One of Those Weeks
So it's been one of those weeks over here at the Impulsive abode.
First of all, I discovered that my stepbrother has apparently been deployed. I was a little unamused to open an e-mail from the parents, only to discover a cute and cuddly little pic of the bro shaking hands with our beloved prime minister. Traitorous bastard, that. I would disown him on the spot, or at least say mean, mean things to him which may or may not break his bones, if it wasn't for the fact that the picture was taken on the day that Harper was visiting "our boys" in Afghanistan. I say what now? When the fuck did Jared end up in Afghanistan? Or did Harper take a secret lunch break to fly back to shit-hole, Ontario, just to shake hands with my no-good, legal relation, before heading back out to Kandahar for dinner? See, shit like this is what makes me think my family is lacking something in the communication skills department.
That and, though I truly believe someone ought to kill that boy, by kill I mean maim and throttle, and by someone, I mean family. People launching missiles at him does not fit well in to my vision of his demise. So I'd appreciate it if anyone out there was planning on making Jared's sorry ass go boom, you don't. Please and thank you.
Second, I managed to fracture a rib on the weekend. Admittedly, the tequila did soften my landing somewhat, but not enough to protect my poor, calcium deprived bones. I gotta take up drinking monkeys lunches and brown cows more.
On the other hand, I'm now a shining star in the eyes of the security guard at my school. Since I hadn't yet figured out why I hurt, I spent Monday alternating between whining about my sore ribs and learning the arts of hacky sack as a means of distracting myself from the pain in my side. That night, I went to the doctor who got me some x-rays, and diagnosed me as mildly broken.
Ever since I told security the reason behind me prior whining, I've been the Goddess of Pain Tolerance in his books. Of course, I think it's more of an Unable to Diagnose Own Pain Levels and/or Causes sort of thing, but hey, whatever rocks your boat, I say.
The good news? I'm an Aunt. Well, again. Technically, I've been an Aunt for thirteen years now, but now I've got a nephew to throw in to the mix (four nieces prior, which, when you throw in The Kid, added up to a good start to a promising new matriarchy). Well, technically-technically, I've been an Aunt for twelve years, given that Jared did not meet his wife until her oldest was a year. Or technically-technically, ten years, when they got married and he legally adopted the eldest. Whatever.
I was holding out for ten girls in a row, but hey, we were half way there. Now if only someone would let me know what the name of my new nephew was, I'd be stoked.
The other good news? The Kid had a break through tonight: She drew a picture of a boy and a girl, and put bows in the boy's hair (not just the girl's hair). Good thing, because what with the weather warming up, it's getting a little embarrassing to take my little gender-schematic darling to Grandview Park on the weekends and try to silence those exclamations of, "But Megan's a boy! He's a boy, not a girl! A Boy!"
Well, no Kid, Megan's what he/she wants to be, not what you tell him/her to be. Now shut the fuck up before I haul your sorry ass back down to New West where we can stare blankly at Treehouse TV all day.
Seriously lacking in diplomacy, that.
So hey, made it through another week, and now it's off to finals I go.
Next week. Not now.
First of all, I discovered that my stepbrother has apparently been deployed. I was a little unamused to open an e-mail from the parents, only to discover a cute and cuddly little pic of the bro shaking hands with our beloved prime minister. Traitorous bastard, that. I would disown him on the spot, or at least say mean, mean things to him which may or may not break his bones, if it wasn't for the fact that the picture was taken on the day that Harper was visiting "our boys" in Afghanistan. I say what now? When the fuck did Jared end up in Afghanistan? Or did Harper take a secret lunch break to fly back to shit-hole, Ontario, just to shake hands with my no-good, legal relation, before heading back out to Kandahar for dinner? See, shit like this is what makes me think my family is lacking something in the communication skills department.
That and, though I truly believe someone ought to kill that boy, by kill I mean maim and throttle, and by someone, I mean family. People launching missiles at him does not fit well in to my vision of his demise. So I'd appreciate it if anyone out there was planning on making Jared's sorry ass go boom, you don't. Please and thank you.
Second, I managed to fracture a rib on the weekend. Admittedly, the tequila did soften my landing somewhat, but not enough to protect my poor, calcium deprived bones. I gotta take up drinking monkeys lunches and brown cows more.
On the other hand, I'm now a shining star in the eyes of the security guard at my school. Since I hadn't yet figured out why I hurt, I spent Monday alternating between whining about my sore ribs and learning the arts of hacky sack as a means of distracting myself from the pain in my side. That night, I went to the doctor who got me some x-rays, and diagnosed me as mildly broken.
Ever since I told security the reason behind me prior whining, I've been the Goddess of Pain Tolerance in his books. Of course, I think it's more of an Unable to Diagnose Own Pain Levels and/or Causes sort of thing, but hey, whatever rocks your boat, I say.
The good news? I'm an Aunt. Well, again. Technically, I've been an Aunt for thirteen years now, but now I've got a nephew to throw in to the mix (four nieces prior, which, when you throw in The Kid, added up to a good start to a promising new matriarchy). Well, technically-technically, I've been an Aunt for twelve years, given that Jared did not meet his wife until her oldest was a year. Or technically-technically, ten years, when they got married and he legally adopted the eldest. Whatever.
I was holding out for ten girls in a row, but hey, we were half way there. Now if only someone would let me know what the name of my new nephew was, I'd be stoked.
The other good news? The Kid had a break through tonight: She drew a picture of a boy and a girl, and put bows in the boy's hair (not just the girl's hair). Good thing, because what with the weather warming up, it's getting a little embarrassing to take my little gender-schematic darling to Grandview Park on the weekends and try to silence those exclamations of, "But Megan's a boy! He's a boy, not a girl! A Boy!"
Well, no Kid, Megan's what he/she wants to be, not what you tell him/her to be. Now shut the fuck up before I haul your sorry ass back down to New West where we can stare blankly at Treehouse TV all day.
Seriously lacking in diplomacy, that.
So hey, made it through another week, and now it's off to finals I go.
Next week. Not now.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 7:30 PM
5 Comments:
I guess it's been a while, but it hasn't been so long that i'm not impressed by what you do. It's neither paradox nor irony that brings Smokey Robinson's "Ooh Baby Baby" on right now either. Say what you insane maniacal feminist beeyotches will, it can't be denied: this girl's got guts.
Now, it's entirely possible that it's a selflessly ego-centric wang that concots such praise, but again, fuck you crazies.
The penile/penal majority out here feel, and have voted on--if i may be so frank--and they've decided that Part of the Process has one of the sharpest, most silver, most important tongues this side of Mick Jagger, Tina Turner, Paul McCartney, Kofi Annan, or anyone who might dare to trumpet the horn of truth.
So, bitches, attack.
But know that the most rudimentary of your adversaries take great delight in the grit and the fight of one of your finest.
-a dick
You're drunk. But so am I, so that's okay. I think there might have been some sort of meaning behind what you said in that there comment, but I got so lost in the twists and turns of the plot that I gave up and licked the remanents out of my post-wine bottle of Tia Maria instead.
Still, I'm pretty sure there may be a complement in there somewhere. Assuming I'm right, I'll take it as my due, and say, Thank You Kindly.
"You know that every time time I learn something new, something old gets pushed out. Like the time I learned how to make home brew wine and forgot how to drive."
"You were drunk!"
"And how...." - Homer J. Simpson
And how, PotP. And how....
Three cheers to the matriarchy and the kid...love that kid.
How are those ribs?
ThreeM: Wait, my blog title shortens to PotP?
Fuck. That has so many horrible connotations.
Good thing I'm not a boy band, or I'd be out a job.
Porny: Yeah. We all love The Kid.
And my ribs are crunchy on the outside, and filled with marrowy goodness on the inside.
Other than that, they hurt.
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