A little quesadilla with my jalapeño

Who’s a happy girl at the airport?

20140611-135847.jpg

Pee and Poop are my purview

Hope you’re having a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning.
I’ve been traumatized and it’s just 8am.
I feel like calling it a day. It’s over.
Here’s what went down.
You should know two things before I start. These things may not be a surprise to you.
First – I am not what you’d call a pet person. I didn’t grow up with dogs or cats. I don’t long to touch a cute dog walking down the street or cuddle with a cute kitty. Take all that with peace and love.
Second – we have a cat. Technically my husband and kids have a cat, but it’s hard to ignore because we all live together.
It’s taken me a long time to get comfortable living with a cat, but I’ve done well. In fact, I’ve done very well. I feed the cat. I make sure it’s not thirsty. I’ve even come to terms with the litter box.
But I have limits people.
Back to my morning.
So I’m up early, excited to tackle the day and do some chores. I don’t mind chores. I especially don’t mind them when it’s this beautiful out.
I gather up all the laundry – there’s two piles. Dry cleaning and regular. The regular stuff is in a basket. The dry cleaning is in a heap next to it. I go about my merry, delusional way and take them downstairs. I notice an…odor. That’s not surprising because it’s dirty laundry inclusive of a 10 year old boy’s soccer clothes and more importantly, I always notice an odor. Constantly. Good, bad, ugly – I have super olfactory powers. I shake it off. Soon everything will smell of lavender and bleach. All will be right in the world.
I start a load and scoop up the dry cleaning and head to the car.
More odor.
Different odor.
3 more things to note. 1) We’ve had some busy weekends and I haven’t been able to drop off the dry cleaning in a bit. Like a month. So it’s a lot of stuff. 2) Coming back from one such weekend we noticed that we’d inadvertently left the laundry room door closed. 3) We keep the cat’s litter box in the laundry room.
Back to present.
I drive to my favorite dry cleaners. Stop for coffee. Sing a tune out loud.
I grab the clothes out of the car and head in. As always it’s busy on a Saturday. I wait my turn – still clutching the clothes. I make a mental note to buy some sort of foot spray for my son’s shoes. It must be his stinky socks infecting all the laundry.
Then I get to the counter, dump the clothes and they start separating as we make small talk. Yes, it’s finally sunny we say, no more rain. This winter was hard, we say smiling and nodding.
And then it happens. She lifts a shirt and there it is. A pair of pants with a pile of cat poop and a shirt stained a special shade of yellow. I think I screamed. Or maybe they screamed. I don’t remember, I blacked out.
They quickly folded up the clothes and politely told me to go wash with vinegar and soap before bringing them back.
I drove home in a trance.
As a mother, most of my life has been about pee or poop. That’s what they don’t tell you before kids. It’s just all pee and poop.
But I’m finally at the stage in life where my kids are, for the most part, keeping all that to themselves. But I realized this morning that I can’t get away. I’ll never get away. My world is one big bathroom joke.
How could this have happened? I mean, I know how it happened. We locked the cat out of the liter box, which lives in our laundry room. So the cat went and did her business in our laundry. Oh the irony. Oh the horror. Is she an evil genius bent on revenge? Was it a cosmic karma joke on us? On me? I dunno.
I’m going back to bed.

#yawn

20140605-075421-28461306.jpg

This is how I wish I felt today.

Plan b

So we ran away to the beach. Just cause.
I was going to write a post about my week, work, home, maybe about Kim and Kanye and that photo op errr…wedding. I was going to comment on Gwyneth vs the Green Beret. Someone get that girl a friend to confide in so we don’t have to see all the crazy. I think wacky thoughts too – but I only tell those thoughts to my husband or my friends. One is legally obliged to not judge me, and the others shake their heads in disbelief and shock but don’t write me an angry retort.
Then I was going to tell you all my opinions on politics, the Pope and gluten.
But I went with another plan.
I’m going to lay around all day and zone out.
See below.

20140531-150753-54473072.jpg

New Orleans Day 4

Are we there yet?
That moment when you realize you’ve been working 14 hour days for 4 days and it’s just the first day of the conference.
Today was great. One of the most fun things about this job is seeing people’s reaction to the experience you’ve put together.
Tonight was Mardi Gras night!
And I thought I’d show you where event professionals usually eat. In a service hallway, by the fire exit. Sexy.

20140519-232147.jpg

20140519-232219.jpg

20140519-232239.jpg

20140519-232259.jpg

20140519-232313.jpg

New Orleans – Day 2

What’s wrong with a day that starts with fried dough? Nothing.
Today was full of set-up and prep.
For all of you who dream of the glam world of events – our day started at 7am and just ended at midnight. Super sexy right?
Here’s a look at some highlights.
We had some amazing beignets, saw some colorful characters on Bourbon street, and began the event set up.
And ofcourse , we had the all staff meeting. When we get everyone in a room and boss them around for an hour. Look at how excited they all are. Not.

20140517-232101.jpg

20140517-232123.jpg

20140517-232155.jpg

20140517-232228.jpg

New Orleans. Day 1

I’m going to one of our biggest conferences of the year and I thought you should come along. Whether you want to or not.
So the next few days I’ll be posting some pics and some stories about my time in New Orleans (pronounced NuOrlins, not New. Or-Leans).
I left a rainy, humid airport and headed south.
2.40 hours and mucho turbulence later – I was here!
My first time post Katrina.
Here’s a few pics of today. The rainy terminal back home. The beautiful blue skies when we landed. And then of my view for the majority of the time here. A war room. If you don’t like a lot of clutter, this place isn’t for you. It’s computer cords gone wild here.
But there are plenty of snacks to take your mind off the fire hazards.
Ok, let’s do this!

20140517-000830.jpg

20140517-000843.jpg

20140517-001135.jpg

20140517-001300.jpg

Come on knock on our door…

Everyday I slip closer and closer to becoming Mrs. Roper.
Do you know who that is? Three’s Company. Jack, Chrissy, and the other one..Mindy? I dunno. Anyway, I have to be careful.
I looked in the mirror this morning and thought, “uh oh. Getting close to the edge.”
If I start wearing a tropical mumu please slap me.
Here’s a comparison.
I’ll be looking for yellow beads.
(Notice the beams of light hitting my big, fat beads. I think that’s Audra Lindley who played Mrs. Roper giving me her blessing from heaven)

20140512-080504.jpg

20140512-080515.jpg

This Mother

I hope all you moms out there had a great day. I did the following:

Cards and cuddles in bed.
Ate a Sunday breakfast that I didn’t make or go get.
Spent 3 hours making photo prints from the last 10 months.
Spent another 2 hours trying to find a proper photo album (it can’t have “memo” space and I prefer a large, square one that holds both vertical and horizontal pics). No luck. But I had fun trying.
Then came the real fun.
Hair up, pjs on.
A nose strip.
A clay mask.
A steaming hot wash.
A 15 minute derma scrub
A cold compress.
Good times.
Some people like to get tulips and cards. I like to get time to exfoliate.
(And I like tulips and cards)

Happy Mother’s Day!

20140511-205354.jpg

Ladysitter

I was chatting with one of the smart young women I work with yesterday. She’s getting married in less than a week and seemed so calm and relaxed. She told me her secret. She has what she calls her ladysitter.
Never heard of such a thing? Same. Apparently a ladysitter comes in, organizes her house while she works, puts up the art she’s been meaning to hang for weeks – that kinda stuff. She’s no housekeeper, no no no. She does the things that make this gal feel put together. Thank you note envelopes written out. Registry gifts sorted and tagged. Duplicates returned to the store they came from. Reminders to refresh the pantry and buy household needs. The men reading this won’t understand because you already have a mansitter. That would be your wife. Or your mother. Or your girlfriend.
If you’re gay – one of you understands this. The other thinks birthday cards get magically sent to your loved ones.
Sigh.
A ladysitter.
I want one.

Previous Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 400 other followers