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Posts Tagged ‘geek-ass’

When I met Hernando in 2009, it was love at first sight. Or maybe lust at first sight as I could NOT keep my hands off him. Bill handled it okay but would get jealous from time to time~ he just didn’t understand what we meant to each other! Finally he accepted Hernando and I were pretty much soul mates and for three and a half years we were inseparable; almost every post on my blog was lovingly typed out on his shiny, black keyboard.

Then it happened. That goddamn Rainbow Spinning Wheel of Death. It drove a painful, brightly-hued wedge between us. We tried cleaning up the hard-drive. We backed everything up and I went through and deleted THOUSANDS of pictures and songs in the hopes it would restore Hernando back to his former glory. Nothing helped. He had given up…let himself go to become the equivalent of an overweight, lazy spouse who won’t get up out of his recliner except to retrieve his hot pocket from the microwave. It was sad and we limped along for the last year, with him being cold and apathetic while I would shout obscenities at his unresponsive screen.

It was time to call it quits but it was just so hard to say goodb-

Wait… who’s THAT fine looking piece of assimean technology?

“‘Sup?”

Well…this is awkward…

Listen, I’m SO sorry Hernando, breaking up is hard to do. But I’m thinking this rebound guy might just get me through it.

PS: In all seriousness this was a spendy but necessary purchase. With Bill not able to go in early for the time being, he needed a reliable computer to work on while the kids are in dance to make up for his lost time and spending that time staring at a frozen screen is NOT helping him get any work done. Also, one of the reasons I haven’t been blogging regularly for the last year is that iPhoto and Photoshop freeze up and crash almost every time I use them making it frustrating enough that I just quit doing it. Hopefully this new computer will mean I can get back to writing on a regular basis, after I recover from NaBloPoMo and the holidays that is.

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I have 4 tattoos. Well, 5 I guess, but the fifth was more of an add on. I’d really like to tell you an entertaining story about how one of these tattoos is a giant butterfly spanning both of my butt cheeks but alas, my tattoo stories are INCREDIBLY BORING. Too bad for you I’m going to tell you about them anyway.

Bill got his first tattoo on his 18th birthday, a dragon centered between his shoulder blades. Here is where I tell you that Bill has a lifelong OBSESSION with dinosaurs. He like LOVE loves them. It’s so bad that I refuse to read the kids any of our 5,814 dinosaur themed books because OH MY GOD if I say the name wrong he is correcting me from 3 rooms away. It’s like piano lessons all over again, with my mom yelling out “C# CHRISSY! C#!” when I’d hit A by mistake. And then he scoffs and starts mumbling when the book isn’t accurate. “Jesus Christ, there was never such a thing as a Brontosaurus, that’s a Brachiosaurus what kind of idiot wrote this book”. And if I didn’t already know his answer would be “That’s no excuse”, at this point I’d say GEE, BILL- MAYBE SOMEONE WRITING FOR A 18 MONTH OLD? IT’S ALSO PURPLE AND PINK AND WEARING A TUTU. LET IT GO.

Where was I going with this? Riiiiight. Tattoos. So what are dragons if not totally pimped out dinosaurs? (Also? FICTIONAL. Don’t tell Bill.) So Bill loves his dragon tattoo, the only downside is that it’s on his back where he can’t see it without strategically placed mirrors. I never considered myself a tattoo person but around my 21st birthday I made the decision to get one. I really can’t even remember what prompted it, I just knew it was something I wanted to do, and so I had this one done:

Japanese character: To Dream

Going in I knew I wanted it somewhere I could see it, but not somewhere tramp-stampy like my stomach or lower back. (If that’s where your tattoo is, I am not dissing you. I knew that kids and getting chubby were a definite possibility for myself at some point and I wasn’t that brave.) In my case To Dream doesn’t hold some fanciful meaning about dreaming big or not losing sight of your hopes and BLAH BLAH CHEESEYBLAH-CAKES. It literally means, to dream. As in, what you do when you sleep. I have had vivid dreams my whole life. I’d like to tell you a little bit about that, but I don’t think it’s possible without coming off sort of, what do you call it? Oh yes. Batshit crazy. Let’s just say David Lynch would pay good money to get inside my REM sleep. This is the only tattoo of mine that is all me and for that reason alone, I love it.

Star. Duh.

Here is another one related to sleep. I’ve mentioned before that Bill reads aloud to me, to help me fall asleep. Back when we lived in the love nest, I had a ridiculous amount of credits stacked up and was under a ton of pressure, making my insomnia particularly bad. Bill was reading up in our little loft hole and I laid next to him, listening but unable to sleep. Often on these nights I would grab a pen and start drawing on his arm, and on one such occasion I connected the dots of the freckles on his shoulder and they happened to take the shape of a star. Soon after he got this same star on his left shoulder and I put it on my foot. Aren’t we cute? BLARRCKKK.

And these? Are our Elvish geekery tattoos. The cj-ish looking one is my initials in Tolkien’s tengwar script, and the other is Bill’s initials. He did the same, with a more masculine version of the script. I will give you a few seconds to marvel at our complete and utter geekery. Done? Impressive, I know. I originally had just the middle symbol but a year or so later I added the henna inspired wrist band, because the script was a little too small and looked lost on my wrist. The cool part about having your significant other’s initials in a different (and completely fake!) language is that if we ever divorce (unlikely, as I made a deal with the devil to keep him forever, the poor sucker) I can just tell people it means something else, like Save the dolphins! or O’Doyle Rules! Or I could just put a circle with a diagonal cross through it, whateves.

So, um…yeah. That’s it. Tattoos are completely addicting. I got all of these within about 2 or so years of each other and would love to get one or more incorporating the kids but haven’t thought of what to do or where to put it (hmmm, buttcheeks anyone?) Just like anything, tattoos are subject to the eye of the beholder. My own taste in tattoos can be summed up as understated and meaningful. I completely understand that they are not for everyone but to me they tell a story about who you are. I read something once that said if you ever wanted to get a tattoo just go find an elderly person with one and you’ll be deterred. Wrinkly tattoos are gross, was the message. I don’t think so though. I think they’re a part of that person’s make-up and they can be beautiful no matter how old, or how faded they become. And maybe it’s just me, but I don’t mind wearing a little bit of who I am on the outside. It reminds me of where I was and where I am and that’s not such a bad thing.

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I have 4 tattoos. Well, 5 I guess, but the fifth was more of an add on. I’d really like to tell you an entertaining story about how one of these tattoos is a giant butterfly spanning both of my butt cheeks but alas, my tattoo stories are INCREDIBLY BORING. Too bad for you I’m going to tell you about them anyway.

Bill got his first tattoo on his 18th birthday, a dragon centered between his shoulder blades. Here is where I tell you that Bill has a lifelong OBSESSION with dinosaurs. He like LOVE loves them. It’s so bad that I refuse to read the kids any of our 5,814 dinosaur themed books because OH MY GOD if I say the name wrong he is correcting me from 3 rooms away. It’s like piano lessons all over again, with my mom yelling out “C# CHRISSY! C#!” when I’d hit A by mistake. And then he scoffs and starts mumbling when the book isn’t accurate. “Jesus Christ, there was never such a thing as a Brontosaurus, that’s a Brachiosaurus what kind of idiot wrote this book”. And if I didn’t already know his answer would be “That’s no excuse”, at this point I’d say GEE, BILL- MAYBE SOMEONE WRITING FOR A 18 MONTH OLD? IT’S ALSO PURPLE AND PINK AND WEARING A TUTU. LET IT GO.

Where was I going with this? Riiiiight. Tattoos. So what are dragons if not totally pimped out dinosaurs? (Also? FICTIONAL. Don’t tell Bill.) So Bill loves his dragon tattoo, the only downside is that it’s on his back where he can’t see it without strategically placed mirrors. I never considered myself a tattoo person but around my 21st birthday I made the decision to get one. I really can’t even remember what prompted it, I just knew it was something I wanted to do, and so I had this one done:

Japanese character: To Dream

Going in I knew I wanted it somewhere I could see it, but not somewhere tramp-stampy like my stomach or lower back. (If that’s where your tattoo is, I am not dissing you. I knew that kids and getting chubby were a definite possibility for myself at some point and I wasn’t that brave.) In my case To Dream doesn’t hold some fanciful meaning about dreaming big or not losing sight of your hopes and BLAH BLAH CHEESEYBLAH-CAKES. It literally means, to dream. As in, what you do when you sleep. I have had vivid dreams my whole life. I’d like to tell you a little bit about that, but I don’t think it’s possible without coming off sort of, what do you call it? Oh yes. Batshit crazy. Let’s just say David Lynch would pay good money to get inside my REM sleep. This is the only tattoo of mine that is all me and for that reason alone, I love it.

Star. Duh.

Here is another one related to sleep. I’ve mentioned before that Bill reads aloud to me, to help me fall asleep. Back when we lived in the love nest, I had a ridiculous amount of credits stacked up and was under a ton of pressure, making my insomnia particularly bad. Bill was reading up in our little loft hole and I laid next to him, listening but unable to sleep. Often on these nights I would grab a pen and start drawing on his arm, and on one such occasion I connected the dots of the freckles on his shoulder and they happened to take the shape of a star. Soon after he got this same star on his left shoulder and I put it on my foot. Aren’t we cute? BLARRCKKK.

And these? Are our Elvish geekery tattoos. The cj-ish looking one is my initials in Tolkien’s tengwar script, and the other is Bill’s initials. He did the same, with a more masculine version of the script. I will give you a few seconds to marvel at our complete and utter geekery. Done? Impressive, I know. I originally had just the middle symbol but a year or so later I added the henna inspired wrist band, because the script was a little too small and looked lost on my wrist. The cool part about having your significant other’s initials in a different (and completely fake!) language is that if we ever divorce (unlikely, as I made a deal with the devil to keep him forever, the poor sucker) I can just tell people it means something else, like Save the dolphins! or O’Doyle Rules! Or I could just put a circle with a diagonal cross through it, whateves.

So, um…yeah. That’s it. Tattoos are completely addicting. I got all of these within about 2 or so years of each other and would love to get one or more incorporating the kids but haven’t thought of what to do or where to put it (hmmm, buttcheeks anyone?) Just like anything, tattoos are subject to the eye of the beholder. My own taste in tattoos can be summed up as understated and meaningful. I completely understand that they are not for everyone but to me they tell a story about who you are. I read something once that said if you ever wanted to get a tattoo just go find an elderly person with one and you’ll be deterred. Wrinkly tattoos are gross, was the message. I don’t think so though. I think they’re a part of that person’s make-up and they can be beautiful no matter how old, or how faded they become. And maybe it’s just me, but I don’t mind wearing a little bit of who I am on the outside. It reminds me of where I was and where I am and that’s not such a bad thing.

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Once upon a time in early December 2004, there was a young, bright-eyed newlywed who, after saving from her newish job, decided what she wanted to splurge on.

A fancy phone. A really fancy phone. A phone that by today’s standards would cost maybe 70 bucks but back then it was state of the art and cost many hundreds of dollars. I was ecstatic and in love and we should have lived a long and happy life together, that phone and I, only just a few weeks later I started throwing up and the plus sign on the pregnancy test was the heralding in of my fancy phone’s DOOM.

That plus sign turned into Rowan J Gunterpants who was truly the world’s sweetest baby. Only that sweetest baby drooled. A lot. That sweetest baby was also not so very sweet during car trips which she spent squirming and whining and crying. One day I picked her up from daycare when she was about a year old, and she was incredibly cranky and was NOT excited to be in the car. The only thing that seemed to distract her from the awful TRAUMA of riding in a motor vehicle was to push the buttons and play with my (locked) fancy phone.

It was harmless! I had let her do it so many times before and nothing bad had ever happened. And she was so blessedly quiet when she had it that I didn’t even turn around or check on her in the rearview mirror. When we got home I walked around to get her out of the car and there she was, holding my phone. With her mouth. Her poison drool had penetrated my beloved phone so thoroughly and completely it never ever turned on again.

Well, dummy, I hear you saying, didn’t you get phone insurance or a protection plan on a phone that cost that much money?

And I say to you, HMMM ,DUMMY, Do you think I’d be telling you this story if I HAD GOTTEN THE MOTHERFUCKING PROTECTION PLAN?

It was dead. Gone forever. We’d been together less than a year. It was very sad.

With shame I went back to T-Mobile and picked out the free piece of crap they give you and to get it for free we had to sign a three year contract. My punishment, we decided, would be to never spend that much money on a cell phone ever again. Too risky. Too much money. Too much heartbreak over a freakin inanimate object.

And I was totally, 100 percent fine with this decision until Apple, those sonsabitches, came out with the iphone and I was all “I waaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnttt it” and “I’ll love it and feed it and never let anything bad happen to it EVER”.

And Bill was all: “NO.”

Not until the kids, with their gooey secretions, were old enough to know to keep it out of their mouths. I pouted but knew he was right. Plus? iphones=KERCHING KERCHING. And we certainly did not have kerching, kerching.

About a year ago our contract with T-Mobile ended, and since we didn’t want to re-sign they hiked our rate up a little but we were free agents. Free agents with a very drooly one year old. And to be honest we totally forgot about it until we were reminded how of how awesomely cool the iphone is by this lady, who came to visit last weekend and who I totally blame for all of this.

Here is something you should know. Bill and I totally enable one another when there is a large ticket item we both want. We act casual. But we know we are secretly influencing the other to JUST DO IT.

“Hey, are we still on contract with T-Mobile?”

“Hmm, Jeesh, I don’t know, I’ll check into that.”

“Yeah, I’m just curious.”

“Just checked. No we’re not. Maybe I’ll go stop into AT&T to just, you know, look around. Price some stuff out.”

“Huh. Ok, if you want to I guess.”

“Why don’t you just call me from there. Let me know what they have.”

“Oh, sure. Will do.”

And you all know where that brings us. To this status update/tweet:No one intervened and we are totally powerless against Apple. We are putty in their hands. No, not even putty. WE ARE MUSH.

Bill called me with the phone and plan prices and it was actually really reasonable compared to our crappy non-contract t-mobile family plan so I obviously gave him my blessing and that was that. I knew I was getting a bright shiny new iphone and man, I was nervous. What if it didn’t like me? What if Keaton tries to poop on it or flush it down the toilet?

Then I saw it and none of that mattered anymore.

I was in phone love. Once again.

I let iphone (will come up with a more suave name once I get to know him better) have a short, supervised visit with a future Apple geek-ass.

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People, this is the night.

The night I have been waiting for since… well, this day. If anyone dares to call or interrupt me (including my children!) in any way between the hours of 8 and 10pm CST, they will be greeted with a swift beheading.

This is where I usually say “Just kidding! I would never do that!”

That is not the case this time.

BE. HEADING.

{Hope everyone enjoys the premier! And head over to Mama Pop for the open thread if you can multi-task during LOST, which sadly, I cannot.}

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DISCLAIMER: The virus portion of Keaton’s illness hit Rowan and I this weekend so I’m gonna be straight with you and admit I am pretty doped up on cold medicine right now and because of that, I take approximately ZERO responsibility for the content of this post. Cold medicine hits me so hard, clearing my congestion but clouding my brain to the point where it’s hard to hold conversations and I swear I start seeing tracers. I’m not sure but I don’t think this is what’s supposed to happen so I almost never take the stuff but my head and ears were ready to explode with the pain, so after the kids were snuggled in for nap and rest time I gave in.

Our very own hatch door, complete with a freaked out Desmond in the peep hole. I'm pretty sure we frightened our neighbors off with this little number, made with love by Bill.

The Lost party went great this weekend. We had a couple of snafus, including me asking Bill on Friday night at around 10:30 if he had ordered the party sub before noon, to which his response was a combination of silence and great big giant eyeballs. Um, no. He sort of forgot that part and I failed in my position as Great Superior Reminder of Things That Need To Be Done, but LOOK! we have 396 different types of alcohol with fancy Dharma labels! Who needs food when you have this much booze?! Thankfully when we called early Saturday morning they could fit us in, which saved at least half our guests from alcohol poisoning.

Clearly we have really super awesome priorities.

The second snafu was Bill’s parents calling us to let us know Rowan had caught The Sick from Keaton (or the hospital, take your pick) and was running a temperature and coughing up a storm. After insisting they could manage her just fine, Bill’s dad stopped by to pick up our bottle of children’s Motrin and they checked in around mid-day to report she was doing much better. I had woke up with a terribly congested head, but fortunately this was the type of party you could still enjoy when you felt like shit because it consisted of sitting on your butt in front of the TV all day.

After we rearranged the room to accommodate everyone and had breakfast we passed out an assigned Dharma station to everyone:

When your station was mentioned in the show you had to call it out before another person did or, you know...ELSE (Else being that you had to take a drink). The poor DCFI got the Orchid so he was pretty screwed.

I posted the rules to the drinking game here, but I tell you we could have pared it down to only three of them and it would have done the job. Those three can be described as “Dude”, “LaFleur” and “Son of a bitch!”. On Sunday Snoreface left me this message on facebook that I think all of us appreciated:

Snoreface and the polar bear got along quite well, especially when Snoreface released her from her fluffy confines.

I wish I had more interesting pictures for you but this is really what we did for 13 hours. And it was FUN!

Now, thanks to this generic Dayquil,  I’m off to go stare at my really interesting wall and quite possibly drool a little bit. Hope everyone had a good weekend and if you’re feeling in the mood say a little prayer that one of the 3 Kindergartens we’re touring tomorrow is a good match for Rowan, or homeschool here we come.

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DISCLAIMER: The virus portion of Keaton’s illness hit Rowan and I this weekend so I’m gonna be straight with you and admit I am pretty doped up on cold medicine right now and because of that, I take approximately ZERO responsibility for the content of this post. Cold medicine hits me so hard, clearing my congestion but clouding my brain to the point where it’s hard to hold conversations and I swear I start seeing tracers. I’m not sure but I don’t think this is what’s supposed to happen so I almost never take the stuff but my head and ears were ready to explode with the pain, so after the kids were snuggled in for nap and rest time I gave in.

Our very own hatch door, complete with a freaked out Desmond in the peep hole. I'm pretty sure we frightened our neighbors off with this little number, made with love by Bill.

The Lost party went great this weekend. We had a couple of snafus, including me asking Bill on Friday night at around 10:30 if he had ordered the party sub before noon, to which his response was a combination of silence and great big giant eyeballs. Um, no. He sort of forgot that part and I failed in my position as Great Superior Reminder of Things That Need To Be Done, but LOOK! we have 396 different types of alcohol with fancy Dharma labels! Who needs food when you have this much booze?! Thankfully when we called early Saturday morning they could fit us in, which saved at least half our guests from alcohol poisoning.

Clearly we have really super awesome priorities.

The second snafu was Bill’s parents calling us to let us know Rowan had caught The Sick from Keaton (or the hospital, take your pick) and was running a temperature and coughing up a storm. After insisting they could manage her just fine, Bill’s dad stopped by to pick up our bottle of children’s Motrin and they checked in around mid-day to report she was doing much better. I had woke up with a terribly congested head, but fortunately this was the type of party you could still enjoy when you felt like shit because it consisted of sitting on your butt in front of the TV all day.

After we rearranged the room to accommodate everyone and had breakfast we passed out an assigned Dharma station to everyone:

When your station was mentioned in the show you had to call it out before another person did or, you know...ELSE (Else being that you had to take a drink). The poor DCFI got the Orchid so he was pretty screwed.

I posted the rules to the drinking game here, but I tell you we could have pared it down to only three of them and it would have done the job. Those three can be described as “Dude”, “LaFleur” and “Son of a bitch!”. On Sunday Snoreface left me this message on facebook that I think all of us appreciated:

Snoreface and the polar bear got along quite well, especially when Snoreface released her from her fluffy confines.

I wish I had more interesting pictures for you but this is really what we did for 13 hours. And it was FUN!

Now, thanks to this generic Dayquil,  I’m off to go stare at my really interesting wall and quite possibly drool a little bit. Hope everyone had a good weekend and if you’re feeling in the mood say a little prayer that one of the 3 Kindergartens we’re touring tomorrow is a good match for Rowan, or homeschool here we come.

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