Who knew I would blog about Obama and poop at the same time?

6-18-09

Obama is the freaking man. I love the hell out of the video of him killing the fly. He is so smooth when he does it. I am telling you, it truly doesn’t matter what he does in office, unless he kills a guy or something, which I maintain he would also do cool, where was I? Ok, yes, he just plain rocks.

Oh, yes, and fuck off PETA. He killed a fly. If this is a way to get in the press, fuck off. If this is a way to make a plea that flies have feelings, fuck off. If this is some kind of way to, well, actually, there is nothing you can say to make this ok. Fuck off PETA.

Horrible, just horrible. There is some couple that was supposed to be on the Air France flight that went down last week. They missed the flight, didn’t die with everyone else, should be considered lucky, right? They just died in a car crash. Apparently you can’t escape death if you are really supposed to die.

I am guessing Ken is NOT going to keep Dax today. Dax has been up since 1. It was for milk, a missing green bat, Lego, butt pain, and any other number of things that was keeping him awake. At 4, about 10 minutes before the alarm goes off, I got up to go take care of him. However, I thought that the door had been roped shut (Ken’s lock to keep him from coming out at all hours of the night when he is like this), but in fact, it was not. Unfortunately, I was then peeing, so when he came out, Ken had to jump out of bed. Ken was cranky, Dax was cranky, it was all around bad. At one point I went in and changed his diaper per his request, but there was no poop that made it look rashy or anything. So I gave him some Tylenol hoping it would help him. By the time I left, he looked like he had actually fallen asleep, so I am crossing my fingers that he sleeps in.

Last night Bobby forgot a key aspect of his jammies. He didn’t put on his pull ups. What was really odd was that he had an accident. Normally he comes out to poop or pee, especially before he has dozed off. Last night, perhaps motivated by the hopes for pool time today, he took my request of not coming out as to not come out for anything. Normally we stress that it is ALWAYS ok to come out for that. So I don’t know what happened there. Either way, he comes out and tells us he pooped. Ok, no problem, Ken goes in to his room with him with the intent of changing him. Instead, he discovers a puddle in Bobby’s bed. The assumption is that there was a pull up failure. Well, it can’t fail if there is nothing there. So the poop that Bobby had was not safely contained in the pull up, but instead rolling down his pant legs. With some tag team effort, we had him cleaned up and his bed sheets changed in only 10 minutes or so. Not bad. Plus, Bobby didn’t feel horrible, so this was good, too. Quite the evening.

I submitted my Lakers piece to the Beach Reporter, Daily Breeze and LA Times. I didn’t see it posted anywhere, nor did I hear back from them. Unfortunately, it truly was a time sensitive piece, so I can’t imagine anyone caring today. I was pretty proud of it, and quite flattered with the responses of people who did read it. Ken told me he actually didn’t realize I wrote it right away, which I am going to take as good. LOL! Perhaps my skills are improving. Now I just need another topic. Hmmm…
What the hell are the whisper sisters doing here early? It throws off my whole day because I think it is 8 when it is really 7. Lame!!

I am always amused at people who think I am the expert on things I happen to like. I had another former co-worker (she was one of the ones laid off, yet they now have her here again as a consultant) come up to me yesterday and ask me about tattoos. She wanted to know if the one she was getting on her back would hurt. It was her first, and quite large for a first time, but realistically, it was on the top of her back and it would probably feel fine. Of course, I don’t have tons of ink. My two tattoos are tiny and both took less than 20 minutes. How much of an authority am I? I am the poster girl for the alternative set in my office. And yet I am as tame as they come. I have this desire to do something to be more in line with what they think of me. Mind you, Ken was not pleased with this statement, saying that this is not the best reason to get a tattoo, but right now, the main reason for not having gotten more ink is due to money. They are pricey! I have pretty much settled on Mommy Cat as my next tattoo. I am still working out the details in my head on her outfit. My two key chains of her are pretty close to what I want to do. I definitely want her outfit to be red and black. Black tank top, similar to the one in my car, but instead of it saying Hello Kitty or the something in Japanese, I am considering it saying Mom. Her skirt is the problem, now. One of mine is a pink leopard print, and the other is red plaid. The leopard print is super cute, and if changed to red, it would actually match one of my favorite skirts that I own. However, the plaid, is also a skirt I own. I think the plaid wouldn’t show up as well in the size tattoo I want. Yet I wonder if that isn’t a cuter look. She will have the red/black bow, a cool black bracelet with no other real modifications from the images I have. So now, it is all about what skirt! What is more me? Once I figure that out, I need to save up since I figure it will take a couple hours. I will need to go consult with the guy and see just how long it will take, since that will determine his pricing. My thoughts right now are the inside of my wrist on my right hand. Any feed back?

Woo hoo! Just got email from Netflix, we get disc one of season two tomorrow. Very excited! What I really need to do it watch 7 pounds so I can send it back. Maybe Ken can make me a copy. Or I just don’t watch it and don’t worry about it until it comes out on HBO or something.

The boss is on a stupid streak. He is being nosy about minor accounts and not thinking before he speaks. I am choosing the path of least resistance. Which basically means, I don’t bother replying to his request, unless he is standing in front of me, and then I just tell him what he wants to hear, since let’s face it, he won’t remember anything you tell him.

Do I want chocolate or a soda?

Dax was walking yesterday with his hand in a fist and so I ask him what he has in his hand, assuming he is carrying something. He looks at his hand, looks at me with the, Are you an idiot face, and says, “Fingers.” He is so my kid.