Tag Archives: #sorrynotsorry

Hey, I’ve been busy

Well, it’s been a while. Three weeks to be exact. I’ve been crazy busy. Let me see if I can catch you up.

I’ve been reading non-stop for judging purposes.

  • First it was the Rita awards which I didn’t final. Honestly, I don’t even know why I enter that thing. I’m not a romance writer, not really, and they don’t know what to do with me.
  • Then it was the Prism which I haven’t heard yet if I am a finalist. Keeping my fingers crossed. Again though, don’t have high hopes since I’m not a straight romance writer. Although the Fantasy community tends to be a little more forgiving about the romance thing.
  • Now, it’s the Ignite the Flame contest, mainly out of guilt. This is what happens when your writing group emails you directly and lays it on thick. Since I’d never judged that particular contest before (and I’ve been a member for almost 10 years now), there was a small amount of guilt that sat heavy in the pit of my stomach…so I agreed. Only to two or three entries though. I do have to actually write something this summer after all.
  • Plus, I don’t know why but the entries that I have been judging in all three of these contests were just…bad. Either poorly written, horribly cliched tropes – and the I’m going to kidnap you because you’re my fated mate and you’re going to like it scenario doesn’t work in the #metoo era. It’s all a bit “no means yes” for me. I think we can leave that behind. The whole time I was reading these horrible books, all I kept thinking was that someone was reading my book at that very moment and thinking the same thing. UGH! It was all very demoralizing and depressing.

Ross and I got a weekend away to go to a wedding. We had a great time. I got trashed on red wine and let’s be honest, throwing up red wine might be one of the most horrible experiences of anyone’s life. You think that shit is acidic going down?!? Try having it come back up and through your nose… You’re welcome! #sorrynotsorry.

Also, I’m a shit. The couple had door knobs on their registry. I get why. They bought a house and are renovating. But I couldn’t resist. There were 5 gold doorknobs and 7 silver doorknobs. First, why are you mixing colors? Second, the idea of doorknobs as a wedding present made the asshole in me come alive (which doesn’t take much). So, instead of being nice and buying all five of the gold doorknobs on their registry, I only bought four. I wrapped them in a big box filled with tissue paper so that when they open them, they’ll be looking for all five door knobs and it won’t be there. Ross was irritated that we were going to have to carry this huge box up to Cleveland to take to the wedding. I then reminded him that they were going to have to cart this huge box from Cleveland to Baltimore – cause that’s where they live. That appeased his grouchy old man beast. Then on the card I wrote, “Hope you enjoy the knobs!”. Bahahahaha! You’re welcome Cara!

This is Ross at the reception. That’s right, the reception was at Brown’s Stadium.

Moving on.

Scarlett had a play date with another little kid which was the MOST uncomfortable 2.5 hours of my life. I’m not a social person. AT ALL. Idle chit chat is the most painful thing in the world for me. That’s why I married Ross, so he could do all the chit chatting for me. I’m only half joking about that. I think I’d rather have a root canal than partake in chit chat. I kept looking at my fitbit wondering if it was okay to leave. Don’t get me wrong. These people were very nice. I’m just not the social butterfly that flourishes by engaging in conversation with others. This was, literally, my nightmare come to life. I don’t think I can communicate to you the level of discomfort and dread I felt throughout this whole endeavor. Especially when you take into account the anticipation for the two weeks leading up to this play date and actual suffering during the play date itself that I experienced. And Ross just laughed at me. Because don’t forget, he’s an asshole too.

And finally.

This was Scarlett’s first go around for soccer. I spent most of my Saturday mornings for six weeks straight yelling across a soccer field that the ball was the other way as she picked flowers of walked with the coach as all the other little kids actually ran after the ball. There were many instances of Scarlett running across the field to get a “mommy hug” before I shoved her back out onto the field to run in the complete opposite direction as everyone else. She’s really good in practice and running in general. Is there preschool track? She might be really good at that…

I think you’re all caught up at this point. Until next time.

A Hard Day

Confession time. Sunday was a hard day for me. Ross closed both weekend days which meant I was the primary parent all weekend with little to no relief because even when he’s here, it’s “I want MOMMY!”. By Sunday, I just needed a break but I wasn’t going to get it. Even though she took a nap, I still had to make dinner, do food prep, and stress about all the things I wasn’t doing. Which turns out – if you look at my family room and the utter mess it is – is quite a lot. I’d include a picture but at this point, I’m completely ashamed of the state of my house. I’m going to need a hazmat suit when I actually attempt to clean it.

So Sunday.

Scarlett was EXTREMELY whiney. Like whining about things she’d done herself. She woke up that way and it didn’t stop all day. We went to the pool and I thought that would exhaust some of the pure bitchiness out of her. Nope! I wasn’t so lucky.

For dinner, we had tuna noodle casserole. Now, I knew up front she wasn’t going to eat it without a fight. She’s three and a half. Everything, with the exception of peanut butter and jelly or a hot dog, is an argument. She of course, refused to eat it. We had a long conversation about trying things. She could absolutely not like it but she had to try it. This, of course, devolved into a screaming, crying, fit. I went into the kitchen go get my own dinner ready and when I turn around, she’d knocked her milk over, and spilling it everywhere – on purpose or not, I couldn’t say. I’m not sure why this was the piece that broke the dam but I had had it.

I grabbed her chair and put her in time out. Now, as a discipline tactic, time out sucks. I’m not sure what this is supposed to accomplish, other than my three year old daughter sobbing and staring at me with sad eyes and trying to manipulate me into feeling guilty. Jokes on you, I don’t feel guilt. Now, this bites me in the ass about twenty minutes into this melodrama.

She was staring at me with sad eyes and I asked her what was wrong. She said she was hungry and I said then she needed to eat her dinner. She got up, tasted a tiny bit, said she liked it and then asked if she needed to eat the carrots. About two bites later, she said she didn’t like it. At this point, I wanted to drink but wine is too many fucking points and I was already out for the day. Fucking weight watchers. Sometimes, I think I should just be fat and happy.

Anyway, I made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She tasted it. I don’t care if she doesn’t like it. There’s a ton of shit I don’t like. However, she has to try it. If she tries it and doesn’t like it, that’s one thing. I’m not going to make her eat something she doesn’t like. I’m not going to feed her PB&J or hot dogs simply because she refused to eat ANYTHING else.

After she ate the sandwich, the melodrama eased some and she said she was sorry for dropping her doll. DROPPING HER DOLL!

Me: What about the gigantic tantrum you through and the dinner you refused to eat? Are you sorry about that?

Scarlett: Shakes her head no.

Me: You’re not one bit sorry, are you?

Scarlett: Nooo.

That’s what I have to look forward to. I might just disappear for a few days to a hotel. Have a nice massage and a glass or twelve of wine and not give a flying fuck about the points. God, I need to get some writing done. That too. No pressure or anything.

Ode to Gränsakskaka

First, if you thought this was going to be an actual poem – Nope. Joke’s on you

Second…I. LOVE. THIS. STUFF.

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You may look at this and say, what the actual hell is even in that? How do you say it? Why would you buy food at Ikea? The answer to all those questions is . . . I don’t know. I don’t care. They are delicious and I don’t even care that they’re 4 points EACH. They are cheesy, oniony, and quite frankly – even though I’m over broccoli – I can eat this with broccoli in it and not completely turn my stomach. I am soooooo broccoli’d out. I’m also over green beans. I think this might be my last week of corn too. There’s only so much corn you can eat before your body rejects every kernel. Plus, I’ve discovered that if you actually cut the kernels from the cob…there’s so much more corn. Who knew? I’ve been eating a cob of corn (is that how’d you say that???) every day for three weeks. That’s alot.

You may ask yourself, why is she spending an entire blog on this weird food item? That’s a justified question. It’s because they’re fucking amazing. I ate one as a snack the other day. That’s right. I heated up my oven to 390° (because that’s a random temperature) and popped it in the oven. I was sad that I didn’t put more. I made them for dinner (and graciously left one for Ross – by the way) and when he came in with a Wendy’s bag…

I’m still a little mad at him for wasting it and that was three days ago.

Next time I go to Ikea, I need to get like four boxes of these things. #SorryNotSorry

Granny Panties

Today kids, we’re going to talk about an uncomfortable topic…underwear. Undies. Panties. Knickers. Lingerie. Drawers. Skivvies. Underthings. You know the things you wear under your pants.

I’ve lost about 30 lbs and now, all my underwear is ginormous (that’s me making up words again. I don’t care). Seriously, huge. Like the lace of the waist band is now safely hitting above my belly button and quite frankly out of my pants. They have become the dreaded granny panties.

I have a drawer full of underwear and hate ALL OF THEM. I hate shopping and I feel like buying underwear is stupid. You can’t try them on, cause that would be gross. Invariably, there is always something I hate about the fit; the elastic around the holes it too tight, the waistband is too low, the material is horrible, the fabric is scratchy (this one is for the fancy undies), they roll – and this is the worst. Standing there, talking to someone, as you move the waist of your underwear starts to slide down and all you want to do is reach in and pull them back up. But you can’t. You’re in public and it’s rude to reach into your pants in public…or so I’ve been told. #SorryNotSorry.

So, that’s my dilemma: stay with the granny panties that I already own or sink more money into undies that I’m going to hate.