Thursday, February 02, 2006

Jungle Feverish

I had one of those horrifying dreams last night.
The kind where you wake up and you believe whatever it was really happened.

I've always wanted to buy really ugly clothes, and audition for one of those make-over shows where they throw out your entire wardrobe, and offer you money and guidance to buy a spanking new one.

In my dream last night, I made it. I got the old clothes thrown out, the new clothes on my back, and then they sent me to get my hair and make-up done.

that's where the shit hit the fan.

I've loved my long hair for as long as I've had it.
I said that I was voted best hair in high school, but upon further research, I found out, I wasn't, I'm not sure I was even nominated. Even more reason to prove myself in the awesome hair category.

So in my dream, I was in the hair section of the make-over, and I said the only thing you can't do is cut the length. Cut the length and I cut off your pinky. That, and I'll put a horses head in your bed.

I turn around and...My hair was short. SO short, and I cried, and stormed out of the doors, and wound up....On the field during the Super Bowl...

Anyway, I woke up horrified, and then realized, it was true.Not the Super Bowl part, the other part. I did cut my damn hair, I voluntarily signed up.

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I look like Joanie did when she married Chachi. And we all know how that ended up, Chachi ran off with Pamela Anderson and her Baywatch bathing suit.

Great. More stuff to complain about.

That's all I have been doing lately, is complain.
I feel the words escape from my mouth, and I cringe.
But I just can't help it. I'm not very happy, and I think the main problem is...

I'm just not giving anything a chance.

It's all new, and it's not familiar, so I rebel.
Well....not so much rebel as just whine and complain, and cry in the bathroom at night.
It's a lifestyle choice really.

My other lifestyle choice?

Slow, messy and exhausted.
Isaac's teething has come to it's pinnacle. He woke up on the hour, every hour last night. Around three, he woke up with fever.

You and me both buddy.
Not only that, but he had pooped right out of his diaper.
Ah.... just what I wished for, hot warm baby with clingly poopy substance weighing him down.

So I brought him into his room to change him. When I have to do mid-night changes, I put his tiny sunglasses on him to shade his eyes from the light. Then I opened the diaper that run-eth over.

While I was elbow deep in crap, I looked up, and I saw a big toothless grin underneath his goofy sunglasses, and sweaty hair.

And suddenly the poop was moot, the kid is cute and he's all mine.

If he wasn't, this story would have never escaped my mouth.

However, when I woke up this morning, I was exhausted. I think I slept for a second.
I walked into the kitchen , made some tea, drank it, and then went to put my tea cup in the...
in the machine that....

the machine that holds utensils and cleans them...

I put my teacup in the dish cleaning apparatus.

Oh, I couldn't even remember what the Dishwasher was called. I realized that I also couldn't remember how to spell my name, so I went back to bed.

For twelve minutes.

I miss sleep so much.

Ah....what else.....?.....

Oh yes, my son loves Oprah.
Even through her recent flaws, he stands, well...he sits, with support, by her side.

I began folding clothes during Oprah, and laying Isaac on the bed. Once, I tried to pick him up, and he started crying. So...I put him back down, and his head turned towards Oprah.
I picked him up,
he cried.
Put back down,
turned to Oprah.

Lee laughs, he thinks its funny.
Until the other day when he came home from work early, and right around 4, as if on cue, Isaac started to cry.

"Oprah's on" I explained.
And I took Isaac from his father, and placed him in front of his first lady love.
I think I should get a car out of this.