cranky pixels

Had an unexpected attack of must eat flesh or I will die yesterday. After enjoying a spectacular medium-rare steak (Foreman Grill FTW!), I retired to the restroom, where – wouldn’t you know it? – I started my period. Iron cravings, anyone? I mention this primarily to illustrate that I appear to have gotten back in touch with my body (dirty!), but also because it’s been far too long since there was any TMI in this blog.

Currently I’m eating After Dark Chocolate ice cream (the best freaking ice cream ever, for serious) and trying to find tax stuff. I’m taking Tuesdays and Thursdays as “light” work days, so of course I’m working like a mad person. Seriously, internets: WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Can I not take time off? Can I not prioritize? And it’s not like I was ultra productive today, either, what with my gmail being all wonktastic (the topbar is all improperly aligned and it drives me insane, it does) and my BlackBerry insisting that I have messages when I do not. But still. (I did update the portfolio section on the couldbe site, finally, so that if people go there they can actually, you know, see what we’ve done. Novel!)

I did spend some time this afternoon just hanging out with the kid. No TV, no computer, just us and the great urban outdoors. Then I dressed him up in Cranky gear and took pictures.

Next, I need to update that site. Maybe next Tuesday?

Getting sick is stupid. I had all these grand plans for today, some of which involved the shopping for and buying of shoes (but most of which were work-related, as per usual), but now I’m sitting at home with a sore throat and an aching ear. You’d think, how nice, you get to go home when you feel under the weather, that must be a great perk. And you’d be right, if said home did not contain a) a tantrum-y two year old and b) a week’s worth of chores which I overlooked during last week’s frenetic deadline-fest. I say “I” not because all the chores are belong to me, but because apparently if I don’t point out things like the overflowing diaper champ and the fact that there is half a piece of pizza just sitting on the counter they don’t exist. (To be fair: it’s not like I took a lot of notice of the state of the house last week, and Not So has been really stressed out lately. I’m just saying: home. Sick. Cleaning. What’s wrong with this picture?)

I don’t have time to be sick, is what it really comes down to. There is no room in my schedule for illness. I don’t even have time for a haircut, for crying out loud, and I actually want to do that. Clearly, clearly, this means I can skip the whole virus thing. I have stuff to do! Stuff that is not being sick!

Speaking of stuff, Not So thinks we should take an ad out in one of the weeklies for couldbe studios. I think he’s certifiable. Has he looked at my schedule lately?

I finally got to go to the Sinferno Cabaret at Dante’s last night, and I’d just like to say, if I wasn’t all flabby and lacking in any sense of rhythm, I would totally want to be a go-go dancer. Except that I would need more tattoos, obviously, and possibly some piercings. Oh, and I think I’d need to be about ten years younger. But then! Then I would totally do it.

(Let’s face it: if I’d have gone to that place before I had the kid, I would probably have been all over it. But – alas! – I no longer have the preternaturally perky boobs and cute little flat belly. It’s a shame.)

This was the first time I went out – like, at night, to a club, where they check your ID and stuff – since a brief sojourn to Dakota last time I was in Santa Cruz. And that was a little bit lame, since none of my friends came, but last night was a freaking blast. I totally didn’t expect it to be, because – well, let’s just say I thought there would be rather more righteous indignation aimed in the direction of my flaky alcoholic friends and less grooving out while girls in various stage of undress had money stuffed into their waistbands. Good times, good times.

I don’t think it occurred to me how much I miss my friends. Well, it sort of did, but it hasn’t really been at the forefront of my mind, you know? It’s so nice to be out with a bunch of people who you’ve known forever and you don’t have to worry about. Also? Some random girl in the bathroom told me I looked hot, and the ridiculously cute cocktail waitress ran her hand down my arm as she walked past. I AM SO NOT JUST A FRUMPY MOM-PERSON WITH ANXIETY ISSUES.

Today I have post-club voice, which means I sound hoarse and sexy. Whee! I should go do a poetry reading or something. Yeah. I’ll let you contemplate that train wreck while I go have some more coffee.

Tried to go out tonight. Seemed like such a good idea. Not So texted me (because we are like that, with the texting) to say that the friends we have in town wanted to go for dinner at 7:30. He went out and caroused with them last night, so it was totally my turn, but I’ve been working all day and feeling sort of less than gregarious, so I said he should just go. But Not So was all, “It’s just dinner. Let’s bring the kid! After dinner I’ll take him home and you can go out and have some fun.” I was all, “Um, our kid? The one who has been throwing fits over food in our own home?” And he was all “Oh, he’s been great today, it won’t be a problem.”

Ha.

Let me say again: HA.

So I came home, put on some makeup (!!!), and we all traipsed off to the Rogue Brewery. I should have known it was doomed when Not So was all oh hey, it’s [guy] and [his girlfriend], since I thought it was just going to be Friend A and Friend B…but then it turned out that I actually know [guy], so that wasn’t so bad. So we sat down, and ordered some food for the kid, and Not So ordered a burger, and everything seemed like it was going to be fine. But then this enormous group of people came in, and [guy] and [his girlfriend] were all “Over here!” and Not So grabbed Ellison out of his chair so we could squish together to make room. And I totally didn’t know anyone in the enormous group of people, and do you know how I get when I’m around big groups of people I don’t know? Picture this:

…meep

Multiplied by about a thousand. With a kicking kid on my lap, who had absolutely ZERO interest in his food.

And then our friends got there. They sat way over there <— while I was sort of sandwiched in the middle, which meant my options for conversation were limited to a series of expressive blinks and hand gestures. Which, not so easy while the toddler was a wriggling mass of not wanting to be there. At some point, Not So leaned over to me and said “I didn’t think it was going to be all these people!” I said, as Ellison shoved his knee down the front of my shirt, “I think I need to take him home.”

Not So tried to argue, but his dinner was literally being put on the table, so it didn’t make sense for him to go home. (I hadn’t ordered anything, because I figured I’d just eat what the kid left – which turned out to be everything, and which I did not eat. Yes yes, poor me.)

Anyway, so we left. And now Not So gets to go out for the second night in a row, while (for the second night in a row) I sit at home, watching Jack’s freaking Big Music Show. And oh, I’m feeling mighty sorry for myself, let me tell you. I’m even having a beer, and I don’t even LIKE beer.

Sigh.

Hi, I’m Adam, Prince of Eternia, defender of the secrets of…er, no.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I blow-dried my hair the other day. Big deal, you say – but what you don’t realize is that I haven’t actually blow-dried my hair the entire time we’ve lived in this apartment. So, like, eight months? And it’s not like I was prom queen before that. So doing my hair = big fun, let me tell you.

Of course, there was a catch. This is an artistic recreation of the combination between blow dryer and historic apartment building (with its corresponding historic wiring):

(Okay, secretly I like this picture because my arm looks positively muscular. But, also! Also it is illustrative.)

Yes, two minutes into my hair-styling routine, I blew a fuse. Then I did it again, just for fun. Old wiring FTW!

So apparently I actually can’t blow-dry my hair. And in related news, I should always be viewed by low light, and possibly in a tank top.

It’s never good when you look at a picture of yourself and see an uncanny resemblance to Jocelyn Wildenstein.

In other news, the Wellbutrin seems to have quietly and unceremoniously gotten rid of my social anxiety. However, the “Metabolic Advantage” pills seem to have ramped my anxiety into high gear (and – possibly – pushed my crappy self-image into body dysmorphic disorder territory). Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Although, speaking of losing, I do not seem to be miraculously shedding pounds. This could have something to do with the fact that I keep eating dessert, but I don’t think so.

Yesterday I totally impulse-purchased this Naturalean Complete Day/Night Energizing Cleanse thing from Whole Foods, which promises to “Kick-start your diet in 7 days!” followed by an asterisk, which informs me, sotto voice, that this statement has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. I figured, why not? My diet is certainly in need of a swift kick.

What the box contains is a jar of “Metabolic Advantage” thyroid formula pills, which contain a boatload of Vitamin B12 and a bunch of enzymes (such as the entertainingly-named “Multi-Glandular Complex” – hee!) as well as seven packets which contain a nightly dose of “Fiber Formula” and “Laxative Formula” pills – eleven pills per packet. Eleven! That is a lot of pills.

I started taking everything last night, and today I feel GREAT. Like, crazy-manic rearrange-the-whole-house great. I! Have! So! Much! Energy! This is a novel change, and one I plan to take advantage of by cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen and then maybe going for a jog. Because I have so much energy, you see.

In other news, the kid slept in his bed for the first part of last night. Slept! In his bed! This is cause for celebration, especially since it meant that mama got to have the entire grownup bed to herself for three hours. Ahh, sleep. How I have missed you.