Posts Tagged 'the Pants'

big spoon little spoon

Pants and the Original have started a blog to chronicle their long-distance road together to matrimony over the next five months. Check it out!

This isn’t the official artwork for the blog, just my take on it.

It is a unanimously agreed-upon fact that the Pants and Original really ARE so cute it’s a little disgusting. For example, the name of their blog. I’m pretty sure their biggest disagreement is quibbling each night over who gets to be in front while they spoon to sleep. The coveted, cuddled position of “little spoon.”

When the speaker is really sleepy, I understand sometimes spoon gets replaced by nonsense words. Like bear. Or fish.

“Roll over… I’ll be the big… the big… fish. Zzzzzzzz…”


Carpooling 102

So I didn’t mention it, Reader, but for a while there recently I thought I might be pregnant. I know, I just didn’t want to worry you, Reader, because you’re sweet like that. And it’s not a new story… there’s the usual culprits you hear about: a missing punctuation mark, obsessive thinking about the punctuation mark, and mood swings that were more likely to be due to the obsessive thinking than to a mini Hot Lunch in my belly.

I think it means I’ve successfully made the transition from feeling gooey about Hot Lunch to seeing him as my stupid special friend that the thought of him reproducing through me is like something out of V. I still don’t know how Joaquin and Diego happened. When I first met them years ago, I remember feeling surprised that they didn’t look more like their dad. The fact that they looked just like his angelic baby pictures didn’t matter. Hot Lunch is distinctive to the point of seeming immutable: anything that comes from Hot Lunch must be EXACTLY LIKE him, sporting scratchy goatees and scratchy voices and making inappropriate comments and blaming farts on other people.

This was the picture my imagination was torturing me with. THAT VERY PICTURE. Also the fact that it had been a while since – cough cough, you know – didn’t matter. I was haunted by an image of myself appearing on I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT (thanks for the medical terror, TLC) and the sheer awfulness of the idea made it seem more likely. I was increasingly crazy with it: acting grumpy toward Hot Lunch whenever I saw him… making hangup calls to my ob-gyn… pulling into Fred Meyer’s parking lot at night on my way home from work and chickening out and going home empty-handed.

But on Carpooling day, I have backup. Poor Pants is a helpless passenger on the crazy train as it swerves into the Fredbear and I say, “Hold on, I have to stop here and pick up a pregnancy test. And something for dinner.”

“Don’t you want to stop by the deli first?” Pants asks, as I charge right past the counter where we usually pick up quick meals.

“No. I want to get this over with.” We get to the aisle that mockingly stocks tampons, condoms, lube, pregnancy tests and baby food. It is the circle of life aisle.

And tonight it is full of shoppers. Not one, but two men, and a woman shopping for baby food with her baby bawling in the cart right in front of the shelves of First Response. (…think you’re pretty funny don’t you, Life?)

“Oh. It’s crowded. My favorite.”

Give it a minute. Deli comes first after all. On the way back, we pass a display of CAMPFIRE MARSHMALLOWS.

These are the biggest marshmallows I have ever seen. In an unnecessary reminder that maybe an obsession with size is what got me into this problem in the first place, I impulsively grab a bag off the display, rip it open and shove a fist-sized puffed-sugar confection into my face. Pants looks shocked until I hold the bag out to her and she does the same. Commence orgasmic eating noises.

“Unh. It’s so good.”

“And big. It’s so big I can’t fit it in my mouth.”

Ecstasy has slowed our gait and a man passes us by (possibly in a rush to reach the popular prophylactic aisle?) and gives us a good sidelong look, one brow arched. That’s right guys, the ladies know what you like to hear.

We reach the aisle again but it is still a party zone. WHAT THE HELL. “Come on, we’ll just browse the magazines while we wait,” Pants soothes.

While Pants thumbs through Brides, Modern Bride, and You’re-Not-Knocked-Up-and-You-Got-a-Guy-Congrats, I’m glancing through my favorites Fitness and Shape and angrily cramming gargantuan marshmallows in my mouth.

Check the aisle again. Empty except for the mother laboriously inspecting every baby food label with her baby still parked and screaming in front of my Maybe-Baby zone. “If she’s still there in five minutes,” Pants hisses to me, “I’m going to say, ‘Excuse me, we want to make sure we’re not having one of THOSE.” I grunt my appreciation. My mouth is full of marshmallow.

Well, to jump mercifully to the end, it turns out that I’m not positive for anything other than I am positive that peeing on a target is for men. I don’t care for the unexpected splashback. Also I’m positive that taking the test at home was much more soothing than the time I had to take it next to the noisy apocalyptic mystery shitter in the next stall of the public restroom at work (which had seemed more private than the staff restroom where the container might be spied in the garbage… if only I hadn’t recognized a coworker’s shoes later at the exact awkward moment that coworker – thenceforth known as Apocalyptic Shitter – also recognized mine.)

There are no secrets at the Library.

dragons, bears, clowns, zombies and the eye of sauron

Hyperbole and a Half

Hyperbole and a Half

okay, so first, The Original proposed to the Pants today. THE PANTS IS GETTING MARRIED!!! sorry, Pants, if that’s shocking to read in print! but it is true and also awesome.

second, The Original is the nickname we came up for the Pants’ boyfriend (now fiancĂ©) while sitting in the Egg Factory on Memorial Day. by the way, “while sitting in the Egg Factory on Memorial Day” is now my favorite phrase. sorry, Original, if that’s shocking to read, but it is true and also awesome. also, sorry The Original trumped the Professor as a nickname. you know you are the Professor deep down, though. the beard proves it. it’s your professorialness coming out of your pores.

third, and almost as exciting, the Original introduced me to a new (for me) blog THAT I HAVE TOTALLY FALLEN IN LOVE WITH!!!! it’s by a GIRL who is also a GENIUS OF HUMOR. and this blog is ALSO ILLUSTRATED!! with hilarious, genius drawings! and the blogger is also FROM IDAHO! i am reading it and i am in heaven.

i am also beyond tipsy from all the celebrating with 8.5% delicious beers.

wait. “some horrific wonderland of confusion” is actually my favorite phrase. READ THE BLOG.

i know. i should always blog drunk.

when you got a health thing

Pants came over tonight and almost the first thing she said was, “i want you to date that cute guy with all the piercings!”

i was sprawled in Ugly Chair, where i have the computer set up so i don’t have to use any muscles to view the internet. click, click with the wireless mouse and i turned the monitor so she could see the title of last night’s post.

“oh,” she said.

then we watched a little SNL on hulu. without using any muscles.

i really do need to start exercising again. the depressed-just-broke-up excuse is nearing its expiration date. maybe i’ll take kris straub‘s advice and try doing my internet while biking or mountain climbing some days instead of in Ugly Chair. he says this is good “when you got a health thing to manage.” i think this muffin top now qualifies as a health thing. even if jungle cat says Max is a fan.

but your advice is confusing, kris, because you also say not to do things that make my skin come off. and the few times i’ve encountered skin coming off usually involved some form of hazardous exercise that led up to it.

look at that! bedtime! i don’t need muscles for that either!

today was 100% good. mark it on my calendar.

you can’t trust those babies

I walked into work this morning and some things happened.

  1. I learn that A has called in sick so I have her storytime and craft to do in 45 MINUTES and it’s for toddlers. (I don’t know babies. I know kids. Everything I do either bores or scares babies.)
  2. The copier jams on my (hastily thrown together) craft and I finally give up on it and just start storytime (a few minutes late. thanks, Xerox Dinosaur.)
  3. My opening puppet act scares the bejeezus out of everyone. (TODDLERS!)
  4. The Pants calls in sick too, so I’ll be doing her program in the afternoon and it’s just me and one other coworker at the public desk all day.

And today was the day I was supposed to “get stuff done.”

Shockingly, I got a ton done. And had fun doing it. And never got bored. And chatted with a cute guy while working.

Tuesday, you’re ok.

And what was the Pants doing on her sick day? Shopping for this little devil. Don’t trust her, Pants. She’s already leading you astray with her wiles.


that’s what i get for trying alcoholism

i have stress stomach. i don’t mention it to get pity from you, Reader. i’m not like that friend who says, “Reader, i have stress stomach,” so you’ll go easy on me when we have arguments. i only mention it because once I explain to you that I’ve had matzo crackers and wine for dinner every night for a while, it makes me seem like less of a lush.

i’m feeling sensitive about it because i’m on my second bottle of wine this week and i’ve never so much as finished ONE bottle of wine by myself before. but red wine feels so good on my stress stomach. it’s MEDICINAL, Reader.

i’m also sensitive because i may have lost the use of my left forefinger in trying to open this second bottle of wine. which feels like the universe telling me something. (like when i was staying at cupcake’s house and i thought i could sneak to the bathroom in only a (short) t-shirt and nothing else but what my momma gave me coming into the world and i totally ate it getting out of bed (her bed is on a ledge) and fell over her couch where she was sleeping and across her living room, landing ladybits-up. To which Cupcake said: “It’s the universe telling you to PUT ON SOME PANTS!”)

But yes. My finger. you’re supposed to open wine surrounded by friends in a gay occasion. and the Pants was even next door, waiting for me to come over. (but not for a gay occasion, as much as she and i like to joke.) she had even texted me, “are you coming over?” but i hadn’t noticed because i was too busy SHAMEFULLY opening my bottle of wine ALONE. alone, which is when ACCIDENTS happen. the corkscrew slipped and pinched my finger against the bottle and now, even as i type this, feeling has still not returned. ah but i’ve already polished off my first glass and matzo. so everything’s ok, thanks for asking, Reader. you’re the best.

maybe it’s my stress stomach that made me argue today at work that, despite being food-related, the word CHEW is possibly the grossest word i know. (except for maybe CAMEL TOE, but that’s two words, so.) coworker lady said, “what about masticate.” i replied, “no, that just sounds like more fun than it actually is.”

BAM! and finally i made it sexual. POST DONE.