Ten Things That Are Wrong With Me

Taking a page from Mr. Random’s book, I have decided to list ten things that are wrong with me. There are likely scores more things that are wrong with me, but I’m just wasting some time right now while I wait for a lady to call me to finish up a catalog I’m doing. So I don’t have time to list the other 90, not yet, anyway.

1. I really like to spend money. This is a bad thing, especially with the current economic meltdown looming over us like a huge toxic cloud. I don’t spend money on extravagant things though. Here’s a sub-list of the things I like to spend money on:

  • Good food. I’d rather eat good food than substandard food, and I don’t mind paying for it.
  • Friends. If someone is in need, then I am a friend indeed. Ask anyone who knows me.
  • My kids. Yeah, they are hardly worth it, but I’m a typical mother. I’ll do without if it means they will have something worthwhile, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give anything up for stupid stuff. (Ask them.) I’ll spend anything, as long as it deals with their education.

2. I am a hot head. Yes, this little package (getting bigger all the time) will usually lose the top of her head at least three times a week. Usually, it has to do with employees. Occasionally, it has to do with my daughter, Ms. MiniD. Sometimes, my son catches my ire. Very rarely, my husband. Mr. Demonic knows better than to cross this lady.

3. I am lazy. That’s right, I’m lazy. There are days when I just lie in my bed and look at the ceiling fan spinning round and round, when I know I should be pulling weeds out in the garden, or adding a couple thousand words to my novel, or doing the wash. I blame this on a comfortable bedroom. Sometimes, I lie in bed and look out the window to the sky and think, “I love my bedroom!”

4. I am not musically inclined. Sure, I wish I was musically inclined. I even play the violin, although I do so quite badly. I practice, and I try to read notes, but I struggle. Music doesn’t come to me in an instant flash like it does with Mr. D Jr., and I sometimes am frustrated and pissed off about it.

5. I am not artistically inclined. See #4. This was bad, especially since I was an art major. After the second year, when I ran out of money, I came to realize that I am not especially talented when it came to painting or drawing. Or clay or intaglio. Or sculpture. So I took up other things, like sewing and jewelry. I’m not especially talented there either. Hmm…

6. I am a food snob. Yes. I am. I can’t eat at pot luck dinners, because I would have to respectfully decline food that is ill prepared, or shows little or no imagination, or is high with processed ingredients and low in freshness. I only shop at certain stores because of my food snobbishness. I know I should give those other places a try, but I find I can’t lower my standards or my expectations.

7. I am generous to a fault. I find it very peculiar that as a person (not even counting Mr. Demonic) I have donated more money, time and goods to charity than has our Democratic Vice Presidential pick, Senator Joe Biden. I know Good Time Joe makes a ton more money than the Demonic clan, too. Perhaps I should use his standard as my own. (Nah…)

8. I’m fat. A direct result of #3.

9. I probably have ADHD. Where else would Ms. MiniD get it from? (Mr. D is ADD, because he’s hyperactive all the time.) This would explain my laziness and inability to get anything done. This might also explain my inclination to NOT be artistic or musically inclined.

10. I have a rapier tongue. I didn’t say that, Mr. Demonic said that. I just think I have a razor sharp sense of humor. Actually, before him, my mother said that when I was in high school. I wrote for the school paper and had some of my editorials published in the local newspaper and in national magazines. My mother always chided me about it. “Why do you have to write where you make people mad?” If I hadn’t been that way, I couldn’t have used it for #10.

The Lazy Woman’s Summer Dinner

There’s nothing like high temperatures and even higher humidity to make a woman lazy. As you can see from yesterday’s post, I’ve all of a sudden been all about doing nothing. Well, as little as humanly possible. I can barely stand to practice the violin, as I get all perspiry in a matter of minutes. Ditto the yoga, which I’ve been trying to do a little of each day. I was only able to tackle two hours of weeding, and I definitely have another eight on the horizon. If the weather doesn’t let up, I won’t mow the lawn until September.

Yesterday’s dinner was all about chilly foods. We had cold cut sandwiches, fruit salad and pasta salad. I should amend that; the pasta salad, which originally had farfalle, chopped olives, chopped tomatoes and cucumbers (from the garden), onions and feta, was without something significant. LIKE PASTA. That’s because unbeknownst to us, my daughter decided to pick through the container and eat all of the bow-ties before dinner.

Today, it’s even hotter outside, and the humidity is far more brutal. My husband, the Dear Mr. Demonic, is already talking about dinner. I don’t even want to eat, much less think about preparing food. (This is very unusual, since I’m rather a food snob and would love nothing better than to cook all day long.)

Tonight’s dinner will consist of cucumbers and grape tomatoes (because I have plenty of those lying about) and maybe some melon. Homemade mustard potato salad and Italian sandwiches with cappacola, prosciutto and genoa salamis. And a tall glass of refreshing lemonade (hand squeezed), with or without a shot of something extra.

Or maybe I’ll just lie under the ceiling fan with my current book of the moment and try not to expend any energy.

What is Laziness?

I was going to write something else today, but in mid-stream I started thinking about this, so I’m running with this thought. Just hope it’s not sharp like scissors.

What is laziness? I’m pondering that thought because I should be outside in the blazing hot sunshine doing some yard work. I’ve bitched and moaned about winter for the last six months. You ALL know that. You’d think I’d be breaking all speed records to get outside. OK, I was just out there, and bagged up a couple of refuse bags full before the wind kicked up and I ended up with a leaf in my eye. Well, not an entire leaf, just a bit. Enough to make me go inside and get a glass of water.

While I was getting my glass of water, I noticed I was breaking out in hives, so I took a Benadryl. Now I’m waiting for it to take effect before I go out and my hives get worse. All this led me to think, am I lazy?

Well, I might be… After all, I’m in here typing and not outside raking.

Then I thought: What is laziness? Is it an inherited gene? I don’t think either of my parents were lazy. Lackadaisical, maybe, lazy – no. My sisters and brothers do not appear to be lazy. I’ve got some lazy cousins, the kind who never have a job. They think that they will hit the big time some time, and they pin their hopes on the lottery or other nonsense. I’m not sure they are lazy. They might be putting too much energy into hoping for their ship to come in, instead of maybe working on something that might have a possibility of coming to fruition.

Is laziness like a virus you get, and then you get better? It appears to me that sometimes I feel lazier than others. Sometimes I can work and work and work, and not even realize time has passed. Other days, I get to work and can’t believe I’m still there twenty minutes later. Wait a minute, make that five minutes later. When I feel that way, is it because I have the “lazy” bug? If I have the lazy bug, what cures it? Surely not antibiotics. Perhaps a never-ending round of mimosas or a tray full of cosmopolitans?

Am I lazy because I don’t want to work out? I’ve been telling myself that I don’t like working out because it’s boring. Yes, it is. It’s way boring. My dear husband can do it for an hour and a half every day. I can’t spend that much time in front of the TV. If I could work out in the out of doors, that might help. Except that I have this work to do in the yard, and I’m still sitting here. Hmm… Still, when I visit California, I could walk on the beach for hours. I also could walk back and forth across downtown San Francisco all afternoon, and it doesn’t seem to affect me, even the hills. Well, I take that back. It usually affects me later, when I wake up the next morning and find my knees throbbing.

I like playing my instrument, but I get lazy there sometimes too. Sometimes the etudes are killers, or the pieces my teacher gives me to play are difficult because they aren’t harmonious. Then I’m not into it at all. Other times, I can play for hours and not even feel the time. I can play scales all day long. I love scales. So I’m not a lazy scale player, but am I a lazy homework student?

This whole “laziness” question might explain my entire life. Was I lazy when I quit college? Or was it really because I wanted to eat and not be homeless? Sometimes I think that if I weren’t lazy, I might be a doctor by now. Maybe. Of course, it was tempting to not be homeless, so I got a job and quit school.

Was I lazy when my son decided not to do hockey any more? I was certainly doing the happy dance that I didn’t have to cart him to the ice rink twice a week. I keep telling myself that it was for the good; he was better at the piano and I doubt he’d be in the NHL now. Perhaps it was a good choice.

Finally, am I lazy because I’m not working on my book? I can appreciate people who have a plan (like Dr. B) or others that I know that are able to write late into the night, and also participate in forums all night long. I feel like a thief or like I’m having a clandestine affair with my novel. I have to sneak in thirty minutes here and an hour there and plug in a couple thousand words here and there, when I have time. I suppose if I weren’t lazy, I could just sit here all day long and get my thoughts on paper.

Well, I think I’m ready to tackle those leaves now. In the meantime, I’ll take a poll. Am I lazy, or not? And what the heck is laziness?

Crazy New Year’s Night, Lazy New Year’s Day

I must be old and crotchety. Last night after dinner, we sat down and watched a rather violent movie (The Departed) as we were waiting for the clock to edge toward midnight. My husband, who normally sleeps through Forced Family Fun Night, was rapt with the blood and gore of this film. After everyone was killed and the movie ended, it was only 10:30, and we were tired. We popped open a bottle of champagne and toasted each other and the kids, and then went to bed.

This scene seems quite normal, except for one thing. My 17 year old daughter had a little slumber party; in attendance were her friends and her boyfriend. Now, before anyone starts comparing me to Jamie Lynn Spears’ mother, I have to explain. One, his mother and my husband had a rather protracted telephone call about it. Two, everyone was clothed. Three, my older son and his girlfriend were to supervise, with their clothes on too. Four, I like this kid. Yes, this was crazy.

This morning, we woke up to six inches of snow. Well, not really. My husband woke up to six inches of snow. I woke up to his firing up the snowblower. After a half hour of the steady droning of the snowblower (which is, incredibly, ten times louder than a lawn mower), I decided to get up and start my day.

Traditionally, on New Year’s Day, I won’t make dinner. I will make appetizers that we will snack on all day long, sort of like a home tapas. We’ll have deviled eggs, crab cakes, oysters rockefeller, hot wings and cold vegetables, finishing off with chocolate fondue. However, I’m still so full from last night’s buffalo steaks and roasted potatoes, that my ambition is remarkably absent.

I might get up and take a walk in the snow, and take photos before the salt trucks and plows come by and turn everything a dirty gray. I hate winter’s cold and precipitation, but fresh snow always looks romantic.

On the other hand, I might just stay lazy and putz around the house.

A Layer of Fog Makes Me Lazy

It snowed last night after an enormous wind and bit of a chill; big, wet and fluffy flakes danced to the earth in the midnight calm. “They” (those meteorologists-who gave them a license to be wrong all the time?) said we could possibly get three to six inches of snow and that news sent the entire area into a panic, but instead we only received a dusting. This morning the temperature warmed to 40 degrees, and now we are covered in a layer of fog as well as a coating of snow.

Since the sky, the houses, and the streets have melted into a canvas of varying shades of gray, my ambition has lost color as well.

I think I will lay in bed, a heating pad on my back, and invite the Space Cadet Kitten to join me under the down.