

Wow.  Today isn't very awesome.
I must be going through something.  I just feel sickly.  Like a terminally ill patient.  I'm hungry but I don't want to eat anything.  The baby is driving me up the wall.  He's bored and nothing I seem to come up with is entertaining him in the least.  We went out.  Went for a walk to Tim Hortons in his special car.  We sat and shared some soup and I let him have a timbit.  He's had one short nap... and when he started waking up I felt like jumping off a building.
He just wants to get into everything now.  Everything.  He climbs up on all the furniture constantly and there's just nothing I can do about it!  I keep moving him and saying no, putting him somewhere else with a toy or something but he does it again.  and again.  and again.
I'm lonely at home today by myself too.
I got this great book yesterday that I can't even start reading because I can't take my eye of this kid.  He just climbs on everything.  What are you supposed to do with that?  And of course I never blog anymore so I have to do that... so while I have him temporarily occupied I'm doing this instead of reading my fantastic-sounding new book.
I should be cherishing my time with Carter that I have left before I have to leave him for a week... but right now I just wish he would fall asleep for 3 or 4 hours.  Or go to a friend's house and bother the shit out of some other kid's mom for a while (someday!!!).
Well.  He's crying again.
Have I mentioned he doesn't eat anything anymore?!  And when he does it - God, he's picky.
So I've also had it up to here with making 3 different meals for him 6 times every day.
In the end he will always eat cold cuts and cheese.  So.
My heart is beating really hard and really fast and I feel like screaming at somebody but nobody has done anything wrong.  Maybe when Mike comes home he will leave something out of the fridge and I can get my anger out by screaming about botulism or something.
I'm doing the very best I can with my life and I just feel like I'm failing everything.
Fucking bi-polar.
Some days and other days.  If only I could put it into words.

I'm going to go eat this orange and spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to appease my baby and how to avoid hearing anybody speak, until I can finally curl up in bed and start this whole circus over again tomorrow morning.

I need this vacation.  Badly.

will do.

Rules for Mike.

Unspoken rules are the glue of any relationship.
For instance, it's a rule that men will think about sex all day, every day, in every and all situations, and many times you will not make cameos in his fantasies.  Which is fine.  But if Mike admitted this to me, he would be fantasizing his way all the way to a homeless shelter with a black eye.  But that's just men.  They're filthy.  Everybody knows it.
The set of rules that go along with being with me every day are actually kind of amusing.  I spent all day yesterday recognizing my high-maintenance tendencies and jotting them down so that I could share them with internet-world this morning.

• I may rub you with my bare feet all I want.  But if you so much as touch me with your dis-coloured, fungus-ridden toe nails I will punch you in your sleep.
• I may snore.  But you will have to wake up and switch to sleeping on your stomach when your snoring wakes me up.
• You will call and order the pizza.  I will never call and order the pizza.  
• I will walk by and you will try to smack my bum.  and any time I don't manage to avoid your sexual harassment, I will give you a wet willy when you're least expecting it.
• I may complain about anything, everything, cry and agonize and you will hold me and bring me chocolate.  You may only complain sarcastically.  And then I will assume everything is fine.  My mental stability is much more questionable than yours is, darling.
• I will pick the movie.  All the movies you like are shitty.
• Whenever I want to make an unnecessary purchase just to make myself happy, you can't say anything.  You have to let me regret it myself, later.  This will happen, so just trust the process.

The post in which I begrudgingly admit that I still need a little work (on the inside)...

I've given the whole New Years Resolution thing a lot of thought.

And I have decided that it is bullshit.

After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I could not attempt to be any better than I already am, because it would be futile and would only result in disappointment.

Okay, I have one resolution: let go of the anger.

Here's a secret: I am a very angry lady.  And I can hold a grudge with the best of them.  But when I make a mistake, I expect others to forgive me.  Albeit, some things are completely unforgivable and I refuse to even entertain the thought, but I should probably stop thinking about all the shitty things that have been done to me and focus on the good things that happen every day.
For instance, Carter is saying mama all the time now.  *Insert big, shit eating grin here*
Oh, and I still love my job (and my 2 week hiatus).
Mike is a wonderful guy whose expectations of me remain startlingly low.  Thank God.
I had a very Chanel Christmas.  That was awesome.
Yes, good things happen all the time.  So I need to let go of the anger.
I will not harbour negative thoughts.  My mind is a peaceful, tranquil sea of calm happiness.

I'm still angry.  Maybe I will just shut up about it from now on.  Yes.  Good plan.

So anyway, yeah, fuck resolutions!  Things are going great just the way they are.
Except I am still in this basement.
Maybe in 2011 I should consider working more.  Working harder.  Saving money.
Yes.  Another good plan.

Alright, maybe I'm not perfect.  But at least I've got love.  And Chanel.

Domestic Bliss

Mike and I have a great relationship.  It's boring.  Good relationships are always boring.  The exciting ones are always bad.  I've had lots of exciting relationships, so I am so happy to be in a boring one.  I'm good here.
That being said, he and I don't quite agree on everything.
One thing in particular that stands out is our differences in housekeeping.
Clutter and I have split for good.  Some clutter is fine (books stacked to the ceiling is good.  Dusty porcelain trinkets, screwdrivers strewn about and 80 coffee mugs spilling out of cupboards is not).
One thing we disagree on is saving plastic bags.  Before I cleaned the shit out of the kitchen, there were hundreds stuffed under the counter.  They just kept collecting and we always forgot to bring our reusable bags to the grocery store so they pile up and go nowhere.  BAH!  I hate plastic bags.  They have no place in my home.  I fucking hate the things.
Mike, of course, loves to hoard the plastic bags with the belief in mind that they are actually good for something.
He also refuses to throw out old ratty clothing.  I wish I could show you a picture of these disgusting flannel pajama pants that I finally snuck into the trash after Christmas.  They had such a big hole in the crotch that he couldn't wear them around anybody.  But he refused to get rid of them.  For so long.  Even after I bought him nice, new, cotton ones.  Right now we are disagreeing over old karate pants from GOD KNOWS WHEN and these bulky, ugly, stupid brown sweat pants that make up half a load of laundry in themselves.  They're from old navy and I've been dying to burn them for months now.
In addition to keeping this crap around to wear, he even wants to keep the genuinely-no-good-anymore-should-be-thrown-out-immediately work t-shirts that he destroys.
He wants to use them as RAGS, he says.  Rags.
I take issue with this for several reasons.  1 - the word 'rags' reminds me of dirty-faced red headed orphans, who I imagine would be just as likely as I am to throw the fucking things out.  2 - we have puh-lenty of cloths that I keep nice and clean and stacked in the bottom drawer in the kitchen, right beside the stove.  I don't even think Mike has ever even opened this drawer.  3 - Paper towels have eliminated any need to stuff ripped up old filthy t-shirts in the pantry...
Oh, and PS - At least once a week I come across a stash of "Rags" he has decided to hide somewhere, and a big clump of plastic bags keeps finding its way under the counter, shoved behind the cereal.

I feel so much better just getting this all out, honestly.

ANOTHER THING!  His socks.  He leaves them on the floor in the living room all the time.  He has slowly been getting better, I admit, but as I speak there are two bunched up black socks sitting in front of the couch.  But when I confront him about all of these issues he calls me Queen of the Harpies.  

I know what you're thinking.  And my response is: if he hit me back it would really hurt.

Oh, you weren't suggesting that I beat him?

Well neither was I.  Shut up.

back to school!

I was thinking about school today, and how never having to go back is probably my favourite thing about being grown up.  I use the term "grown up" loosely.
So much to hate about school.  So so much.  Didn't everybody hate it?
Some kids in school were just perfect.  They were beautiful and you never knew how they got such a fantastic wardrobe.  They never wore running shoes and they made you feel small and pathetic.  I wore running shoes every day.  And until I got my own job, chances are they were my mom's old running shoes.  I wore those Filas for, like, 3 years.  Thanks, Ma.
All those fucking perfect idiots in school always had so many friends, didn't they?  That was another thing. Never had many friends.  I was such a misanthropist.  I always have been.  Still am.  The social hierarchy of high school was so damaging to me, I still have a hard time looking blondes in the eye.  Those scary bitches control the world.
Stupid teachers.  So many stupid, dumb-as-fuck teachers.  Don't get me wrong, there were some great teachers.  A few of them I even keep in touch with over facebook.  But most of the teachers in this world just have no business being teachers...
With all of the things there were to hate about school, the biggest thing, the worst thing, what I hated more than anything, was pairing up.  Remember pairing up?  Getting into groups?  Working on shit together? Shit that would be about 83x easier if you could just do it by your fucking self?
How I hated pairing up.  Oh, how I hated getting into groups.  This almost always seemed to happen when I was having a terrible day.  I don't know, my boyfriend would find out I kissed another guy or someone would dump fucking tomato juice on me or something and then I'd have to work on some arbitrary, ridiculous, stupidly easy worksheet with them.  Conjugating verbs, which incidentally, 98% of high school students just can't comprehend.
Pairing up was so awful.  There were only a few options in terms of roles that you could take on during a group activity.
You could be the person who takes on the leadership role and winds up doing the entire thing her/his self
You could be the person who does absolutely nothing and just sits there saying "why can't we just do this ourselves, I hate this shit... wha wha wha" (this person usually has home-made tattoos that they gave themselves in the back of the classroom with a safety pink and a bic pen)
Or you could be the idiot who tries to help but whose every idea is just stupid. (and then the first person listed would have to find a way to let you down gently without actually saying what everyone is thinking: that this fucker is stupid)
Or, finally, you could be the person who just jokes around, wastes time and gets everyone playing MASH.  Remember MASH?
So, to all of the brave soldiers who are carrying the torch through these painful and awkward years, good for you.  Keep on truckin'.  It may be tempting at times to just drop out, LORD KNOWS!  But you can't.  This bullshit will only make you stronger.

Happy back-to-school, suckers!!!

the fly.

I live in my little basement with my little baby and as you all know - we don't have much to do down here. We watch a lot of movies.  In fact, we are watching Elizabethtown right now (I've seen it so many times) and the best scene just ended.  The scene with Susan Sarandon saying her speech at the memorial of her husband.  I tried to get it off youtube but apparently I'm the only one who loves it that much.  If you haven't seen it, the entire movie is worth watching just for that scene, if you ask me.
Anyway!  I was going somewhere with that.  We have recently been bombarded with flies.  It's been going on for weeks.  I always have the fly swatter at hand.  This week I've killed 8 of the bastards.  I've killed them all!
Except for one.
This little shit licker taunts me.  The fly swatter was on the table and he was perched on it for, like, 5 minutes.  I just stared at him and focused all of the energy in my body on hating him as hard as I could.  But it did no good.  Off he flew.
But it doesn't matter, as soon as you spot a fly it's like they vanish.  You try to track them with your eyes but you can't.  They must disappear, because I can't for the life of me follow this little asshole around with the fly swatter.  I just end up standing in the middle of the livingroom completely still, waiting for my chance to strike.  And then I look at Carter and he's looking at me like I'm crazy.
So I sit down.
Sure enough, whenever the fly swatter is just out of reach, this fly lands right beside me.  Aaaaand by the time I get the swatter he disappears again.
This is probably a boring post, but MY GOD!  It is the cruelest torture being in here with this fly.

a funny feeling

So.
Have you ever felt like you're a thorn in someone's side?
Have you ever been somewhere - while knowing the entire time - that your presence is nothing but a nuisance?
I have only felt that way a couple of times, but I knew that it meant something.  I went to stay with my grandfather for a couple of weeks once (I invited myself) and I felt so incredibly uncomfortable that I still haven't gone back.  Nobody was trying to make me feel uncomfortable, they didn't have to.  A person knows when they are not wanted.

true blood.

I have been all over Youtube for days, trying to find a video that accurately captures my feelings about True Blood...  This one comes the closest



I feel obligated to point out that the maker of this video has too much time on his hands.  But I do, however, enjoy his take on Sookie.  She is the absolute worst television character of all time.  She always, always does the exact opposite of whatever anybody ever tells her to do.  And when she says "Where's Bill" (every single episode, at least twice) it sends shivers of irritation all through my body.  Why can't anybody on the show ever keep track of anybody else?  Cell phones?  Twitter?  Facebook?  Nothing?  You would think, since they are being torn apart ever 5 minutes by extremely far-fetched and ever-increasingly fucked up circumstances that Bill and Sookie would get some kind of couples plan with Blackberry or something.  Or fucking GPS.

I loved the first season of True Blood!
But slowly, it started to turn into Lost.  You know how they were on a deserted island but people just kept appearing out of nowhere and stupid shit that didn't need to happen just kept happening?  True Blood has turned into that... Just when you think things can't possibly get any more ridiculous or stupid, they go and get about twice as retarded.
I can't really see the appeal at all anymore.  I really can't.
Stephen Moyer is the biggest over-actor in the whole world.  Anna Paquin has always been pretty annoying in that "pretty girl dressed like a kindergarten student" kind of way.  Not to mention the overly-forced Louisiana accent.
The plot is not even worth commenting on.  None of it makes any sense.  Not that I would expect a vampire show to make much sense at all, but it seems to me like the only thing that gives this show any legs at all is the soft core porn.  Thanks, HBO!
And the next time I hear somebody say "Twilight and True Blood are nothing alike" I might just punch them in the face on the spot.  Because, seriously, Twilight is about a million times better.  And that's not saying much.

get this off my chest!

I don't really understand Twitter.
Don't get me wrong, I have used it.  On occasion.
I have alertthingy on my desktop and everyone's new tweets pop up every couple of minutes.  But I never read them.  I have people like Penn Jillette on twitter, and Agyness Deyn, and Gary Busey, and I read their tweets.  Because they're famous.  Famous people are better than regular people.  Everybody knows that.  That's why I read their updates.
I can only assume that everyone cares about my tweets about as much as I care about theirs.
Which is to say, not even a little bit.
I think it takes quite a bit of arrogance to use twitter constantly.  What makes you think that anybody cares what you're doing every minute of the day?!  (Unless you're famous.  I do care about every minute of Justin Bieber's day, but you aint no Biebs)
Whatever.  I'm over it.  Not that I was ever really under it.
I still use Twitter to pimp out my blog posts.  They pop up on my twitter automatically.  But that's about it. Maybe if I hear a really, really funny joke, I'll tweet it.  That never happens though.

Anyway, I have a couple of opinions to share with my lady counterparts today.  I don't have enough to say about them that I can write an entire post so I'm just going to stick them here.  These things are bothering me.  Here it goes:

1. Nobody can rock kitten heels.  They give everybody cankles.  I don't know how they do it, but they do.  That's a fact.  Buy some real heels.  Or look in a full length mirror, for the love of god.  Kitten heels are hideous and stupid.
2. G-strings are only sexy in your panty drawer or on the floor.  Maybe in the dark.  G-strings do nothing for the derriere.  We all know this, so why do we buy them?  I stick with the boyleg short panties.  
3. This one is more for the general population.  YOUR CAT IS NOT MORE LIKE A DOG.  Don't say that.  It's not going to make me like your cat.  You know what really is more like a dog?  A fucking dog.  I hate cat people.

I feel better now!

Oh and you also may have noticed that you have lost the ability to comment on my posts.  I made that happen.  You can always e-mail me with your thoughts.  lindsayoquinn@gmail.com

Bras.

My bras get deeee-stroyed in the washing machine and the dryer.  I know it.  Their lives are cut short by months and months because I am too lazy to hand wash my delicates like any intelligent person would.
Maybe it's because I believe in a world where hand washing doesn't exist.  It's as archaic as the horse-drawn carriage.  I mean, really, we can send robots to mars to bring back dirt but we still have to hand wash our bras?  
Women need to start putting their feet down.  Bras are expensive and I don't want to have to buy them all the time!  And I refuse to buy the cheap ones because the wire always pops out and pokes you under the armpit constantly.  I swear to you - no joke - I have a scar from a bra that did that to me.  
I always have good intentions.  I will hand wash for the first couple of weeks.  But then... I don't want to do it.  I hate it.  It's stupid and I don't have the time.  And it's stupid.  Why should I hand wash my bras?
We need to insist on more durable under-things.  Maybe replace those stupid clips with a button and a hole.  That would work just fine for me.  That way the clippy things don't bend or hurt... and you can always sew a button back on.  And wireless bras make my boobs jiggle like crazy.  They aren't supportive.  Maybe we could figure something else out?  Why can't we improve the bra?  Why?
If I were decent with a needle and thread or sewing machine I would make it my personal mission to re-invent the brassiere.  But as it is, I'm stuck with the fucking things and tonight Mike and I are going to the mall to buy more.  


And I will just have to suck it up and hand wash them.  

mum jams: live high - jason mraz

bullets.

It's another morning.
And because I'm in a bit of a "mood" today, I am going to use bullets.

• yes, bullets.  (Did you think I was going to announce my plan to go on a killing spree?  Silly you).
• I found myself extremely irritated with Mike this morning.  I know, he's perfect and you all adore him.  But.  He gets up super early and when that happens I usually try to stay in bed while he deals with the baby.  But inevitably he comes into the bedroom and pssts and I roll over and say "mraww?" and he needs me to feed the baby because he has to go to the washroom for 20 minutes.  And then I grow about 50 feet tall and turn green.  Like please!  Please stop being so effing regular and hang out with the damn baby in the morning because I never sleep more than 4 hours at a time and I'm starting to go a little fucking crazy!!!
• I know it isn't Mike's fault.  Shit happens (pun intended zing!)  At least he's a really good sport about me blogging about his poop and never being able to explain to you his side.  
• Speaking of Mike, and I know you're going to read this darling: I woke up and there was a broken wipes container on the floor, a dirty diaper, an empty bottle on the table, 2 recyclables that were not in the recycling bin and a dirty wine glass and Carter's food.  We have talked about this.  I love you.
• I am starting to think that I could probably learn a lot from my son.  He is 4 months old.  He can't really talk to me.  But he gets his needs met and he really doesn't complain much.  Where ever he ends up in a day, he's there because someone else is putting him there.  If he wants to be in his swing but is stuck on the floor, that's just too bad for him  But he doesn't complain.  He's a really happy fella, regardless of circumstance.  
• Also, he is infuriatingly chipper in the mornings.  He practically bounces off the walls with squeals of glee and the jimmy legs that unadulterated excitement brings on.  And I am walking up the stairs like a zombie.  Needing coffee.  I suppose I could try to be a little more happy in the mornings, as well.  After all: it's all downhill from there.  First thing in the morning, you really don't have a lot to complain about yet.  That all comes later in the day.  
• Double Jeopardy is on TV again.  This fucking movie is always on TV.  I am so sick of it.  I must have seen it 5 times by now.  
• Where did Ashley Judd go, anyway?
• Oh, and:

Thanks, Michela.  I stole this from you.
mum jams: lonesome town - the ditty bops

Obsessed?

I'm watching Obsessed on A&E right now.

I hate to say it but... I think these people are full of shit.

So you have to tap the light switch 8 times or everyone is going to die? Okay.

Did you just one day come to the conclusion that you alone have the power to save the human race? I cracked the code. You control the future. You are the tappers of the switches and our lives depend on you. I don't even have the words to describe how fucking crazy this sounds to me. My diagnoses: You're fine. Get a Clapper.

If you want to tap light switches it's because you're out of your mind.

And along comes this highly qualified, totally over-paid therapist who has these people attach a number between 1 and 10 to their level of "anxiety" and tells them not to tap the light switch. This guy is a fucking saviour.

therapist: how do you feel?

weirdo: My face is burning, i feel like the world is ending

therapist: your level of anxiety?

weirdo: 9 (Okay, really? You don't tap the light switch and you feel the way I would feel if I were dangling from a thread 300 feet above pavement? A 10 would be if the thread broke. For me anyway. Hmm...)

therapist: good. wait it out. it will pass.

eventually the "anxiety" passes

weirdo: (starts bawling uncontrollably) I have my life back! It's a miracle oh sob sob sob

stupid, ridiculously over-paid therapist: I am so proud of you.

Now that is some really progressive treatment. REALLY?

Fuck off.

You don't need to go on national television to be cured by some quack shipped in by A&E. All you need to do is tell someone to punch you in the face the next time you start tapping light switches. In fact, you can call me anytime. I will charge half as much as your average OCD therapist would. And I promise that my type of therapy will be just as effective. For both of us. Idiot.

I lost a follower?

Someone stopped following my blog. I don't know who it was, but this morning I had 6 and now I have 5.

What have I done to disappoint you, un-follower?

What can I do in the future to keep followers around, un-follower?

Was it because I didn't follow you back, un-follower?

I'm sorry; but wouldn't you rather be followed because your blog is genuinely liked and not because of some stupid reciprocated favour?

Please tell me, un-follower.

And on this note of irritation, Carter is being a real pain in the ass today. He is doing that thing where he cries unless I am holding him. He is refusing to nap. He's ruining everything. My tea is cold! Only half my eyelashes are mascaraed! <- I can't believe that's a real word!

I am going to pretend that his crying is just white noise. This kid is going under his play gym and I am microwaving my tea. And later? Later I will force him to cuddle with me until we both fall asleep and I have more of those scary dreams where I forget him everywhere I go and have to track down buses and such that I left him on. I have those dreams all the time. It makes waking up and seeing his face a really happy moment.

I don't have a lot to say today. I have no opinions to share about anything. That's probably a good thing, though.

I always feel torn between being the type of person who constantly updates with the neat little things I experience, or simply enjoying my life by not documenting it.

I miss my family. Is anyone ever coming home?

mum jams: cinemania - stereo total

the parking vigilante

I know I've totally posted enough for one day but I had to get on here about this before I forgot forever and you all were deprived of Earmark's Etsy Shop.

Mike and I have this parking vigilante thing going on. Well, mostly just me. I don't even drive, but when I see someone double parked, or someone steals the parking space that I (or, well, Mike) was obviously hoping to get into, my blood boils. I want to key some cars. The worst time was on Boxing Day last year when we were driving around the mall parking lot for over 45 minutes (no joke!) and some douchebag in a Hummer (figures) is QUITE LITERALLY taking up 2 and a half spaces. Asshole! Mike had to hold me back because I was 'bout to key the bastard.

So anyway, I found Earmark's etsy shop and I think I have to buy some of these to place gingerly under the wipers of the worst offenders...

Oh yeah. Can I borrow somebody's paypal account?

mum jams: Horchata - Vampire Weekend