Well, here we are. Day two of my adventures in babysitting. As I write, Ava is happily cheesing away in her bouncy seat, being entertained by Maddie. Juliana is on a quest to find Spike the cat, and will probably be distracted by some toy in her room. It is currently 7:49 a.m., and all of the girls have had their breakfast, a load of laundry is patiently waiting to be put into the dryer, the dishwasher is loaded, and I am merrily munching on a bowl of fresh strawberries Tracey was so kind to provide. Jason's coffee is serving me well, as is Tracey's closet (Ava barfed on a total of two tank tops so far). Once the girls are bathed, I plan to mow the lawn and rearrange the landscaping, followed by an afternoon of repelling from the cathedral ceiling before venturing off to Aunt Shelly's house. Sailor is crunching away on his breakfast. Everyone - including Ava - slept through the night. Maddie woke up at five this morning, but went back to sleep immediately after having a sip of water. I haven't showered yet, but I plan to do so as soon as Ava goes down for her nap. Besides, my jeans are still in the wash. :)
Am I good, or am I good.
Alright. I realize that Maddie is three years old, and being three years old, she is unable to clearly communicate consistently her needs and desires. Particularly, there is a problem with expressing her outrage, disappointment, what-have-you, when those needs and desires are, she feels, not being met.
However.
If we have spent an entire day devoted to your exploration of the wonders of the natural world, taken you on An Adventure, and topped off said Adventure with a tasty chocolate shake, the least you can do is QUIT YOUR GODDAMN WHINING.
Is this my child? Is this *my* daughter? Because I didn't teach her that. I don't know whose baby that was in the back of Greg's car today, screaming and whining about how her chocolate shake was too thick to drink through the little sucky - and by sucky I mean disfunctional - straw that was provided by the sadist fucks at Wendy's....Which is another thing. Who - WHO - gives a three-year-old a chocolate shake denser than concrete? Why not give her a candy bar coated with invisible ... I dunno, something really hard so she can't bite into it. Shellac. Glass made from diamond dust. Translucent platinum.
In any case, that wasn't my kid. My daughter is happiness and light and sunshine snowflake joy on a fruitcake. My sweet little Madilyn Rae. Rae, as in, "Ray of prismic light." That kid was a pod person from Hell. Capital H, Hell. Whoever switched my baby, kindly return the nice one to me in the morning. This one's got some kind of malfunction.
Looka' my lil' cutie-pootie Franky Wanky playing on stage with the Pixies for the first time in twelve years.... Awww.....
....and then go buy yourself a guitar here. Mr. Benske will love you for it, and so will I.
For anyone (ahem, Tracey, ahem) who hasn't been blessed with T. Rex, please do yourselves a favor. Buy "Electric Warrior," cuddle up with your honey, play "Jeepster" as loud as possible, and make sweet love by the fire. That's an order.
Go hereto see a lovely picture of my cutie, read some biographical information if you will, then go get busy.
Learn something new every day, I tell ya. For example, did you know that it is not advisable to administer alcoholic beverages to children after they've taken a dose of cold medicine? It's a good thing I read the label, 'cause, you know, I was totally gonna take Maddie out and get her wasted last night. Thank GOD for that warning. *whew*
Also, I did a little experiment yesterday. I took my sheets out of the dryer, and after seeing how wrinkled they were, decided to iron them (okay, you can all stop laughing now). What I learned is this: while ironing your sheets will remove wrinkles, it has quite the opposite effect on stains. Which leads me to a third topic of insight (Warning to Men: You may wish to choose this time to stop reading. Go for a walk or something): While it is conducive to my health as a woman to follow Karoline's advice and refrain from using tampons (from the "Vagina Monologues": "My vagina needs to be seduced. You can't do that with a dry wad of fucking cotton."), opting instead for the healthier - if more diaper-ish - use of sanitary napkins, such restraint should be completely ignored during nighttime hours. Stuff 'em up there, baby. Cram 'em in. Don't let the fact that you rearranged your whole bedroom scheme to justify a set of bedsheets you fell in love with be ruined by those same sheets being irreversibly stained, thereby negating your own well-planned Philosophy of Shopping. i.e., When one finds oneself getting weak in the knees over that hot, shiny little red bucket that would be just PERFECT for a tall bunch of lilies, go ahead and buy it! Just don't forget the lilies. This is the Law of Impluse Shopping. One cannot buy any meaningless, not-really-needed item without that item's spawning a purchasing spree of other not-really-needed items, thus creating a chain reaction of SPEND, SPEND, SPEND. Without the bucket, the lilies have no reason to exist. Therefore, by NOT purchasing the bucket, you unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally, you big meanie) NEGATE THE LILIES' EXISTENCE. You don't wanna do that, now, do you? So buy the bucket. And the sheets, and the plushy chenille throw blankets, and the bed skirt..... Just don't fuck the whole thing up by goin' and gettin' all bloody all over the goddamn place.
Household update: I have decided to give the proverbial finger to my landlord and stage a peaceful rebellion of the feline form. I'm getting a cat. Maybe I'm a little screwed up in the head - okay, I definitely am - but my math works like this:
(Flooded Kitchen + Gaping Hole In Ceiling) - Landlord's Concern=Steph Gets To Have A Cat, For Fuck's Sake.
What's the worst that could happen? What, he's gonna kick me out of the ghetto house of Marshall St.? Quoth Ian, "Boo fucking hoo." I'll just tell Maddie, as we're packing our things, that the Big Mean Old Man made us leave because he didn't like her beloved kitty. Three things will come out of this: 1) we get a cat, 2) we get out of the ghetto house WITH my FULL security deposit, and 3) my playing up of the Big Mean Old Man thing is sure to win back her affections after I spent the whole day in bed yesterday nursing a terrible cigarette hangover. My evil plan is apparently already working, because I mentioned the idea to her today, and she responded by making up a song, just for me, right there on the spot. "The Mommy Song," as it has been so aptly titled, goes a little something like this:
"Mommy, you are so special/Mommy, you are beautiful"
*sigh* I love my kid.
Yay for Yoga! Nay for Nicotine! Rah rah rah!
In other wordly news.... After much deliberation and many metamorphoses (polymetamorphosis?), Greg has shaved his facial hair. My man has an upper lip. Again, I ask, who knew?
Some rather sniffly news regarding my oh-so-beloved Mr. MacGowan...
Okay, I'm a complete dumbnut. I just read Tracey's blog, which I get very little time to read and therefore catch up on every few weeks or so (bad friend, bad bad bad - psst....thanks for the birthday message!)... In any case, I noticed one disturbing trend between Tracey's blog and mine, which is this: Tracey's blog is full of comical, informative, political, as well as homestyle rants and blurbs. Mine, on the other hand, is usually little more than what I am doing that day, catching up on boring details that don't really matter to anyone but me. For example, is it really necessary for me to announce in a public forum that Tracey and I are seeing the Pixies in November? Okay...well, maybe that one is newsworthy. But you get my drift.
From now on, in an effort to produce a higher quality blog, I promise to post when and only when I have the time to make it worth reading. No more "have to go to work now"s or "uh, I did some laundry today." Uh-uh. No way. What you are about to witness is a new, if only slightly improved, blog. And, now that I have the site licensed, perhaps I'll be a bit more adventurous in including some of my poetry. Not that any of it's Great, but some of it turns out okay once in a while, and the thought occurred to me that everyone who knows me, knows that I write, but I never share. 'Cause I'm a selfish brat (actually, it's only because I think everything I write sucks - and so far today, it would appear that I'm right).
Ahem. So there.
Not a whole lot of time right now, just popping in to update with some news:
1. Tracey and I got tickets to see the Pixies in Chicago!!!! We're so excited - too bad we have eight months to wait.
2. Be sure to come to Milwaukee to witness the beauty and glory that is the Love of My Life when he puts on yet another stellar acoustic performance at the Mad Planet on Saturday 8 May, opening for Mirror America. I'd go on about how amazing he is, how I could listen to him sing for all eternity and never get bored, but he'll get all embarassed 'n stuff (hi, love).
3. Holy fucking RAWK balls, Batman. Check out Haymarket Riot. Guaranteed to blow your mind. Maybe you guys all know about them already - I'm a little slow, I admit it (but I have a kid, dammit! I have an excuse! I've been busy!). Catch their show at the Fireside Bowl in Chicago on Saturday 29 May.
4. Did a record spin at the Cactus Club on Sunday with Kurt - all went well, had a good time; got to annoy people with my Marlene Dietrich 45, so I'm happy. Will keep you posted if I'm spinning again, although if any of you guys want to hear my crappy records, I would recommend simply COMING TO MY GODDAMN HOUSE (which no one seems to do much these days.....time for another party, I think).
5. I'm gonna have another party, if for no other reason than I need some help with the bottle of Paddy's I bought in Ireland. Will keep you posted on potential dates.
6. Speaking of my goddamn house.... Greg called earlier, all excited about a few houses that he saw today in BayView. No sooner had he hung up the phone than I hear a loud bang followed by a crunchy gravelly sound coming from my kitchen. The guys upstairs - the lunatic crackheads posing as carpenters - must have decided it was a good idea to ram some kind of sharp object into the floor, because now, in the very spot where once I had a lovely, smooth, brown, water stain on the ceiling, I now have a skylight. Only, I'm on the second floor of a three-story building, so really, my skylight is nothing more than a direct view up the ass of whoever happens to be using the bathroom upstairs. Not to mention the fact that I've already been sweeping dust off my countertops for the last month due to the gap between my cupboards and that joke of a sophet above them.
7. On a better note, also home-related, the afore-mentioned Love of My Life spent three hours last night assembling an entertainment center (happy birthday to me!) and installing the pot rack (as in Pots 'n Pans Shelf, not Marijuana Dispenser) my mother so kindly bought for me. I now have four speakers hooked up to a new DVD/CD player, an entertainment center to hide said entertainment in, a handy dandy pot rack to free up some space in my dusty cupboards, and a Jawbox/Burning Airlines/Ani Difranco CD (thanks, Jason!) to blow my little brains out with. Let's just hope that the combination of anchors drilled into my kitchen walls and pure sonic fury doesn't literally bring my house down.
It could happen.
in my mind i can see them, the hundreds
forming lines down narrow streets
on their slow and steady path through thick gatherings of buildings
to an old, old church.
this day is like any other
the sun above the clouds a bit higher
girls in pink tights and bright red skirts
blue jackets blue doors and the quiet
drink my tea from a distant box and sit and sort the clothes
it's raining in the dresses i never wore and i won't wash them.
Yee haw! What a day. Maddie is up north with Ryan for Easter, so I have taken it upon myself to spend the day SHOPPING. I love to shop. Love it love it love it. What is so special about it is that it is so rarely done. I woke up at nine o'clock this morning, ate some grapefruit, and went SHOPPING. Shopping for what? you may ask. TATTOO shopping. Tattoo shopping is the best kind of shopping there is, because when one purchases a tattoo, one is purchasing a sort of indestructible accessory. And I love to accessorize.
So. Six o'clock, I have an appointment at Bodyworks, and the ever-fabulous Heather Shinn will be decorating my arm with a sketch I drew up ALL BY MYSELF.
I also purchased a red jacket, two blouses, and a "Desperately Seeking Susan" t-shirt for $113. Mind you, had the jacket not been on the CLEARANCE RACK, it would have been $68. I got it for $54. AND the store was having an Easter egg hunt, with each egg containing a slip of paper boldly announcing the percentage of savings one could take advantage of at the handy dandy checkout counter. MY egg was good for %40 off. SO. Yours truly saved $43 on her purchases today. Mommy would be so proud.
And THEN I went to the local flower shop - a real one, not the floral section at Jewel - for the first time and was really excited to purchase a bouqet for my friend Sarah, because today is the first day of Sarah's status as OFFICIALLY SELF-EMPLOYED. Sarah was fortunate (and crazy) enough to buy the HiFi Cafe, where she has been working for many years. So kudos to Sarah and Mary, new co-owners of the brilliant HiFi Cafe in the lovely Bay View.
So I brought Sarah and Mary their flowers, then bought a burrito from their lovely shop just to prove how much I love them, which wasn't difficult to do because their burritos are the best gosh darn veggie burritos I've ever had. Ate my burrito, read part of _Mrs. Dalloway_, talked to my dear friend Keri, stopped by RushMor for the new Paul Westerberg and some Ida, and came home. And NOW I'm gonna go to the bank, pull out some cash, go get a tattoo, come home, clean up all the blood, then put on my new DSS t-shirt and prance on over to Onopa for a rollickin, rockin' and rollin' performance by the oh-so-entertaining Legendary Shack Shakers. Either that, or I'll skip the show, go to the Clare for a mellow night, come home and watch Sat. Night Live. Either one will be utterly fabulous.
AND I get to stop by Ritz Camera to get my IRELAND pictures developed.
What a fucking stellar day.
AND I get to have holiday dinner with my love tomorrow, my wonderful, gorgeous, breathtakingly handsome, beautiful, lusty and luscious, poetically precious, scruffy and toughy rock 'n roll lovely, vocally vivacious and oh so delicious love.
*sigh*
I saw him for a minute today and he was wearing blue.
How I love that man.
Oh my goodness. It's currently 12:11 a.m., CST, which means that in Ireland, it is now 6:11 a.m., which means that I have been awake - give or take an hour nap on the plane and about thirty minutes on the ride back from Green Bay - I have been awake for nearly 24 hours. Just wanted to pop in a note before bed to let everyone know I'm back, I made it home safely, and now there is nothing in the world I would like more than to lay in my bed and reminisce myself to sleep. That said, I hope you all have had at least half the fun I've had in the last eight days, and I'll post more details (and pictures!) as soon as I'm done saturating myself with sleep and rock music.
