Absolutely Bananas: Seattle mom blog

A cluttered mind

Somehow I ended up getting hired to teach two classes at the University of Washington starting this fall. 

In order to finalize the hiring process, I’m supposed to fill out some paperwork and bring it, along with my passport, to the UW processing office.

No problem!

well, except for this one little problem…

I totally can’t find my passport.

Right away when I realized that I needed it, I went directly downstairs and pulled out the “passports” folder of my filing cabinet.  Jay’s passport is in there.  So is CJ’s.  Mine, however, has gone MIA.  Hopped the red-eye to Paris and never came back.

I suppose I should confess that for the past 6 months I’ve been using a *NEW* filing system whereby I ignore my filing cabinet and perform the following detailed and rigorous 2-step process.

Step 1: Place papers in careful piles on the dining room table.

Step 2: In the event of a) dinner guests, b) my MIL, or c) the pile falling over, swiftly gather up the pile and carry it down to the “office” where I thoughtfully position the pile next to or on top of the other piles.

Step 3: Go through the piles in the office and file them into appropriate folders when I have time.

You’ll notice I said this was a 2-step process BUT then I listed three steps.  (Nothing gets past YOU!)

The reason for this little inconsistency is that I never do step three.  Never EVER. 

Because, as it turns out, step 3 is boring and I have far too busy of a life to spend even five minutes filing.

Which brings us directly back to the “My passport must be in Paris” situation, in which Paris stands for somewhere behind the big green ball or on top of the precariously perched shelf.  Or maybe underneath the turkey roaster.

 I COULD go through all the piles of paperwork and hope that I’d find it.

OR I could figure out how to get a replacement passport.  Which seems to me to be the better option.  Because although I am DEFINITELY going to organize that room very soon, I really don’t have time for that today… or even this week.

(I’m a very busy person)

The Ped Egg

First of all, I have to tell you that I have a foot aversion. A serious foot aversion.

I do not like Birkenstocks.

I hate flip-flops.

I despise toe cleavage.

I ABHOR the sound of bare feet sticking and slapping against a hard floor.

I am not a fan of the fatty, callousy, toe-naily specimen that is The Human Foot.

(oddly enough, children’s feet are excluded from this aversion. In fact, I have a strange impulse to EAT them. Go figure.)

A couple of weeks ago Jay and I were sitting on the couch watching TV when this commercial came on for something called The Ped Egg.

Have you heard of it?

OH HOW I WISH I’D NEVER HEARD OF IT.

Here’s the basic premise.

The Ped Egg is an egg-shaped, hollow device where one side is basically a cheese grater.

You rub the cheese grater side of the egg over the bottom of your bare foot, and it GRATES off the DEAD SKIN, which falls into the interior of the egg.

Then, you carefully dump the foot flakes from the egg into the garbage.

It is REVOLTING.

Jay and I looked at each other in disbelief, and then Jay grabbed the remote and backed up the Tivo recording so we could watch it again, groaning and grimacing and making fake vomit noises the whole time.

“That is SO disgusting!”

“I know! Rewind to the part where they empty the flakes again.”

Ah, the late-night bonding. Our marriage is a marvel, indeed.

So anyway, tonight I was on a rendevous to Target when I stopped in the kitchen section. It was one of those dangerous browsing-without-a-list shopping trips.

There, nestled between the Green Bags and Magic Bullets, was a whole row of PED EGGS.

(I PROMISE I’m not making this up)

I stood there, gazing at them in disbelief.

I couldn’t fathom that something like the Ped Egg, which seems to me to be the most random thing in the world, was right there at my neighborhood Target.

Secondly, I couldn’t imagine who looked at the Ped Egg and thought, “I KNOW! We should put this in the KITCHEN section!”

And then there was this teeny-tiny part of me that thought, I could really use one of those Ped Eggs.

Because the truth is, I don’t find MY feet disgusting.

And grating off dead skin from MY foot doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

Plus this could open up a whole new avenue of husband-tormenting opportunities.

Look out Jay, there’s a Ped Egg coming your way.

Maybe I’ll even keep it in the kitchen.

(evil laugh)

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©2008 Absolutely Bananas. All Rights Reserved.

Turns out my boiling point is 97 degrees.

In this city there are two types of people.

1. The rich people who have AC. I hate them. And who do they think they are anyway… don’t they care about the ENVIRONMENT?
2. The not-so-rich people who swelter and swear and swim in their own sweat when the temperature gage moves up. But at least we’re not excessively carbon-emitting, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves.

You can probably guess which segment I’m a part of.

See, the problem with Seattle is that we have very few hot days. Well really, it’s NOT a problem, except when it is. The thing about having few hot days is that there’s really no need for AC. It’s an excess; an indulgence; an unnecessary expense that most people choose to do without.

And then you get a day like today. A day that’s so hot, the newscasters feel the need to issue an EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING. Ahem, Thanks guys. I’ll be sure and take off my wool sweater and Uggs because I’m that stupid that I COULDN’T have figured out that it was hot all by myself.

We’re talking days so hot that you’d give your firstborn child, one of your arms (OK, both of them) and all your money to have just one little air conditioner. But wait, there’s already people lined up ahead of you chomping at the bit to sell their firstborn, so the wait is 6 weeks! That’s not gonna help you! Should’ve planned, shouldn’t you? And so you sit and swelter in your own sweat.

8:00 this morning and it was 80 degrees. 8:00 tonight and it’s 90 degrees. I can’t decide if it’s hotter inside or out. Either way, all the sweating CANNOT be good for my skin.

I am MELTING over here!!!!!!!

There’s only one conclusion that can be drawn from this. If you haven’t voted for me for HOTTEST MOMMY BLOGGER, now’s your chance. I am the hottest, I promise.

Still don’t believe me? Well, ok… DON’T SAY YOU DIDN’T ASK FOR IT…

Yeah, I know it’s gross. But see those droplets on my brow? They’re bonafide grade-A sweat drops, and they’ve been there ALL DAY.

Now go vote. Quickly people, before I melt into a giant puddle of sweat and hair. (eww that’s disgusting, even for me)

Everybody now,

It’s getting hot in here
So take off all your clothes…

Offended? Blame it on the heat-induced delirium.

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The face behind the blog: A rolicking rhyming good time

with teeth…

without teeth…

There once was a girl named Jenny

This girl, she was something like twenty

Too young to get married

But whoops! there she goes

She was off and married

to the guy that she chose

They lived very happ’ly

except when they fought

way up north in Seattle

where it rains a whole lot

they worked and they frolicked

and laughed till they cried

until the day when the laughter all died

see they’d purchased a house

this house was so OLD

that even the wood floors had started to mold

they hammered, they nailed, they sanded and painted

till from all the working our Jenny just fainted

well really she didn’t, but she did think she might

cause they just worked, worked, and worked, all day and all night

then one summer’s day

or maybe ’twas fall

midst all of the working and having a ball

Dear Jenny got pregnant

her stomach grew round

she threw up a lot all over the ground

then one day in June, a magical day

the baby came out

in a most painful way

and then our pal Jenny

and her dear husband Jay

their sleeping just ended that very same day

but their happiness grew

except when it shrank

they loved their dear CJ

though his diapers sure stank

He grew really fast to a tall funny boy

who wore goggles all day ’cause they gave him such joy

Our pal Jenny though

Wasn’t feeling so peachy

Cause all the working and momming - made her voice come out screechy

so she quit her grand job

said “I don’t need a dime!”

“It’s worth it to take back control of my time!”

and now she does yoga

sips coffee and tea

she hangs out with CJ doing things that are free

she still doesn’t clean much

cause really why bother

she thinks that those chores should be up to the father

and so ends our tale

long and rhyming and fun

it’s time to pass the magic to another someone…

Alex
Kimberly
Mama Zen
Midwest Mommy
Problem Girl

Consider yourself tagged! And no you don’t have to do it in rhyme, although personally I think you should!

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Where does my time go?

A funny thing happened to me the other evening. Well, not really funny, but interesting.

I was at a charity dinner with many of my ex-colleagues, having a rather lovely time. It’s great to get together with people when there’s no politics involved. Hello Mr. Senior Vice President, that’s really a very ugly tie you’re wearing and, oh my, what IS that big black thing between your teeth? By the way, have you put on weight…?

Yessiree, not only to you get to treat people in accordance to their PERSONALITY and BASIC HUMAN CHARACTER rather than silly stupid things like title and WHETHER THEY’RE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR RAISE, but additionally you learn who your true friends are. But I digress.

I chatted and gabbed and hugged and schmoozed, and in all this socializing I quickly recognized a pattern. Everyone wanted to know what I was doing with my time now that I’ve quit my job. And oh, by the way, was I bored yet?

Call it irony, or fate, or just happenstance (now THERE’S a word I’ve always wanted to use), but whatever you call it… today I am being asked THE SAME QUESTION again. But this time with the allure of cash and glamour at the end (see contest details below).

So, here goes. What HAVE I been doing with my time? Where DOES it go?

If only I knew. Maybe it would be easiest for me to start with where my time DOESN’T go.

I do NOT spend my time:
1) working or earning money in any way
2) cleaning house
3) cooking healthy and delicious Martha Stewartesque meals
4) organizing fabulous dinner parties
5) traveling, modeling, hanging out with celebrities, or curing diseases

Wow. How depressing. I’ll bet you’re REALLY wondering now, aren’t you?

What DO I spend my time on? It’s hard to say really. Back at the dinner, I found that I struggled to respond. All I could do was come up with what I’d done THAT DAY. Because it varies. And some days, I really don’t accomplish much at all, while others I’m a whirlwind of effective efficiency (but usually the former).

And in the spirit of confessions (I’m not sure why I’m in that spirit, but I’ll go with it), I will tell you that USUALLY when someone asks me this, I try to put myself in the best light. “Oh, nothing really, just little things like reading important biographies, cooking nutritious meals, practicing my yoga, and providing a nurturing and highly educational environment for my son.” But because YOU are my dear friends who I love deeply (along with assorted spammers, stalkers and plagiarists), I will be honest and open to the point of nausea. You can thank me later.

So here’s a random sampling of some of the ways I’ve spent my time:

• downloading new music
• creating new playlists based on the new music I purchased with the money I don’t make
• playing the new playlists with said new music while dancing wildly with son through the house I didn’t clean
• photoshopping my head onto strangely formed figures
• spending inordinate amounts of time pondering the search terms that led people to my blog.
• running my car into our other car
• calling insurance to fix damage from above incident
• reading books about 1) harems, 2) how to get rich*, and 3) ghosts.
  *One thing I learned from the book about how to get rich is that it’s best NOT to run your car into your other car. And if you insist on engaging in this behavior, it’s best NOT to drive a BMW. There you go, some free advice for the day.
• Exploring the glorious beaches, parks, playgrounds, zoos, museums etc. that Seattle has to offer.
• Picnics at the drop of a hat
• etc.

In response to Daring Young Mom’s question as to what’s on my resume (great post, by the way)… just see above. Wouldn’t YOU want to hire me?! (DON’T ANSWER THAT!)

So here’s my takeaway. Since quitting my job, I am hands-down less efficient. I am hands-up (?) more happy. And really, isn’t that what matters?

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This is an entry into a contest to have BlogHer conference fees paid courtesy of the Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris. For more contest details, see here (hurry, because you have to post TODAY to enter!)

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