The Ice Palace

…and drink

A typical weekday morning starts out very chaotic for me. Not because I am unorganized, but because I have a teenager in the house.  By the time I am ready to drive out of town for work, I am ready to have a shot of Jager. I am frazzled. My stomach hurts, my blood pressure is through the roof, and I kinda feel like I could punch a kitten if it looked at me wrong. (No kittens were harmed in the writing of this blog)

This was my morning…

• Get up
• Wake son up
• Go pee (shut up! you all pee in the morning)
• wake son up
• wake son up
• wake son up
• wake son up (I only have one son)
• badger son to take the dog out - give up
• take dog out myself since son is still rolling about in bed.
• wake son up… again - tell him to go outside and shake the water out of the tent in the yard so it will drive all day. (I need this for Pirate faire this weekend)
• take shower
• make sure son is getting dressed
• get contacts in
• make sure son is still getting dressed (wth? why does it take him so long to put on a shirt and pants?)
• get dressed
• send son downstairs to eat breakfast
• put on half of make-up
• go downstairs and tell son to eat breakfast - stop staring at the wall
• put on other half of make-up
• go downstairs and tell son to stop staring at the wall and get things in the car
• check tent - it’s still a pond - tell son to get water out of the tent - again
• dry hair
• yell downstairs to son “brush your teeth” (and yes he would forget- ewww)
• put on earrings
• make bed
• put away PJ’s
• go downstairs and freak out about the mess son has made getting cereal
• wonder what scissors were used for in the making of cereal - forget it I don’t wanna know
• put scissors away
• grab breakfast
• Son is tripping over his own feet
• grab purse, keys and cell phone stacked neatly on the secretary
• walk by and see the tent is still a pond - I shall have to kill him now.
• get dog in car (he comes to work with me), get in car
• get out of car and unlock the door because son forgot cell phone
• get in car - again
• drive away
• son says he forgot some homework
• mom says too damn bad
• drop son off at school
• drive to the nearest Starbucks and order a cracktastic mocha
• tell son’s father about son’s homework problems at school - dad is less than helpful
• hang upon dad
• Room mate calls and says we should sell the son to the highest bidder
• drive to work, trying not to have road rage (failed)
• Get to work see that someone from the OTHER building is parked in our parking lot
• walk in office, sit down at desk and cry.

I will have to do this all over again tomorrow… someone please kill me?

She’s 18.

She Has No Job, No Education, No Car, and yet she knows EVERYTHING.

Oh to be… Young Insane again.

I have discussed this at great lengths with my friends, and we want to know what’s going on with “Road Shoes”? Well, that’s what I call them anyway…

Have you ever been driving down the road, and on the side of the highway there is ONE shoe on the side of the road? We see that ALL the time. I understand seeing road-kill, various forms of furniture, or even a pair of shoes. I just don’t understand how ONE got there. It’s not just one kind of shoe either. We have seen work boots, sandals, running shoes, dress shoes… and there is always JUST one shoe.

So how does this happen? I have a few theories.

You are a one legged man/woman, and you bought this new pair of shoes. You know you don’t need the other one so you just throw it out the window?

You have road rage like me, and the guy in front of you won’t get over so you take off one of your shoes and throw it out the window at his car?

Your friend gets mad at you, grabs your shoe and throws it out the window?

You are hanging your foot out the window while riding in your friend’s car, and you shoe falls off?

Or maybe there is a shoe fairy sprinkling random shoes along the side of the road just so I would have something to blog about… I dunno.

I think I am going to take pictures of these shoes, and create a coffee table book called “Road Shoes” What do you think?

I know, I really shouldn’t complain about being spoiled, but I am going to anyway, because this is MY blog and I can mmmmm k?

So I have a new roomie. His name is Chad. We met a long time ago when we used to work together at a call center. We ended up sharing a cubical, and later he stayed in my apt for a few months. I love Chad (not like that - he’s gay) but he was a slob, and well, I am kind of a neat freak in MOST parts of my house so he moved out. He went off to culinary school and with an executive chef badge in hand, he is back. So I said he could stay with me and help me out with rent. He’s a lot tidier than he used to be so it’s ok, and we actually have a lot of fun. It’s kind of nice having a man around to do the “manly” things. The problem is he’s an amazing chef. I know you are thinking so what’s the problem right?

I never thought I would ever say this… but I am spoiled, spoiled, spoiled and I don’t know if that is a good thing. Last night I came home from work to find homemade chicken tortilla soup waiting for me for dinner.  Last week he made filet mignon for BREAKFAST! The week before that he made Steak, with grilled asparagus, and I have had everything from braised pork ribs to escargot. A few weeks before that he made chicken Kiev for my cousin and I. Tonight he is planning to make gnocchi, and for dessert homemade berry tarts. I know I shouldn’t complain but what happens when he moves out? I can see myself now, hopelessly looking at the box of dusty Mac n cheese in my pantry longing for some of Chad’s epicurean delights. I will probably just sit in the floor and eat crackers straight from the box and cry. How can I ever go back to top ramen and lunchmeat sandwiches?

I am forever ruined and it’s all Chad’s fault!

I work for a moving company. I manage one of our three offices. It happens to be one of the smallest offices the company has, so I don’t keep a lot of material on hand here in the warehouse. However, every once in a while someone will come in wanting something odd. It’s not at 9am, or even 3pm… it’s ALWAYS 5 minutes before I am going to leave. It’s not just a dishpack for packing their “fine china” it’s always a box for something completely random, and very few people on the planet have. Yet, for some reason they always think *I* have the box just sitting here waiting for THEM.  If said customer would just walk in ask for the carton, find out I don’t have it, and leave that would be wonderful. No, NO NO… that doesn’t happen in my world.

(Nothing EVER happens as it should in my world)

The conversation usually goes something like this…

Shipper: You don’t have a carton to fit my random crazy shaped item that only one person on the planet owns?

Me: *tries to looked shocked* I’m sorry we don’t.

Shipper: well when do you think you could get a carton to fit my random crazy shaped item that only one person on the planet owns?

Me: *Really IS shocked* I’m sorry I can’t get that.

Shipper: I thought you were a moving company? (pronounce move like you are part cow)

This is the part were I smile and act like I don’t want to stuff them and their random crazy shaped item that only one person on the planet owns item in a carton and send them to the moon for being completely ignorant.

Me: Yes ma’am we are movers, perhaps you should try the UPS store? *chortle*

Some days, I wonder why I get out of bed…