OPTIMISM, because we SHOULD win!

I would tell you that I'm trying to not get too excited about the Super Bowl tomorrow, but that's crazy talk. Also, crazy talk is what I'll be spewing out tomorrow afternoon while my Patriots play the Giants in the big game. I'm too invested in this game. Could it be because I am still paralyzed by shock over losing to the fucking Giants four years ago, and thereby collapsing our perfect season? Oh, that could be it. Also, I really, really, really don't like Eli Manning. But more than that, I really, really, really, really want my Patriots to win tomorrow. I can't imagine that fate would be so cruel as to have us lose, again, to the same fucking team that dashed our hopes and dreams a mere four years ago. There's some bitterness there, certainly. It's probably a good thing that no one other than my husband and my kid and my dogs will be witness to the ball of stress and frustration I will be for those hours tomorrow. I sometimes consider just going to a movie and not watching the game, to find out the winner after it's done and all that's left is the celebration or mourning.
Still, I'll be watching, and coaching from my sofa. GO PATS!!

Better than a movie

I had papers that needed to be shredded.
If you take your papers to Office Depot, they'll shred it for you for 99 cents a pound.
Wait. Let's clarify. Either you can trust the guys at Office Depot, give the papers to them and let them toss them all in a bin in the back of the store and have it shredded by Iron Mountain when the big truck gets there, OR you can shred it yourself in the store's own shredder, in stacks for four or five sheets at a time, in the Business Services portion of the store. You know, that second one, if you're untrusting. Also, either option costs 99 cents per pound.
PRIOR TO FINDING THAT OUT: As we were walking up to the store, Brian says to me, "Do we get to shred it ourselves, or do we have to let some random person take all our papers unshredded? What's the point of that? What if that guy just takes something and puts it in his pocket instead of in the shredder? Defeats the purpose."
You can therefore conclude which option we took. I had all our papers in a box. I made sure that the young man weighed our box, but then not charge us for the weight of the box itself. Just over 16 pounds of paper, including box. The guy says he'll only charge me for 14 pounds. Fair trade.
Also, he says, here's the shredder. AND THE 14 POUNDS OF PAPER.
Cut to me trying to push the paper through the shredder while Brian tries to read all the papers I've collected for shredding. This, obviously, is a recipe for disaster, and somehow (I would brag about my machinations, but I'm still not sure how I did it), I switched our places, so I was handing the papers to Brian, who was consumed by the task of sliding them into the shredder without jamming it by stacking too many sheets at once.
As couples' activities go, as a rule, I probably would not usually suggest shredding papers at an Office Depot. However, on this particular day, with the kid in school and me feeling better as a human, it turned out to be pretty okay. We giggled, reminisced about bills and papers from when we lived in Boston, and sighed and smiled about when our life was easier, and the credit cards had ONLY a four-digit balance.
We were there so long that the kid forgot how much my paper weighed, and only charged me for 12 pounds. A win/win.

Aren't we all bossypants?

I started and finished Tina Fey's book, Bossypants, today. I enjoyed it immensely, though didn't have as many "laugh out loud" moments as I had figured. Still, I walk away from the book impressed with her life experiences, and appreciative of her sense of humor throughout her life.
There were a couple nifty bits that will stick with me though.
"Oh! My Maria! What is to become of us?"
"For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it."
"We don't fucking care if you like it."
"It's a burden, being able to control situations with my hyper-vigilance, but it's my lot in life."
"Why do I call it 'yellow' hair and not 'blond' hair? Because I'm pretty sure everybody calls my hair 'brown.'"

It's February, Y'ALL

Well, my friends, I am feeling much better today!
I knew it this morning, when, at 4 a.m., the sound and feel of Daisy jumping off the bed and heading out of the room woke me up enough to rise and open the door for her to go out and pee. Then I went back to bed. And at 6:45 a.m., when Sydney and Brian crawled on top of me to wake me up, I didn't get irritable, I hugged. And when I walked my dogs, I looked around outside and realized that I was seeing the world clearly, without a sickly haze. Also, when I got home from taking Sydney to school, I was able to bring up the Valentine's Day decorations rather than take a nap.
Yes, my friends, I did not take a nap today. Weird, right?
I got the hearts decorations up, watched some shows, binged on some calories, and did some laundry. After I picked up Sydney, we visited Michaels and Target for additional decorations. And when we got home, we watched Jurassic Park. I'm telling you, it was like A NORMAL DAY. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have a day with some energy, and with some appetite, and with some good humor. I think tomorrow may actually be better (because I'm still taking some nighttime cold medicine and going to bed at 10:30 tonight).
Also, did you know that TODAY is FEBRUARY?

Apparently.

I swear, to all that is chocolate, that I haven't slept this much since my honeymoon, when I had three consecutive days of sleeping for 12 hours each night. The last two days have been naught but a napping frenzy for my body, with a complete eight hours of sleep each night, and a three-hour nap in the morning after dropping Sydney at school.
It is, therefore, completely and utterly wrong that I still feel crappy.
As I asked Brian this morning, "Is this what being 39 means? Does it mean that a cold can push me down and flatten me out for so many days?" "Apparently," was his response. "Apparently," is right. And everyone's best advice, or sympathy, is to point out that, at 39, I need to be taking better care of myself. Granted ... maybe. But I've been doing okay lately. Except for running myself ragged for the last several months. (I'm convinced that this cold is a direct result of moving to Houston.) Still, I can see where this incredible sickness could be considered a spotlight shining on my immune system, or lack thereof.
Whatever. I'm tired. I want to feel better. I've had a bad day on top of a bad week, and I just want to go to bed. Here come tonight's eight hours.

Not Irish coffee

I got a couple Irish jokes in my e-mail today. Since I have nothing to share with you in regards to my day (I slept a lot and still feel crappy), I'll give you the giggles, at the expense of stereotyping my ancestry.

Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan arrives at her door.
"Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin' to tell ya."
"Of course, you can come in. You're always welcome, Tim. But where's my husband?"
"That's what I'm here to be telling ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery."
"Oh, God, no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me."
"I must, Brenda," he said. "Your husband Seamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry."
Finally, she looked up at him. "How did it happen, Tim?"
"It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout, and drowned."
"Oh, my dear Jesus! But you must tell me the truth, Tim. Did he at least go quickly?"
"Well, Brenda, no. In fact, he got out three times to pee."

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears.
He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary, my dear?"
She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night."
The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, did he have any last requests?"
She says, "That he did, Father."
The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"
He said, "Please Mary, put down that damn gun,"

A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional booth, and sits down, but says nothing.
The priest coughs a few times to get his attention, but the drunk continues to just sit there.
Finally, the priest pounds three times on the wall.
The drunk mumbles, "Ain't no use knockin', there's no paper on this side either."

As personable as a lionfish

Colds suck.
They do. There's no other way to say it.
Also, today, my cold made me an awful person to be around. I was incredibly irritable, very tired, and easily crabby. It did not make for an attractive Kimmie, and I give all the credit to Brian and Sydney that they even managed to allow me to be near them, rather than lock me in my bedroom. As, let's face it, they should have.
I did apologize to both of them, though.
And I look forward to a good night's sleep tonight, feeling better tomorrow, and taking a nap after dropping Sydney at school, thereby enjoying some peace and quiet.

Go skiing, already!

Brian and I visited a ski shop today.
You know, I used to be a really good skier. I used to go skiing all the time. I've still got a big bag full of ski stuff, as well as my skis, in the storage unit. And it's been six years since I've been skiing.
Brian and I wandered through the shop, checking out the jackets, pants, hats, skis, boots and kids' stuff. All the stuff was super cute, and all of it was worthy of streaking down the mountain. And all of it made me sad.
I think it was looking at the kid stuff, the clothes that Sydney would be wearing this season, that made me actually cry in the store. All I could think of is how happy Howie would be to get Sydney up on the mountain. How, at five, she would be logging her second season on the mountain this year. How he would just love buying her new outfits every year, and how he'd dig getting her those tiny skis, and how he's be so proud of her for choosing skis over a snowboard (which she has).
I haven't skied in six years. The last time I was on a mountain was in Steamboat Springs, Colo. Brian and I had just found out that I was pregnant, and had just told Mom and Howie. It was, quite simply, one of the best ski weekends.
And getting back on the mountain, without him, terrifies me. I mean, I know that he is just flipping out right now that it's been so long since I've skied. I know that he is the voice in my head right now that's screaming at me to get some new pants, a jacket and skis. I know he's pissy at me, and wants nothing more than for me to get myself, and my kid, on a ski slope. And I know that he's the most angry about not being able to ski with us.
But this is where I get selfish. I can count on one hand, in 30 years, how many times I've skied without that man. Doing it now scares me. It upsets me. It makes me sad.
Brian's pushing for a ski trip, and in theory, I'm down with it, but in actual practice, I also know that the first day I'm up on a mountain I may just cry the entire time. It makes me sad.

Have cupcake, feel better

I hate to admit defeat after only about 14 hours, but I think I've fallen victim to Sydney's cold. I'm sorry, but I can not stand that kindergarten has turned my angelic little girl into a festering pool of germination and nastiness that I fear bringing into my home.
And now, there is a cold, running fast and loose through my house. And all I can do is struggle to keep it away from Brian.
Yesterday for Sydney: Stuffy nose in the morning. Cold medicine administered. Complaints of tiredness on the way to school. Snot. Stuffy nose in the afternoon. More snot. Cold medicine. Early to bed.
Today for Sydney: Stuffy nose. Snot. Claim of "feeling much better." Cold medicine. More snot. Cold medicine. Early to bed.
Today for me: Two sneezes while making breakfast. Blowing of the nose. Long nap. Stuffy nose. Tea. Sore throat. Nose blowing. Snot. Sneezing. Admission of sickness. Tea. Barely veiled plea for sympathy on Facebook. Blog about cold. Hopefully, early to bed, too.

Also, I totally frickin' LOVE this picture of a cupcake. I don't know why, but it's too cute. It's the happiest cupcake picture I've ever seen.

Wednesday ITEM! list

ITEM!: For the first time in a long time, Brian and I watched all three movies that arrived from our Netflix queue: Cowboys & Aliens, The Debt and Moneyball. I'm further pleased to note that we liked each one of them. None were disappointing, and all kept our attention. None were cheesy, and all were deemed good choices by me, the Queue Controller. I don't know what will be sent to us next, but I hope they're good, too! [Editor's Note: I picked this particular Cowboys & Aliens post photo because of how AWESOME Daniel Craig's ass is in these chaps. No kidding, the price of admission for this movie is worth it because of the glancing views of him walking away from the camera. His butt is fan.tas.tic.]
ITEM!: I didn't blog last night because I was up late reading. I love it so much when "I was reading" is my excuse for anything. And this was the absolute truth: I was finishing up the Hunger Games trilogy. Those are some good books right there.
ITEM!: This morning's task was to register my car and get some Texas license plates. To do such a thing, I needed to go to the county tax assessor's building, of which there are about eight. The one I found was about 15 minutes away. The line was, when I entered it, about 20 people long. But guess what: You stand in line, and when you arrive at a window, the person at the window helps you with whatever you are there to handle. There's no checking in and being given an assigned number and bank of windows to wait on. There aren't any chairs either, but the line moved fast, and my paperwork was finished before I got there, so the visit was relatively painless. So, within 45 minutes, I entered the building and then exited the building with my license plates and registration sticker. Huzzah! Now, on to the driver's license! 
ITEM!: I'm excited to note that the next few days should be cool here in Houston. We had a ton of rain today, too, and the cooler weather will be welcome. I hate having to turn on my air conditioner. In January. To combat the humidity. Ugh.
ITEM!: I want to dig into my storage unit and bring up some additional decorative items. I don't know which boxes I want, and I don't know what I want within them. You know what I do know? That I don't want to have to bring them upstairs by myself. They're probably heavy.

Return of the Cozy Chair!

And so it happened, that on Sunday morning, I decided that the time had come ... for Cozy Chair to come out of the storage and return to my bedroom. Therein it takes its rightful place in my heart, and under my bottom. I love that I was able to walk into my living room Sunday morning, tell Brian that I need his brute strength, and that he was up for it. There were steps, of course, to shifting my bedroom around for Cozy Chair: move my nightstand, move the bed, move Brian's nightstand, empty the armoire, move the armoire, fill the armoire, bring up Cozy Chair and ottoman, bring up Cozy Chair cushion and floor lamp, and finally, randomly shift around other things to appease my obsessiveness. After all that, wall hangings and artwork needed to be moved. Even now though, I'm on the hunt for a new floor lamp that matches my bedroom nightstand lamp (Ikea, here I come!!). But just you all know, I'm sitting in my Cozy Chair right now, and I'm watching TV, and it makes me happy.
You know what else makes me happy? The DVR in my bedroom right now. There is something to be said for a happy marriage meaning that there are two televisions that each spouse can call their own. And this is aimed more at me than Brian. I need my own TV. I need a viewing system that is mine, and mine alone. I need a DVR that I can program for all my own shows, that I don't have to wait until the next day to watch. I need freer access to my stories, and that isn't possible with a husband who watches television as much as I. This happy marriage requires two televisions and two DVRs. And as of this morning, it is complete.

Goin' to the Big Game

I had a poetic, sweet blog post planned for tonight, but now, having watched a day's worth of football, I'm not feeling at all poetic or sweet. I feel triumphant, and weirdly anxious, about my Patriots making their way to the Super Bowl. What happens, you know, when the team that you cheer for ends up in the Super Bowl, is that the enjoyment of watching the Super Bowl -- as entertainment -- is over.
I typically enjoy the Super Bowl as an event, complete with yummy snacks, some beer, and humor over the commercials. When you have emotion in the game itself, as when your team is playing, it becomes a personal thing, and less fun. Watching this game on Sunday in two weeks, is going to be a painful experience for me. It'll be impossible to enjoy, unless my Patriots begin the ass-kicking early and put my mind at ease. I won't be able to handle a game in two weeks like the game tonight. It will be excruciating for me, and better for everyone else if they're not in my home that day.

He's a Prince ... of Persia

Someone please tell me why I seem to be so drawn to the movie Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. I swear, if it's on, I'm watching it. I think I may have watched it about three times today. There is something wrong with me.
It stars Jake Gyllenhaal as Prince Dastan, an adopted son of the Persian king, who is wrongfully accused of killing said king, when really, he's on a noble quest to return a mystical dagger fueled by The Sands of Time, which can turn back time, to its rightful guardians, led by Princess Tamina, played by Gemma Arterton.
By all accounts, this is not a fantastic movie. In fact, it's incredibly cheesy. But what it does have is male and female protagonists that like each other a whole lot though they can't tell each other that; CGI action scenes; a scenery-chewing Ben Kingsley; and enough activity to intrigue this entertainment junkie. The good is tempered by an equal amount of the ridiculous: Gyllenhaal's "accent;" Gyllenhaal's hair; and Gyllenhaal as an action hero.
The movie is based on a video game. Video games have sequels. Apparently, this video game had more than one sequel. Inexplicably, I want a sequel to this movie. I read today that Gyllenhaal wants a sequel, too. I think Disney should make that happen. To appease me and Jake Gyllenhaal.

Thoughts about today

39: Brian suggested that we go out to dinner tonight because, as he said, "You don't turn almost 40 every day!" He's wrong. Every day this year, I am one day closer to 40. Every day I do turn almost 40. This is bothering me.
39: Sometimes, when shopping for jeans, a brutally honest guy can be just as good a fitting room critiquer as your own mom. Thank you, Berlin, for helping me get through one of my least favorite things, jeans shopping, so I can buy one of my favorite things, jeans.
39: I visited my local Barnes & Noble and spent the gift card I got from Santa Claus (Thanks Mom, for helping Santa!). Purchases: Tina Fey's Bossypants, Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games, and Deborah Harkness' A Discovery of Witches. My To-Be-Read Pile just doubled.
39: Birthday brownies taste, theoretically, as good as birthday cupcakes, but they just feel less celebratory. I should have found my closest Sprinkles.
39: I enjoy having a Starbucks first thing in the morning and one later as my nightcap. It makes for a happy Kimmie.
39: I wonder if it's too late to take up running. I'd have to be a treadmill runner since my knees are so bad, but I wonder if I can do it. How does one start running? Is there a method to this madness?
39: I've decided that when I turn 40, in less than a year, I'm going to be in the best health of my life. Achieving that will make being 40 worth it, I think. Project!!

And with that, Tuesday is over

My tummy is growling, and I'm thirsty.
"Someone bring that girl some ice cream and a hot tea!!"
Why, thank you!! I'd love some!!