…the who cares girl…

It was more difficult to sketch Molly than I thought, because she’s constantly in motion. Who knew? I thought she spent more time just chilling in the shade under the patio, but evidently not.

Yesterday we accidentally spent most of the day painting and then I “suntanned” (briefly–I discovered it’s kind of boring) and he mowed the lawn and then whoops! We forgot to go to the dog park. I think today I’ll take the girls to the park we usually go to.

I’d like to hook us up with some e friends before our second honeymoon next week. We’ll be camping with our supplier this weekend. The Boy brought up a good point last night: “Haven’t you noticed that we’re always trying to get pregnant before we take ecstasy?”

I thought about that for a moment. “You’re right!” I exclaimed. “What’s that all about?”

We’ve been “trying”, I suppose, if trying means humping more frequently.

“Ooh!” I said. “I know! I’ll take a pregnancy test first!”

Problem solved! Last night I went to Walgreens and purchased ginger ale, Goobers (for the Boy), a puzzle, and a pregnancy test. Let the good times roll.

“What do you want to do today…bitch?” said the Boy this morning.

“Hey!” I said.

“What?”

“You called me a bitch.”

“No, I called Maggie a bitch.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“You didn’t see my pimp hand.”

Was it Corinne who told me she didn’t get into Lady Gaga until she heard Cartman sing “Poker face”? Well, I’ve heard that version now, and I’ll say this: Cartman’s version is way better. Or at least, obnoxious enough to be stuck in my head on repeat. And for the first time I could actually make out the lyrics of the song.

Watch Penny Arcade’s breast milk episode, it’s hysterical. Tears of laughter ran down my face. Today we are supposed to have happy fun times with the girls at Edmonds beach. This morning I had a dream that I was puzzling. Then in the dream I started sweating. Then I woke up covered in sweat. Damn Trazadone night sweats. Bleeeeeeerp.

The woman who took the photograph above does the most fantastic underwater photography–jaw-dropping. Check it out here. I’m really happy that Flickr has the “blog this” feature so you can post other people’s photography with their credits listed. Of course, many talented photographers disable this feature, which is a shame.

Okay, because it’s Sunday and I am filled with the Love of the Lord, here are my:

Top 5 reasons why my neighbors are white trash:

1. They took their Christmas tree out in July
2. They have yardcats*
3. They engage in screaming matches when we are sitting outside, listening to every word
4. The presence of multiple, crappy cars in the front yard
5. There’s a dude living full-time in their backyard in an RV

What worries me: if we’re living next to white trash, what does that make us?

* Yardcats: crusty, disgruntled multiple cats that roam around outside all day (and the cause of 90% of Bear Cub’s frantic barks)

Our version of outdoor dining. I gave that table to Corinne and Cassy, but when I told her a few months ago I was thinking of buying a used table, she told me I could have the table back, they weren’t using it. The table had been outside for God knows how long and was all sunbleached with a broken leg, but I fixed the leg and with a tablecloth over it, voila!

I realize I’m taking a lot of photos of this planter but it’s so prettyyyyy.

I received an e-mail this morning from one of our Burning Man campmates. We’re all going to camp together next weekend and Heidi wants to have a hoop-making group. The person who sent me the e-mail said he had purchased 100 feet of tubing, connectors, and a hot glue gun and fabric.

“Why on earth would anybody want to hot glue fabric on a hoop, when there are so many hoop tapes available?” I asked the Boy.

“Different aesthetic,” he replied. “Some people maybe don’t like the feeling of plastic.”

Pffft. I’m going to bring my box of holographic glitter hoop tapes and THEN see who wants to mess with a hot glue gun.

We love spray paint and graffiti in this family. I think we’ve watched all the graffiti documentaries Netflix has to offer, although we still haven’t gone out to see the Banksy documentary. I know, I know, sad but true.

The Boy’s practice on cardboard for his skateboard.

Oh, that tail, that glorious tail. The Boy mentioned something about trimming it this morning.

“I want to remember what it looked like,” he said.

“Oh, you’re gonna remember what it looked like, because we’re not cutting it,” I snapped. You know I’m going to end up with wild naked hippie children running around with long hair.

Secret to a fabulous bouncy bubble butt.

For the Boy’s birthday in April I made him a bunch of coupons. We always do this for each other–make happy little coupons out of neon cardstock to be used later. His for me are usually things like “good for one car wash” or “good for one dinner” or something. I made him a “good for one painting by Liz of your choice” and he finally redeemed it recently–perfect timing because I haven’t painted in at least 2 weeks. It’s this photo, and I think I painted for about 5 hours yesterday, and it felt so gooooood. Ah, creativity. Love ya.

Yes, even chubby girls like to sit outside in skimpy paisley bikinis and paint their toenails bright pink. I actually have teeny-weeny tan lines, amazing because I don’t tan.

inner voice: Oh come ON not more pictures of bushes and grass and shit.
me: Fuck off, the nice-weather-in-Seattle phase goes faster than you can imagine, and I’m gonna soak it up.

We could all use more cuhluh in our lives.

Maggie and Molly meet a new dogfriend at the park.

Er, well, you know how it is.

If I’m being particularly “good” then oftentimes I will just have a single yogurt for lunch, which I eat slowly. How do you say…eating disordered, much? Speaking of eating disorders, yesterday I watched “Thin“, a documentary following 4 women hospitalized for anorexia. They don’t look that tiny plodding up to the scale in their billowing hospital gowns, but when the scale reads 83 then you go, whoooaaaa. Yikes. A cautionary tale.

Today I see my therapist, so I get to show her the “emotional ups and downs” chart I made. No revelations–in March I was becoming extremely depressed and then in April I had my nervous breakdown and quit working. Holy shit, I haven’t worked since April! I just turned in a job application today, though, so we’ll see. PART TIME PLEASE GOD THAT’S ALL I ASK IS PART TIME.

Also: yesterday’s shocking 11 pound weight loss was a fluke. Fucking digital scale, why must you taunt me so?

* So it wasn’t until last night when I was watching a documentary about John Lennon’s first solo album “Plastic Ono Band” that I realized he sings the song “Love”, which is played at the end of “Adam and Steve” and makes me cry every damn time. Here is the video on youtube, such a beautiful song.

Update: I just watched the video and tears rolled down my face. So maybe it wasn’t “Adam and Steve” that made me cry, just that song. Sniff.