Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Weight! I'll tell you a few stories...
Last week at Weight Watchers the weight loss was not good. Really, really not good. Like gaining the same amount of weight back that you just lost the week before not good. But the humour? The humour was good.

Our leader has a theme for each motivational talk she does every week. She has it all layed out on a giant boardroom tablet in brightly coloured markers, with inspiring quotes sprinkled thoughout. And she's good. She's peppy to the extreme, but she's good. You leave a meeting ready to conquer the world (until you drive-thru at Wendy's right after the meeting, because it's Thursday and this Frosty doesn't count. The new week begins on Friday). Like last week's theme was "Row, Row Your Boat". It was all about how weight loss can be compared with trying to row a boat. You're rowing backwards, so you can't see where you're going. You end up rowing in a zig-zag fashion rather than parallel with the shoreline....blah, freaking, blah, blah, blah...

Anyways. At the end of each presentation she flips the final page and reveals (TA DA!) the theme of the next week's meeting. On Thursday, she flips the page and it reads:

Discovering Your Sixth Sense

...so I lean over to my Sister-in-Law, Debbie, and, summoning my inner Haley Joel Osment, I whisper in her ear...

..."I see fat people!"

********************

People neglected to tell me that when I started to lose weight, cramps would once again become ABSOLUTELY UNBEARABLE! Not unlike that summer when I was 14 and I spent an entire week of my vacation in England curled up on my Granny's couch...close to death from the pain. Death I tell you! I still remember that my Mom took my brothers to the market on the bus and I had to stay back...no shopping for me...not a huge deal since my Granny tended to my every whim, bringing me cool cloths for my forehead and Jelly Babies for the pain..."to settle your stomach sweetheart" (because candy? better than Midol for the monthlys. And Granny's? Better than anything at all times.) I wonder what the people here at work would think if I just curled up under my desk in the fetal position...after the way they've treated me this week...should I really care?

****************************

Cheap Bastard doesn't seem too affected by MY HORRIBLE WORK DILEMNA 2006. We were discussing it in the car last night...actually, I was ranting and raving and spitting and snarling and I did, in fact, scream something about communism. Something like: "We're not living in a communist country here! Nobody's gonna tell me I have to be an ice skater if I'd rather be an engineer!" (I would totally be an ice skater if somebody said I had to be one, cause if someone offered to teach me how to do a triple axle I'd be all over that! An engineer though? Not so much.) He replied that all work places are communist...basically insinuating that I should just suck it up and accept whatever they throw at me. This? Just made me madder. Wherein I threatened to run away and join the circus or maybe it was more like "I'm just gonna quit my job and go back downtown and they will be very sorry and miss me a lot and cry that they never had it so good before I got there and who is gonna pay the invoices on time now that I'm gone and don't they know who they're dealing with here and why am I so assertive in my mind and a freaking pathetic puddle when they're giving me orders?"

So, the work thing? I haven't even begun to decide what I'm going to do about it. I do know that I could go back downtown and work temp to perm and be earning almost ten grand more a year than I do now. I also know that the hours would be longer and the commute more arduous. I would again take the commuter train downtown, the pros of which would be no more traffic, a comfortable seat, I could nap or read or watch tv or write on my laptop. The cons? An hour and a half each way as opposed to 30 minutes each way as it stands now. Working as an Exec. Assistant again would be much more stimulating and challenging...clerical accounting is very "the same" from week to week to week.

I need a plan. Heck, I need to set a date to schedule a meeting with myself to sit down and write a plan. Procrastamom, she is mighty!

******************************

My son broke my heart into teeny, tiny pieces this week. He is officially too old to hold my hand out in public. As of now. Right this second. Thank you and goodnight.

He is also too embarassed to wear his Beaver uniform out where everyone can see him, especially while walking to the Fish Hatchery for a field trip. No problem wearing it at the Fish Hatchery. Just not out in the open where the general people of his neighbourhood can see him. I pointed out that Rhylan across the street was walking around in his Cub Scout uniform that same night. Doesn't matter. Rhylan is a Cub and he's older and Cubs are cooler and next year he will be a Cub and he will wear his uniform anywhere we want him to. To bed even. But Beavers? They are Kindergarteners and Grade ones. And he? Is grade two. And tired of dealing with the other "Kindergarten babies" in his troop. Fine. Understood.

But breaking the heart of the person who loves you more than anyone else on the whole big earth? Not fine. Not understood. Budgie, you are only eight years old. Yes, it's true that Zeenee was only six when she ordered me to no longer kiss her in the car when I dropped her off at school. "And please Mom, if you have to say I Love You, could you just say Elephant Shoes instead? Then my friends won't know what you're talking about." ("Elephant Shoes" is our code word for I Love You. Try mouthing it silently to someone and see if they don't think you're mouthing "I love you" instead. Bonus points if you do it to a coworker or someone who would be equally uncomfortable with you silenting professing your love for them. Like my husband's best friend, Budgie Sr., did to me when we were seventeen and-oh-my-god-Cheap-Bastard's-best-friend-just-hit-on-me-and-how-am-I-gonna-break-it-to-him-gently-that-I'm-not-in-love-with-him-too? Elephant Shoes. Try it. It is fun. And code too.) Zeenee also ordered me to cease with ever waving at her again in grade six, but luckily has sinced vetoed that law.

Anabella will still freely hold my hand wherever we go and has no problem with the "I love you's". She's such a snuggle-bun and I Elephant Shoes her soooo much.

But I have officially lost TWO of them to the dark side now...and Bella is almost ten...so tell me, how long do you really think I have left?

When I was pregnant with Budgie I was sooo looking forward to having a boy. My girls were such "Daddy's Girls" that I swore if I didn't have a boy next, we would have to get a dog so someone would love ME. And it turned out perfect. From day one he's been MINE...all mine! At four he declared that when he was older he was kicking Daddy out and he would marry me. He made up a special kiss just for me...the Angel Kiss. He puts his lips really close, but not quite on my cheek and blows a soft kiss...like an angel. If he's hurt, he needs ME. If he's sick, he needs ME. I remember him being sick at about age five and him curling up on my lap and falling asleep on my shoulder. I remember thinking then that there wouldn't be many more times that I would get to hold one of my babies like that...and I was so right. It was actually the last time. The very last time I had one of their little faces snuggled into my neck...the very last time I held one of them and just inhaled the top of their head.

And now it's the hand holding. There is almost no-one left to lead ME across the street...


Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 5 hours, 40 minutes

Laundry List: Now that there's no-one to lead me across the street, I guess I'll have to launder my visi-vest....the bright red one with the big yellow X.


Monday, April 24, 2006
I don't know what to do. Friday, I was going to write this wonderful post about how much I really like my job. I mean, if I have to work (which I definately don't WANT to - anywhere, for any amount of money - I WANT to be a SAHM. But...I want to live in a house, with electricity and running water and shoes for my kids...so I work) this isn't a bad place to be. My benefits are great. I haven't paid more than $50.00 for dental work since January and I've had two crowns done this year (they're regularly $900/each). All of our prescriptions are fully covered and Budgie's glasses cost us nothing. So that's a good thing right? Also - and I was thiking about this Friday because they let me work from 7-3 instead of 8-4 so I could go and see Anabella run in an inter-school relay around a local lake - they are very flexible with my hours. If I have an appointment or want to take a vacation day on the fly, they never say no to me changing my schedule around. They let me take every second friday off. Granted, they don't pay me for time off (who would?), but to me time off to spend with my kids is more important than money sometimes...and Lord knows there will never be enough money...or enough chocolate...but, uhmmm...where was I?

Anyways, today at lunch my boss tells me that they decided on Friday (I wasn't in the office on Friday) that I would be changing roles as of next week. Seems they would like me to become the full-time payroll person. Right now I do half of the accounts payable function in the office as it's a giant job. We pay out a couple million a month to our suppliers, so I take on half the responsibility of that and another girl does the second half. I like it and I think I'm very good at it. As for payroll, I've only trained on it a few times two years ago and did okay at it, I guess. The girl who is doing it now is swamped under with Accounts Receivable AND Payroll and needs to let something go. She hasn't taken a vacation in five years because no-one has learned her job well enough to fill in for her (although, if you ask me, she's being a kind of martyr about the whole thing. I would have just told the bosses five years ago that I was taking my two weeks a year and to find someone to fill in for me. I'm not that dedicated to this place...but that's just me). I won't be expected to take on the payroll position in addition to a/p. Someone else will be taking on my role and I'll be exclusively payroll, WCB and anything else they can throw at me in the course of a week.

I'm not quite sure how I feel about this yet as I just got the news less than two hours ago. I have looked on Monster.ca for another job...so maybe I'm a little angry/spiteful/insane about it? Not sure. I think it's sort of sinking in that they didn't ASK ME if I wanted the position. They told me that this is what I will be doing from now on.

...oh, and of course this transition doesn't involve a raise.

What to do. What to do. What would your reaction be?


Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 2 hours, 1 minute

Laundry List: soccer socks, field hockey socks, uniforms, gardening gloves...the wheather is GORGEOUS here, finally! The girls had sports on the weekend. Zeenee had a field hockey game (lost 2-1) and Anabella tried out for the select soccer team that starts in September. Standing out in the sunshine watching your kids play sports is thoroughly enjoyable...in comparison to skulking under an umbrella.


Wednesday, April 19, 2006
And now my gullet is full because of that little red-headed girl with pigtails (or...in which I blame corporate characatures for my large butt)
I drove to Wendy's (can you tell that there are NO OTHER food establishments around my work? Whenever I blog about lunch, that chick's name comes up!) at lunch today and ordered a Classic Single with cheese, fries, coke and a medium frosty. I ate the whole thing (except the Frosty, which I will eat at 3:00 when Louise goes home and there's nobody in this part of the office to hear me scarfing) behind my cubicle wall in an act of shameless desperation (I am Ziggy Piggy, hear me snort). Thank goodness for my blog...my confessional. I feel better now...wait, no...I feel bloated.

So...good luck to me with the scales tomorrow night. Looks like they'll be going up, up, up in my part of the world. Unless I can convince my tired butt to head to the gym tonight for one last grasp at weight-loss for the week. I stayed out late last night at a Guiding function (area annual meeting), which is, I'm sure, why I felt the need for a sugar/fat burst at lunch. I also ate my weight in appies and dessert last night at the function, so I'm hoping the Weight Watchers scale can handle my 800 pound mass! Gaa! Weight loss...why do you elude me so? Oh wait, the grossly-excessive eating...of course (*lightbulb moment*).

There's nothing like a Guiding meeting, complete with all of my good friends and good food, to get me all renewed and refreshed about Girl Guides. I started planning all sorts of program stuff in my head this morning and have sent off about 30 emails to my fellow Guiders ("we should consider this" "when should we schedule this for?" "I'll volunteer to do that") - should probably have been working at my JOB instead of Guiding at my JOB, but meh...whatevah. All of this initial thinking will be good while it lasts...before Procrastamom takes over again and I'm left packing and planning for District Camp on the Friday morning that I'm supposed to leave! (mother's day weekend in may) Wonder what kind of craft I'll concoct for 180 girls in the five minutes I manage to spare a thought to it?

I noticed a funny cartoon in the Reader's Digest I was scanning over lunch (behind my cubicle and in front of a cheeseburger). It's a picture of a guy with a starting gun at the beginning gate of a race. He's the only one there...because the race banner says....

"Run to Raise Awareness for Chronic Procrastination"


Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 1 hour, 38 minutes...and 8 minutes til Louise goes home, leaving me to my sweet Frosty.

Laundry List: Hopefully sweaty, smelly gym clothes.


Monday, April 17, 2006
Because she really is an A student, but she doesn't necessarily portray that on a regular basis.
Heard in my house earlier today.

Budgie: Look at me Mom. I am a tree. I am one with the earth and with nature.

Me: Jeez Budgie. I can just see you when you're older. On the nightly news, there you are. A Hippie chained to a tree...pledging your undying oath to the forests.

Anabella: Hey! I'm gonna be an environmentalist too. I'm gonna chain myself to a whale!

(mmmm, hmmm)


Score!
Guess what Budgie is doing right now. Go ahead guess!

Great guess. Yep, he's having a shower. In OUR bathroom! In the new shower!

Hallelujah! It's finally done!

Now...don't ask me about the rest of the bathroom. We haven't even started the adoption proceedings for the toilet and sink yet. Ask me next year. I may have a definitive answer by then.

So...how was everyone's Easter weekend? Mine was FAN.TAS.TIC!!! We got the entire house scrubbed and all the laundry done on Friday, so that left the next three days free to sit around and catch up on my TV shows (24-Season 4 and Lost-Season Two). I also went to the gym Saturday morning. I'm down 13.4 pounds as of last Thursday...whoohoo! I like to think of each pound as a stick of butter...if I can picture it that way it feels like I've lost lots. I can't feel any loss around my waistband yet and was telling one of the councellors at Weight Watchers this. She said it's unusual that I haven't noticed any shrinkage, but she did say my pants would probably just fall off one day. With my luck, it'll be at work in front of an important client or something. "Hello sir. Would you like to see my Underoos?" Either way, I'll be happy when it happens :)

Ha ha. The cat is jumping and hissing at the window at another cat who has dared to enter her territory. Pizza is an inside cat, so she gets quite territorial about her "window space"...any creature she can see out her window is in her space. She has fallen off the window sill a total of five times tonight so far. It's hilarious because the grey cat on the outside looks totally unaffected by her anger...I actually think he's laughing internally at poor Pizza Maria. "Stupeed caht. Vy don't choo come out here and say dat to my face." (this cat...he is obviously Russian or French...or from New York)

Well, I'm off to put Bella in the shower for her maiden voyage. Then it's another two episodes of 24. Air Force One has just been hit by a missile and I'm hanging by a thread waiting to see the next installment.

Happy Easter Monday!

Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: Here now. Work in 12 hours, 50 minutes. Another three day week for me. Friday off with the kids (Pro-D Day) Can I have another "hallelujah"?

Laundry List: Done. Done. And done. And....hallelujah!


Saturday, April 15, 2006
Email Me!
procrastamom AT gmail DOT com


Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Because the blogosphere is a wonderful thing
Thanks to everyone who responded to my plea for G-mail. To my hilarious friend DottyNana, G-Mail is Google's version of Hotmail. I know it sounds kinky...ooo baby, G-mail...that's the spot...but, unfortunately, it's much tamer than that. I like to think of it as Google's answer to butt floss...but really, it's more of a "granny panties wearing" kind of program...big, basic, boring....but necessary! Anybody who is anybody has G-mail and now I do too!

Thanks especially to Laura who responded first to my desperation and quickly sent off an invitation to nirvana. (and thanks also to my lovely CHSIL or BIL who sent one also and to Jon...not sure who you are, but so grateful you're reading and took the time). I'll have to see how it all works later...

...but right now I have to pee...and go home.

(more on my weekend trip and my failure to write for ten minutes a day, even though I only decided to do that last week and I'm too lame to actually follow through with it for more than three days...later)

Oh yeah...I'm now procrastamom AT gmail DOT com...e-mail me!

Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 22 minutes...I was supposed to leave 8 minutes ago! (I'm such a work-a-holic)

Laundry List: I have to pee to badly to think about it right now...gaaaa!


Thursday, April 06, 2006
Anybody got an extra G-Mail?
Does anyone out there have an extra G-mail invite they'd like to get off their hands? I'd sure appreciate having one. Email to vyk_bach AT hotmail DOT com. I might be the last lone blogger in the great giant bloggosphere who doesn't have one.

And I need to keep up with the Dooces(get it?)...


Science and Safety Minutes
Ummm, hi. Safety minutes? Suck!

I have been sitting here for 2 hours and 19 minutes trying to make hide or hair of what I wrote on March the 15th, in the year of our Lord two thousand and six...and. I. can't. do. it. Maybe I SHOULDN'T have stayed up until 11:00 last night and watched Jessica Alba shake her thang in Honey (note to self: you'll never get those two hours back). Maybe I SHOULD have gone to the gym after watching ANTM last night as planned, then gotten my butt into bed at a decent hour. But seriously people, no amount of extra sleep could change the fact that my handwriting indicates I should have chosen a different career path...highly paid doctor comes to mind. I'm putting in a call to my two year old nephew to invite him over here to decipher my notes...they're that bad.

And the fact that it's SAFETY MINUTES...b-to the o-to the ring. If I had the balls, I'd just change the date at the top and pass the February minutes off as the March ones. I don't think a soul would notice.

February 2006

Jobsite X: 4 on crew. All crew wearing safety glasses, hard hats and vests. No concerns.

March 2006

Jobsite X: 4 on crew. All crew wearing safety glasses, hard hats and vests. No concerns.


So surprise, surprise...the sheer boredom emitting from my person, through osmosis, caused the internet browser on my computer to magically open (science - in you I did not major) and I have eaten through my entire blogroll in these last two hours. I'm not sure what I would do without the Mirs or Marys of the blogosphere. I guess I'd probably have nothing to read and time for more work, but really...who wants that? And if Mir wasn't writing over at Blogher I wouldn't have found my new favourite blog EV-AH! I may or may not have spent the better part of the last hour reading the archives over at Niihaus...and when you read one of Lisa's posts, you might have to spend way too much time at her house too. Seriously, I'm like that annoying woman from up the street that you really don't care for - the one that stops over for coffee without invitation and stays ALL DAY and you're just too polite to ask her to go away - I'm like that with a blogger's archives...I'll use your bathroom and I won't come out til I've studied everything in the medicine cabinet!

...ew! Hemorrhoid cream...

Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 5 hours, 30 minutes...then FOUR DAYS OFF!!!

Laundry List: Thinking about it, laundry is also like that annoying neighbour who drops over unexpectedly and NEVER LEAVES...EV-AH!


Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Working Title: I got nuthin...
Okay, it's 3:32 and I finally have ten minutes to spare. Okay, I'm lying. I have NO TIME to spare, but I'm taking some. Right now.

Thanks to all who commented about the dog. It's going to be weird around the house for the next little while. Nobody to follow me around as I do the laundry...because the milkbones were in the laundry room cupboard (and I was generous with them...two or three at a time!). Guess I'm going solo on the laundry from now on. It wasn't like she helped me fold or anything...she was just good company.

On to other things then? Oh. I know. I have one! My Zeenee made the honour roll! My daughter. The fruit of my (and my husband's) never-on-the-honour-roll-loins...made the honour roll. (damn these ringing phones...can't somebody else pick them up? I'm not the receptionist! Fine I'll answer it! Hold please...) This accomplishment gains extra merrit when you consider that Zeenee couldn't read very well until about Grade 4. And now. Honour Roll! (I'm getting a little verclempt) And. And! Her coach named her MVP on her soccer team (she's co-sharing the title with another player, but still...MVP!). Extra proud mama today people...extra proud.

I've got to spend some time packing for Victoria tonight, because...Cheap Bastard? Wants us on the 10:00 ferry on Friday morning. And? If you know anything about traffic around here (I've only mentioned my disdain for Lower Mainland traffic, oh, three or four (hundred) times on this blog before) that means we have to leave the house at SEVEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! A full half-hour before I would regularly leave for work on a regular weekday. Holiday my ass! So...I'll have to start packing tonight and have it all ready by tomorrow night. There'll be no time for packing in the wee hours of the mornin on Friday. Lord above, why does he take travelling so seriously? I'll have to stop thinking about this now, before I go off on a CB rant...

I'll leave you with this. I just checked my stats on sitemeter and reviewed the "referrals" (how people got to my site). They are some funny. The search terms are in bold and my snarky answers follow. Enjoy.

saggy butt pants fix When you find out, let me know. My "regions" need some help.

hot+housewife+by+vicky We're considering installing air conditioning here at D2bH...

I want to be housewife Me too sweetie. Me too.

frightening images Have you met my butt?

how to sterilize electric shavers Ummm. Rubbing alcohol?

desperate housewife No no. Desperate TO BE A Housewife

housewife sex I'll take whatever you're offering...

how to be a housewife? Again, when you find out let me know.

Can housewife get jobs & in which field Yes. Mine is available. Do you like answering phones?

i'll be there vancouver Not me. I try to avoid it.

housewife boobs What have you got against working mom boobs?

desperate Google found eleventy billion results for "desperate"...please narrow your search.

jobs for 18 year old wimen For a start, I think you'll want to stay away from "Editor".

vicky present!

Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 26 minutes. I'm leaving now. I'm on my way...from misery to happiness today. Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh.

Laundry List: Soccer uniforms. Priority.


Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Goodbye Old Friend

Cubby 1992-2006




My Dad had to take Miss Cubby to the vet today to put her to rest. She was 14 years old and her poor body had finally given up on her. Her back legs were so bad she couldn't stand up straight on them for more than about a minute without them buckling underneath her. She fell down the porch stairs on Sunday and CB had to lift her back up to the house...he said she was as light as a feather. She had gone deaf and blind. This picture is from better days, when she actually had meat on her bones and a sparkle in her eyes. Because my parents live in the same house as us, my kids have grown up with Cubby. She is the only dog they have ever known and loved...it has been hard on them, I can tell.

Budgie has had the worst time understanding the process. My Dad warned them yesterday that he'd be taking Cubby to the vets today. We shouldn't have told Budgie that she was "being put to sleep". When I asked him yesterday if he would be sad when Cubby went away to the vets, he said no. He thought they were putting her into a deep sleep and repairing her broken body. I could see the shock and hurt in his eyes when I explained what would really be happening...that Cubby wouldn't be coming home again. He also asked if he needed to write a speech for Cubby's funeral and if we could bury her next to Terry Fox's grave up at the cemetery. If it could be that way, I would have made it so.

When his substitute teacher asked them to rate how they were feeling out of a scale of 1 to 10 today, Budgie told her he was feeling like a zero...his Grandad was taking his dog to die today. The old bat told him not to worry, he could always get another dog. Why would you say that to a kid?

The house already feels emptier. I guess there won't be anymore black hair to sweep up...no more clumps "big enough to knit a new dog with" in the vacuum canister...no more poop to clean up off the yard. There were also no brown eyes watching out the front window for me when I drove up today after work...no animal waiting behind the front door to get clomped in the head when I swung it open (she was cute, but she was no Einstein!) That dog could tell time though. At 4:30 on the dot every weekday, she would get up and go watch out the window to wait for my Dad to come home from work...she just knew.

Goodbye my Sweet Cubby...Chubb Chubbs...Cubington Bear. I love you more than cheese...


New month's resolution: post more often. post interesting. post something!
I've decided I need to sit down EVERY DAY (every weekday at least) and blog for a minmum of ten minutes. Whatever comes into my head at the time, that's what's coming out of my fingers (no, not the middle one...not often anyways). I got the idea from my good friend Wil Wheaton. If you've read here a lot, you know that me and him are LIKETHIS...due to the fact that I wrote him a fan letter in 1986(ish) and he wrote back. He suggested on his blog(to me personally of course...but he put it on his blog as a courtesy to every one of his other readers) that one should sit down for ten minutes every day and just write. So...I'm gonna try it.

------

Now, while we're on the subject of my good friend Wil Wheaton...we should probably review how it happened that we became such good friends that he would shell out advice to ME PERSONALLY (even though he put it on his blog for all to see)...he did, after all, send me a letter once...personally addressed to myself.

As a starry-eyed thirteen year old, I met and fell in love with Wil Wheaton when I first saw Stand By Me (the first of eleventy million viewings by MYSELF, personal friend of Wil Wheaton). I think I found the fanmail address in Tiger Beat/Teen Beat/16 Magazine (that I bought on the way home from the movie) and I quickly zipped off a letter extoling the pure brilliance of his performance:
"oh my god, I so totally like you Wil. You should move to Canada and we could hang out. I'm, like, 13 and you're, like, 13! We're the same age! That's so cool!"
....hmmm, I guess I didn't nominate him for an Oscar or anything, but I totally let him know how I felt...c.r.u.s.h.

Anyways, a few days (plus six months) later, I got a letter back from him! Addressed to me! A letter! From Wil Wheaton!!!

It was on yellow paper and read something like:
Dear Wil Wheaton Fan:

Thanks for your letter. It was cool of you to write to me. You are a cool Wil Wheaton Fan. Cool.

From Wil Wheaton
(*Wil Wheaton photocopied signature* <-- he signed it!)


What my 13 year old self read though, was:
(written on personal stationery with his home address)
Dear Vicky F.,

I am moving to Canada tomorrow to the house right next door to yours. We can hang out everyday and when we grow up we can get married. Cool.

Love Forever, Wil Wheaton
(real signature...in blood)


So you see, ever since that letter Wil and I have been LIKETHIS. Of course, he went on to marry his lovely wife Anne and I met and married the handsome Cheap Bastard. I guess we eventually decided we weren't compatible (like I turned 14 and totally crushed on one of the Corey's instead...something like that)...that and I wasn't a big Star Trek fan (like Cheap Bastard is...he would have totally married Wil Wheaton to get a peek at the set of that show). We went about our separate ways in late 1987 and one day I typed his name into a search engine and stumbled upon his blog which I really enjoy reading. One day I just might find myself leaving him a comment...

...and a reminder about that special (yellow photocopied) letter from long ago.

--------

(And this is just my long, round about, crazy way of getting my ten minutes of writing in today...thanks for the idea Wil)

Desperate to be a Housewife

Time until I'm back with my family: 2 hours, 49 minutes

Laundry List: Me and the laundry are LIKETHIS!


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