squee! Eden rocks. Now vote, motherfucker, vote!*
*This is in no way a quickie cop-out music post to fullfill the honor of Teh Awesome Music Meme** bestowed upon me by Sabine @ Sleepless in Cologne. (Bine, I still have your doodle. I suck- I think I’ll just scan the damn thing and email you.)
**Said meme means I have to figure out how to post a video, which I’ve tangled with in the past. But it was Sketchcast. I think YouTube I can do. Yes.
Tradition is what you resort to when you don’t have the time or the money to do it right. – Kurt Herbert Alder (via Quote of the Day widget. Am all about iGoogle lately.)
Bu would agree this is me up and down.
I’m curled up with chamomile tea and Laura Love and I’m trying to relax. Feeling teh stress. I think I’m going to implement a Saint John’s Wort savings jar. Or get really down with the sickness and see if the clinic can hook me up with SSRI’s again- paperwork be damned.
You know what I hate, rockingness notwithstanding? In that Disturbed song, dude pronounces demon like “dee-min.” Sully The Yummy but Frightfully Mediocre from Godsmack does that too. Fucking grates. It’s deMON you idiots.
And why has my cold lasted three weeks whygodswhy?
That is all. Back to my tea and whatever you were doing.
Oh Yes: Grandies who take the baby off my hands because she’s possessed again because she wouldn’t nap for Bu today and I have a brochure to do and then the baby falls asleep really early so I know she’ll wake up and be up late and they say they’ll keep her overnight even though it’s a workday and Papaw’s Pa stuck a garden implement in his leg and Papaw had to take him to the Er and he is OK so yeh the grandies have the baby? That rocks.
Sometimes only a ridiculous run-on sentence can express the frantic insanity of my brain.
Also? What else rocks? When Bu prescribes a hot bath with a Tori serenade. This rocks lots because:
1. It means Bu noticed I am on the Tori kick.
2. It means Bu has to load up his iPod with my girly stuff and is doing so happily.
3. It means Bu lurvs me so much he wants me to chill.
Edit: It also means I relaxed so much I completely forgot to post this before bed:) Good morning internet.. *sigh*
OK, if I’d had a recent miscarriage, or ever had one, or lost a child or anything of the sort that might explain why I just had a huge sobbing cry listening to “Playboy Mommy.” It’s dangerous to neglect one’s Tori-listening for way too long. I lost the desensitization necessary to hear someone practically cut her womb and brain and heart out and let me listen.
Just finished From the Choirgirl Hotel. Visiting with Liitle Earthquakes now, and I will probably need intense therapy afterward. Oh Goddess, why the PMS? I’m down with the bloody moon synch groove, I’m OK with the fucking acidtrip of an idea that made you think I needed two vaginas & cervixes even. But seriously, why the hell do I have to be a snotty wet psychotic exposed nerve for seven days a month?
Somebody come lock up the henna. (I look vaguely ill with red hair but it’s calling me. Damn you Tori! Actually it’s a chestnut color but it has henna in it so I’m pretty sure it’d be redder than the box says.)
w00t! Lexie just called! Squee! Hi Lexie:)
I’m so very bored right now, with my little family asleep, and my IM buddy lists all empty, that I’m trolling a Tool fan forum reading lyrics and amateur psychoanalysis analysis of MJK’s brain. So bored, in fact, that when the discussion somehow landed on whether or not breastmilk tastes vanilla (alarmingly, by way of a much-debated possible Oedipus complex,) that I almost registered a user name just to tell the other Toolgeeks that my breast milk definitely is not vanilla flavored.
It’s a shame, since I’m (shockingly) discussing nursing, that I can’t get stoned out of my mind to grok this newest album. (Do we still say ‘album’?)
*Sigh* It was only a matter of time before the Tool posts intersected with the milk posts.
When you listen to P Funk (I wants to Get Funked Up) first thing in the morning, it’s physiologically impossible to have a bad day. Try it- you just can’t be in a bad mood with that music on. Mother Love Bone’s always been like that for me, too. They’re my go to guys for antidepressant grunge rock. Ironic, considering the fate of L’Andrew, but it works for me.
Art from http://www.hippjoint.com/index.htm
We’re back. The trip was, as predicted, bliss. We had a perfect re-charge. If I weren’t having hormonal hell right now, I’d still be glowing. Instead I keep waiting to see if I’ll actually have a period or if I just get the bloating and moodswings and weirdness without any actual mess. It’s mindboggling that Molly still nurses enough to usually supress my periods. (I’m starting to worry about her food apathy. I don’t know… the webbie breastfeeding gurus say milk is all she needs for a year, that food is very much an experimental thing, and until 18 months-ish it’s appropriate to get most of the nutrition from nursing. In real life, though, no one I know has a baby who still eats so little solid food. I might see if our nurse can see us before her year check up just to ease my mind.)
I don’t have time to blog about the trip, but later on there will be a plethora of lovely photos by Bu, weird and slightly out-of-focus wannabe artsy photos by me, and exerpts from ye olde travelle journyl, the kind on paper- which I kept calling a blog:) Probably you’ll have to wait a day or two, as I have massive house recovery in store for me tonight. Bu’s cousin, who had such a lovely wedding, is coming to order prints and her album. She is exquistitely neat and tasteful and the thought of her seeing the scum in my bathroom or the laundry piles makes me feel almost as queasy as the endless serpentine roads we just travelled.
For now, as this is such a mundane post, I’ll present you with this: Have you heard Low? Omigoddess- I’m in love. Bu discovered them by clicking on an ad in Urge and I’m floored. So very much digging them.