Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunburned in All the Wrong Places
I used to be such an uber-informed woman, but somewhere along the way, I've become so out of touch. I don't even keep up on what's going on with PopTart Culture. I guess Maude died, which makes me a little sad (Guess god finally got her, Walter) because she was such an icon of my youth. And Tyra Banks will be testifying about something or other. And I'm sure that somebody said something bad about President Obama's policies and someone else said something good about them on a Sunday morning talk show, but I'd have to be totally living under a rock to not know those things.
It doesn't help that MathMan and I made a pact Saturday night before we went to bed to sleep in on Sunday morning, have hot monkey sex upon awakening (after a compulsory tooth brushing first, of course), and keep our computers in the upright and locked position until we had actually accomplished some of the things on our looooooong to do list.
I'm pleased to report mission accomplished on all counts. Well, except, my to do list turned out to have about six things too many on it. Sadly, today is already Monday which means I'm at the office doing work that doesn't involve folding, scrubbing or digging. Doesn't sound half bad, does it? Well, that may be true, but while I'm doing busy and important things at the office, the things around Golden Manor that must be folded, scrubbed or dug up (possibly buried?) remain undone.
Such is life, I suppose. If we ever completed our to do list, I think we might just end up like Maude.
So what really kept us busy yesterday was a lot of yard work. And now I remember why people hire other people to do that stuff. MathMan has a tee shirt that reads "Math is hard." I want a tee shirt that reads "Yard work is hard." I think I raked leaves that were from the fall of 2002. They were mingled with all sorts of flotsam and jetsam - an empty Jack Daniels bottle, a Playtex tampon plastic applicator and enough styrofoam containers to make the foundation in front of the house look like my mother-in-laws refridgerator back in the day when MathMan and I would open it and play "You Smell It and Figure Out What Food Group That Used to Belong To."
My favorite part of the day was realizing that I could diabolically use yard work to get back at The Ninja who likes to tease me with misogynistic comments such as "That's women's work." I finally go to turn that line of reasoning around on him. He was ordered off the XBox live to come out and do some manly yard work.
On the upside, we had our first new neighbor introduction/MILF sighting. Pink Tube Top (okay, how sexist can I be?) MathMan thinks we should call her Mrs. Milfington. (Hmmmm. Did MathMan listen to Morning Sedition?) The point is the woman has magnificent boobies and that's enough to keep MathMan happily working away outside in hopes of catching another glimpse. My only concern in that regard is what does her husband look like in case we get invited to one of those key parties at some point and if MathMan abandons me to go do the hard yard work for Pink Tube Top. (Fill in favorite mowing the lawn joke here.)
On the downside, Garbo's battle with the little halfwit friend of the boy across the street continues and has escalated. Parents are involved. That's never a good sign. Especially when I'm the parent who starts stuff.
The little guy just might be sweet on Garbo, but is ill-equipped at the age of ten to show it. Instead he employs the acceptable tween tactics of shoving her down and calling her names. He hasn't let up and seems to look for every opportunity to provoke an incident. I'm not sure the boy is right in the head, but am loathe to overreact.
Yesterday, the Halfwit and his two friends from the neighborhood were "hiding" in the culvert next to our house, hollering rude stuff at Garbo who was reading in a chair in the backyard. I just did what any mama would do, I sneaked up behind him and his buddies and yelled one word these yahoo kids around here understand. "Git!"
He didn't stop running for a block and a half.
Later, he decided that it would be clever to ride his bike back and forth in front of the house, then stop for a sit and stare in the neighbor's yard across the street. Garbo and one of the other Covered Bridge Springs tarts were on our front porch mooning over a stray kitten. Words were exchanged, including rude finger gestures. Garbo, who'd been instructed to go the back yard if the Halfwit kept it up, reported the incident, prompting a much put-upon sigh by me. Time to have MathMan handle things with his Teacher Wits. And he did. Thank you, MathMan. Me chasing a little cross-eyed goonbah down the street with a rake isn't really going to make us any friends.
MathMan was kind enough to bring me inside later for some cream cheese frosting which I ate off a spoon while he spread some on my sunburn. Or maybe that was aloe. I forget which has soothing qualities for the sunburn.
So here it is Monday and I'm wishing for another day of weekend so I can soak in the tub and rest my sore muscles who'd lost their muscle memory for digging and such. What a difference two years makes. I take last year off from gardening and I atrophy to the point of creaking when I stand up from crawling around, placing plants and showing the new neighbors my bottom.
I realize that I have plenty to catch up on and I hope that work will be calm enough this afternoon so that I can actually do some important stuff like check my Facebook page and read blogs because I understand that here's some big news about swine flu or something?