Spirituality. Or something.

3 05 2013

While jokingly discussing past lives in the car today:

Her: I was a piece of hair in my last life that got pulled out.

Me: Wait. That GOT pulled out? Or that GOD pulled out?

Her: GOT.

Me: Oh I thought you meant God. Like, maybe God is this guy with really amazing hair, but he has an anxiety disorder so he pulls out his hairs and every time he pulls one out, it falls to earth and becomes a human.

*pause*

Her: I think every time I pull out a hair, I’m actually killing a person.

Me: Wait. Are we the gods? Or are we god’s hairs?

Her: We’re the gods.

Me: Maybe it’s like the Neverending Story. We’re the hairs of God and we’re the gods of hairs.

Her: WHAT.

Me: Remind me to blog this conversation when we get to Starbucks.





In which Indiana Jones saves me from ritzy people.

4 08 2012

The day that I took Orangey the Orange Camera to the beach, I happened to be just around the corner from the Cave Store, so called because it has a cave. (La Jolla is not known for their creativity. They name all their streets La Jolla – I suspect to keep the ghetto people too confused to be there.)

I haven’t been to the Cave Store since I was in 5th or 6th grade and my mom took some of my friends and me there. And I have never been IN the cave because, dudes? Caves are scary. As a child I was convinced it was going to collapse on my head. As an adult I’m still pretty much convinced of that, but I’m better at distracting myself. Despite the fact that I’d been in the cave store, I’d all but forgotten about that cave until Bethany blogged about it.

True story – the first time I rode Indiana Jones and the Temple of DON’T LOOK MARA IN THE EYES OH MY GOD SOMEONE LOOKED MARA IN THE EYES WE’RE ALL FUCKED NOW, I was pretty much terrified of the queue. And it’s not even a real cave. It’s made with, like, engineering. And DISNEY engineering at that, so you KNOW it’s not going to collapse on you or that the booby traps are totally not actually going to hurt you. But I didn’t really believe that. Repeated exposure and the fact that sometimes the booby traps don’t even work anymore have gotten me to a point where I’m not scared at all in the queue for that ride anymore. Go me!

me, in a cave, not dying

So I figured I was brave enough to go in the Cave Store’s cave. And I was. With minimal anxiety. But I kept having this nagging feeling that I really wished Indiana Jones was there to save me. Just in case. Frankly, that could be a general rule in my life, actually. In the grocery store? “I wish Indiana Jones was here to save me. Just in case.” At park day? “I wish Indiana Jones was here to save me. Just in case.” In scary caves tucked away in impossibly ritzy beach neighborhoods? ESPECIALLY. It’s like Xanax, but way sexier.

sunny jim

All this to say that I took this picture from inside the cave, to compliment the picture I took a few years ago from outside the cave.

sunny jim from the outside

So, if you see Indiana Jones, can you tell him I need him? Kthx.





Demon Adventures. Also personal growth n stuff.

26 04 2012

I have so much to say. But only while I’m driving or in the shower or something. I need to make a habit of audio recording myself all the time and just posting that. Only it would be SO CONFUSING for you to try to follow my brain while I talk to myself. It’s harder than following my brain while I talk to you. Which is pretty hard to begin with.

Suffice it to say that this has been a time of incredible change and growth for me. I’ve learned things about myself, and let things go to regrow more organically. I’ve learned things about life, about friendships, about parenting and my children. I wish I could document all of it, but it happens so fast, and so naturally, that I can barely make verbal note of it before I’m onto the next step. I guess I’ll have to just let that be what it is, too.

This week has been a surreal week of new things for SOAM, too. It got picked up first by the Daily Mail in the UK, and then by Yahoo (wherein a woman WHO WAS *IN* OFFICE SPACE said my website was “meh”. Which. Actually. Might not be a compliment. But it doesn’t really matter because SHE WAS TOTALLY IN OFFICE SPACE and also TALKING ABOUT *MY* WEBSITE) and a few other sources. And the traffic crashed the site. Repeatedly. Like to the point where I had to find a new company to host it for me. And that, my friends? Was beyond stressful. Tech is not my language and to try to fix something so INCREDIBLY TECHY was downright traumatic. In case you’re here for advice, the coping technique I used follows:

1. Cuss a lot.
2. Deep breath.
3. Remind self to take it one step at a time, and do whatever the smrt people say.
4. Panic.
5. Repeat.

It might need work, but it got me through.

And you know what happened this week? My first baby turned ten. TEN. Oh, you know what? It’s kind of like this. Only with less pot and no professional killing. Take out those things and it’s EXACTLY like that.

she's weird, too, though

She’s amazing lately, too. This time of change isn’t just about me (unlike most other things in this world, which totally are just about me). She’s made some incredible growth that gets me all verklempt just thinking about it.

So here’s to spring and growth and life and The Happy. And to not taking a ride on this bus.

um. i don't think i fancy a ride on THAT bus.

Or, TO taking a ride on that bus, if that’s your thing. If the demons are hot I guess it might be mine.





Good Morning! Have a Deadly Spider!

12 10 2011

Stumbled out of bed, into the shower, out of the shower. Got dressed. Stumbled into the kitchen, pulled the bacon out. Found a brown widow sitting in her web on my kitchen counter. Set the bacon down. Commenced panic attack.

evidence of her stupid choice of real estate location

First order of business: Tweet that shit.
Second: Take photos.
This is how I roll.

And then I stood there for 38 minutes weighing my options. That’s normal. Right?

Option 1:
Move out, leaving all my possessions behind, and never come back. Not really feasible. I have lots of stuff. I like my stuff. I don’t want to leave it behind. Also moving is a lot of work and I’m rather lazy.

Option 2:
Call the landlord and a) beg him to kill it and b) prove to him that brown widows not only exist but that spiders do, in fact, come in through windows. It’s way too early to have to deal with his bullshit. Also when he says he’ll be over in “ten minutes”, it usually translates to “next week sometime”.

Option 3:
Smash it. Impossible. I can’t smash spiders. If I use something like a hammer I miss (and break the counter), if I use my hand, I require heavy sedation and therapy to recover from the emotional trauma of feeling their body “pop” in my hand.

Option 4:
Set it on fire. Not only do I not need to come within six feet of the spider, but I also don’t need that plan to backfire resulting in a deadly, flaming spider running around the house and coming after me.

Option 5:
Vacuum that bitch up. Only that’s another plan I don’t need to backfire on me.

Option 6:
Hot glue. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost all sanity at this point.

Option 7:
Move out and never come back. Oh. Already covered that.

This was pretty much me:

Source: i.imgur.com via Bonnie on Pinterest


And that’s roughly what those 38 minutes looked like, interspersed with an occasional whine or whimper, or the kids running around screaming, “WE’RE ALL GANNA DIIIIEEEE!”

And then I spied a box of unopened Kleenex. Puffs, actually. And in a fit of sanity and bravery (that is probably an oxymoron) I grabbed the box and slammed it down on top of the spider. LIKE A DAMN NINJA.

And then I stood there for a few more minutes wondering if it was safe to peek.

It was. She was quite dead.

TAKE THAT, DEADLY WIDOW! I AM THE QUEEN OF SPIDER KILLING! I RULEZ! YEAH! YEAH!

And then I asked Margie to throw the tissue box away for me.

But in yet another fit of sanity and bravery, I envisioned yellow yarn (which is, apparently, the antithesis of squashed venomous spiders) and chanted, “Yellow yarn is really quite lovely,” and peeled the lid off (because she’d had the decency to be squished right on the part you tear away, rendering the rest of the box TOTALLY FINE) and threw it away. Like a damn ninja.

And then, just for good measure, I sprayed down the counter with disinfectant.

And you know what, my internet friends? All this before coffee.





Facebook is Awesome. You Should See My Spoons.

23 08 2011

I’m not trying to peer pressure anyone into joining Facebook or anything. Not even under an assumed name just like in my dream that was totally psychic* that one time. But these were so awesome I wanted to save them forever and ever in my pensieve (which is, you know, this blog). I’ve done my best to make things anonymousish by color coding and using internet names and/or first names only instead of social security numbers, but if anyone here is uncomfortable with this, I’ll totally remove it, or re-edit the images to be more private. I’ll make you Kermit T. Frog (just like I made Jen Following T. Road) if you want. Well, not just if you WANT cause I’m busy and really should not have wasted time by doing this tonight, but I will totally make you Kermie if you need privacy.

Basically, Facebook is an awesome place where you can get great advice. And also discuss whether “Cavernous Vajayjay” makes a better name for a band or a soccer team.

*About what I’ve now forgotten. See what happens when I don’t blog properly?

you should see my spoons

cavernous vajayjays

 





These are the faces I make doing math.

17 08 2011

I should totally make this a series, but I’m just not often enough on the other side of a camera to capture (let alone know) what faces I make while Doing Things. But sitting around a table full of bloggers will solve that problem.

This is the face I make while trying to do simple addition in my head.

And this is the face I make when someone misunderstands the previous face for me trying to remember the numbers from Lost and I automatically rattle them off like nobody’s business to prove how geeky I am.

These photos are taken by Sonja and Bethany, respectively. My life is such that my blogging isn’t even my own right now. I mean. Except that it’s my face. There is that.





And Then Bethany Was Here

16 08 2011

This entry starring Bethany, Sonja, Katie, Summer, Madge, and Jen.  Oh and me.

This entry has been waiting for me to post it since before I even wrote it. I tried being all witty and funny with it, but I just can’t right now between the busy and the tired and the emo. Instead I’ll leave you with some pictures (taken by Bethany, Sonja and me) that relate somehow to the visit and I’ll ask YOU, my lovely readers, to make up a story based on the pictures. If I were a cool blogger I’d make this a contest and offer you a prize, but the only prize I can think of is the $5 coupon I got for Threadless.com for filling out a survey (which I assume I can forward on). That might be is totally really ghetto, but, hey, it cost me 10 minutes of my time. 10 whole minutes. So the commenter who makes me laugh hardest before I forget and then remember this contest and decide it’s over can totally win that if he/she wants.

Also? I hope this doesn’t break your dialup.

Katie and Summer

seamen!

sonja blinding jen

as we are wont to do

downtown CV and a goofball

group shot at breakfast

photobombed

disguised as a distinguished guest

from around the corner

summer on the stairs

doing the aloof ANTM thing

Sonja and Bonnie

Bonnie knitted A's orca

baby photobomb

♥








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