But, hey, six dollars.

"Ah, teal," remarked Alfred when he saw it, "The color of sarcasm."

"Um...what?"

"Sarcasm. In this one online game that I play, whenever someone enters teal font into the chat window, it's understood to be sarcastic. I just assumed that was sort of an internet standard."

"No," said I, "It's not."

A couple of weeks later, at the hairdressers, I found myself agreeing to this:

The color was planned. But it was going to be pink.  Except my hairdresser showed me this new product, and suddenly the teal was inexplicably appealing.

Then last week on a work trip to Dallas, I got it into my head that I wanted blue cowboy boots. I walked into the store and there they were:

Not blue, exactly, but definitely my boots. They came home with me and I have been planning outfits around them ever since. 

I don't know, I can't explain it, this sudden attraction to the color teal.

It's really pulling out all the stops this year, showing up early, staying late, breaking records. It's like the model employee that you can't fucking stand.

That's an assload of snow.I'm trying to stay positive about it - it will go away eventually! Maybe I can try to grow rice this year! - but I'm starting to get a little bitter. Seriously, enough already. You win, winter. You broke me.

I mean, look at me - I'm blogging about the weather. 

That is just...sad.

Me: Holy shit, one of these snails just rose from the dead!

Alfred: ?

Me: I'm going to name him Jesus.

Alfred: Why not Zombie Snail?

Me: "Aaaah! It's eating my brains! Slowly! Vverrrrry slooowwwwllly!"

Me: Doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Alfred: Fair enough.

Me: If the other one ressurrects, we can name HIM Zombie Snail. This one is Jesus.

Alfred: Please don't tell my mother we're having this conversation.

Me: I'm not promising anything.

(In retrospect, the snails probably play dead when their food supply runs out and let the "current" carry them somewhere else. Although the second snail never did rise from its watery grave.)

(It's still in there though. I think the fish ate it.)

(Fish are so weird.)

2. Taking the stubs of the green onions and putting them in water so that they will grow again, after they've gone all gross and mushy because we haven't used them. Then they grow and...become all gross and mushy. 

3. Checking in on Foursquare. I don't know. What's the point of this? I don't have anyone on there to really compete with. It's pretty boring. And yet...I keep doing it.

4. Freezing chicken carcasses. My intention is to make chicken stock. I mean, I did that once. Now there are approximately 37 freezer-burnt chicken carcasses awaiting the next time I am possessed by Suzy Homemaker. I exorcised that bitch, this seems unlikely to come to pass.  (See also: freezing old bananas.)

5. Charging and/or synching my iPod. I don't seem to use my iPod. I use my phone for tunes and my tablet for other stuff. I charge the iPod, leave it lying around, it dies, I charge it. It's the circle of life.

Everything else I do seems to produce some net gain for me (even the ones that don't feel like they do, like laundry and feeding the dog).

I guess that's not such a bad ratio.

(Mine was...not so great. Remember how I said I was getting along with my MIL? Well, I think she took that as a challenge. Worst trip to Hellville, ever. Then we all got sick. I spent Christmas Day shaking with fever and the next few days moving from the bed to the couch, leaving a trail of used tissues in my wake. So did the rest of the family, which made it difficult to whine. Or nap.)

(We'll just have a do-over next year.)

I hate feeling obliged to make Resolutions, but I also always feel like I should be starting new things or somehow improving myself in January. I think I did pretty well today by not snarking at all the brand-new gym-goers (that will be MIA by February), but I could probably do better.

I could blog more, for instance.

What about you? Do you make Resolutions?

I must be totally mellowing in my old age, because her visit was sort of a welcome change of pace. My kid was ecstatic, Alfred was happy. It was actually…enjoyable.

(No, I won’t share my meds, sorry.)

Anyway, during her stay, she was supposed to be resting, recovering and not doing much of anything, so naturally that meant she was hauling and folding my laundry. She threw out half of Alfred’s holey socks and then tsk’ed over the sorry state of his undies.

“I guess I’ll have to buy him some,” she said.

And I replied, without a trace of bitterness or annoyance, “Please do!”

There was a time that her statement would have set me on edge, overly sensitive to the implication that I was not doing my job or taking care of Alfred properly. I have since realized that I am not That Person, the person who keeps tabs on her husband’s underwear situation.

Because, I’m sorry, but he’s a grown adult. He has a job and a mortgage and occasionally gets the oil changed in the car. He’s perfectly fucking capable of replacing his own ratty undies. And socks, for that matter.

He doesn’t, very often, but he’s capable of it.

So while I have bought him underwear (when he’s requested it), and sometimes when I do laundry I look askance at the specimens that are older than our relationship, I just can’t bring myself to maintain the quality of his collection on an ongoing basis. Call it a wifely failing, but that’s just not who I am. Albeit misguided, I expect grownups to take care of that shit on their own.

And if that means waiting until their mother does it, well…whatever.

I got another tattoo:

That’s after it was just done, obviously. This is just the start. I’m going to turn my whole back into a treasure map.

You know, if I get around to it. Which I probably won’t.

Somewhere shortly after that we got lice. I’ve managed to avoid it for almost 5 years of having a kid, so I guess it was time? Is there a lottery for things like that? We were on high alert, though, as we got an early warning from the family we’d been staying with, so at the first sign of a nit I called in a chemical air strike.

And holy fuck, that was a lot of laundry. But nobody had to shave their head so I consider it a success. If you can call having bugs chewing on your scalp “a success”.

(I bet your head is itchy now.)

Roller derby is…rolling on. Our league’s first “real” season started and we have our first “real” bout in November. As an actual team, that is, rather than just scrimmages with random people. I haven’t broken anything yet, so I guess I’ll keep doing it. (I occasionally pull a groin muscle, which is the sexiest muscle to pull, I think.)

PSA Section:

Do you read Suburban Matron? If you don’t, you should, because Becky is the bees knees. Anyway, GoDaddy sold her domain to some pimply teenager living in his mom’s basement, so she is now located at http://suburbanmatron.blogspot.com. If you have links to her old URL, kindly update them, and if you don’t read her blog yet, go visit her there.

Next PSA – shortly after Alfred and I started co-habitating, he started playing an MMO called City of Heroes. I gave it a try and was totally hooked; he got me my own account for Valentine’s day, because we’re nerds like that (and also because he wanted his account back). We have both played the game for over 7 years – it’s sort of our default hobby. Recently NCSoft made the abrupt decision to close the game down, despite it still being profitable. It has a steady and loyal fan base that is trying to save it. If you want to save it too (or just want to be a friend and help me out), there’s a petition with over 20,000 signatures on it already.

End PSA section.

So that’s about it in the State of Un Mom. I’m sure there’s other stuff I’m forgetting to tell you.

Maybe I’ll even make blog posts out of it.

I don’t know. Am I a blogger? I didn’t know how to answer her, mostly because I couldn’t tell whether she considered ‘being a blogger’ a positive thing or not. I hedged my bets and said I was, but I didn’t blog much anymore.

So, just to be contrary, here I am. Blogging.

Anyway! While we’re on the topic of work, here is my costume for Talk Like a Pirate Day this year:

(Here’s last years’.)

I was pretty proud of it. I put a lot of detail into it – I was even drunk on rum for authenticity!* -  but I still didn’t win Pirate of the Year. Not even close. Next year I’m going to have to chop off a hand or a leg or something.

Hallowe’en is coming up. Got any prize-winning suggestions?

My basement is still in a sorry state. Actually, you know what? I don’t want to talk about my basement. It’s likely we’ll spend another winter without useable basement space, and it’s equally likely that somebody will get stabbed. It may even be me.

My kid went off to kindergarten. Gah! Kindergarten. If you know my son at all, or read my other blog, you know he marches to the beat of his own drummer. In fact, the absolute worst thing you can say to him is “Everybody else is doing it!”. (Unless, of course, you are actually aiming to get him to do the opposite. Except that would be the one time he’d go with the crowd. Just to fuck with you. That is my child. I can’t imagine where he gets that from.)

He wore a SpiderMan costume on the second day. He’s worn a dragon costume. I have already had to establish a communication journal with the teacher due to small reports such as, “When I get everyone’s attention with the drum, Xander will keep chatting. When I speak with him about it, he says, ‘I heard you the first time.’"”.

So, yes. That is fun. I have a bit of a hard time with it as I want him to be able to wear his costumes and do his own thing for as long as possible. So many aspects of his personality will be valued later on, so I don’t want them squashed out by the melting pot that is public school. On the other hand, I don’t want to have to micromanage his education for the next 12 years either.

I’m sure it will work out.

This will be a really long post if I keep going so maybe it’s a two-parter.

What’s new in your state of affairs?

*If you are my boss: Not really. If you are everyone else: well, a little.

Annnnd, BAM! That's summer, folks.

Please stop recommending Fifty Shades of Grey to me.

Now, I will be the first person to admit my reading habits are not exactly highly cultured. I read a lot of Young Adult fiction, primarily because I can only read something for approximately 36 seconds before I am interrupted by a “Mom”, or a “Hon”, or a “Holy shit the dog got out the gate and appears to be gnawing on the neighbour’s Bichon”, but also because I enjoy it. I like zombies, magic, steampunk, werewolves, all that good schlock. I have also been known to read (and re-read) pulpy horror fiction and self-help books.

And I am certainly not above reading p0rn-y romances. But I do prefer that they have a plot, that does not just involve the female lead overcoming her clumsiness and standing around moping after the guy, and I really do insist that their male lead characters are not abusive douche-waffles.

It’s just how I roll.

So while I appreciate that you are all no longer recommending Twilight, it cannot happen soon enough that the hype around this other complete bullshit of a trilogy dies down.

(Related: Dear Authors, please stop spinning your books into trilogies because they seem to be the magical formula for success. They’re not all meant to be trilogies. If your writing is good and your characters are compelling, I will keep reading to book 5 and beyond (see: the Outlander series or Game of Thrones). If your characters are boring and your phrasing makes me twitch, I will give up after the first book with no regard for whether or not I ever find out if Esther’s latent magical ability saved the world or not.)

(Also related: Dear Authors, if you are a good writer and I like your characters, labeling your first book as part of a trilogy is kind of a jerk move. You’ve basically just told me in advance that I will have to wait 3 years to find out what happens. Also that it ends, which I never want to hear about my favorite characters. Write faster.)

(Also related: I probably spend too much money on e-books.)