K. is pleased to note that she still remembers enough of the Cyrillic alphabet to recognize the words "porno" and "sex" in the spam comments for the blog. (Although why they are English words written in Cyrillic is completely beyond me.) Always good to know what my reading public wants to comment about the most.
K. gets the smallest bit claustrophobic when confronted with the obsessive, possesive love of certain family members at night.
K.'s gums are puffed up in indignation over the violence done them by the dental hygenist. :-P
K. thinks Heat Miser needs to get some cojones and take the South back.
K. doesn't think R. is her kid. She's graceful, extremely talented in math, and has legs up to her ears. Oh wait. She's also mouthy and sarcastic. I guess she is mine after all.
K. really hates when guilt over last night's drives her out of her bed on a Saturday morning. And really, what is so bad about a dinner consisting solely of Milk Duds and diet Coke?
K. just found another type of shopping I don't enjoy doing: furniture shopping. Can someone else just take my house in hand and make it gorgeous?
K. made the teenager excavate his bedroom tonight. Under his bed? Old dog poop he kicked under there instead of cleaning up. Ew! No wonder teenaged boy's bedrooms smell!
K. wonders if it's too late to reconsider having children. I think I'm much more suited to being a mom to fish.
K. found a new way to beat the candy craving: stop at a trendy store and try on a top before buying said candy. One glance in the mirror and candy is the last thing I wanted.
If one car leaves Charlotte going south while another car leaves Savannah going north and they are both driving at an average speed of... oh nevermind, probably better not to admit the average speed. Lead feet are apparently genetic and so my children may never get their driver's licenses. Ever.
K. should perhaps give up tennis for baseball. Homeruns are appreciated in the latter and not the former. Must remember this in future.
What does gum do to a dog with a beard? Glue her mouth shut, of course. How do I know this? Ask W.
When the right buttock button on the pocket of your jeans pops off and ricochets through the bar, the answer to the question of whether the jeans make your butt look big is a resounding YES! (Would it be too weird to glue the button back on?)
K. ventured into the cosmetics aisle at WalMart today to buy some dance stuff for R. I looked as out of place (and uncomfortable) as a hooker in church.
K. is going to a gathering of some of D.'s new co-workers tonight. The words that strike fear into my heart? "They're looking forward to meeting you." Would that be the real me, sarcasm reflex and all, or the Stepford corporate wife me I don't seem very adept at channeling?
K. wonders what about me screams Laura Ingalls Wilder on LSD? Because that is the look the saleswoman at one store today seemed to think worked for me.
K. is tired of the clothes in her closet. Is it too late to move somewhere consistently temperate and become a nudist?
K. skipped dessert tonight when I realized that warmer weather means I'm going to have to fit into those terribly short tennis skirts. Think I can lose ten pounds by, say, tomorrow?
Gatsby is lucky she's so cute. If not, I suspect she'd taste great roasted on a spit and served with brown potatoes and carmelized onions.
One kidney for sale. It won't be cheap though. I have a new dance bill to pay.
Incongruous image of the day? Me running out of the middle school in my quite short, slightly too tight tennis skirt past a mom in full abaya and niqab coming in.
Sitting at urgent care with T. Why do 8 year old boys think the prospect of a broken bone is so cool? I think the prospect of me writing out third grade homework for the next weeks stinks.
K. is in a pisser of a mood not helped by the fact that transcription of 3rd grade math homework was severely slowed by the loss of the interogatee's one entire set of fingers to count on.
A sign the diet might be getting to you? Drop your small bag of popcorn on the floor and then actually growl at the dog when she comes over to help herself. It worked though so I must be the alpha dog.
To run or to spin. To run or to spin. The decision this morning is exhausting. Maybe I'll just sleep on it.
Seriously? Yoga pants and a tank top are not a flattering combination for the roly poly amongst us, self included. And yet, that's what has graced my body all day today. I am becoming one of those people who wear workout clothes all day without working out.
Got the wildly unattractive fat girl "before" pictures in my e-mail, got bent over in my tennis match, and my favorite comfy jeans tore wide open front and back so they are now crotchless. It's been one of those kinds of days. Are we sure it's Friday?
Wiped the smallest kid all over the court at tennis. Have to get my wins in where I can. Plus I figure I am teaching him how to be a good loser. So really I only beat him in order to do some quality parenting.
Nothing like discovering that one of your kids didn't go to school today at the rather late hour of 10am when he came stumbling out of his room. School is apparently not missing him either as they didn't call to ask about the truant.
T. came home from school protesting the amount of homework he has to do: "If I was a superhero I could do it all but I'm just T. everyboy." Please note he's been home from school about an hour and he is completely finished with his work despite his common man status.