Dirty words. I played in the Zen Garden this morning; after swishing, swirling and moving rocks, I ended up with the word FART written in the sand and a pile of rocks to the side. I'd show you a photo but I left the camera in the car like a dumbass. (We're a one car family, I only get to drive Monday - Thursday. I'm a good driver, I can drive on the driveway real good. And the sidewalk even better!)
I can't even post Junior's photo from his first morning at kindergarten. Sweet, sweet release, thy name is KINDERGARTEN!! He's been bugging us all summer to go and when hubs and I delivered him to his classroom this morning we were pretty much dismissed by his small, brown "SHOO!!" hand.
So....in other news, I think the Bible has an error in it. Forget war, famine and pestilence, I'm pretty sure the first sign of the Apocalypse is my uterus falling out. Why does getting older have to be such a pain in the ass? And why, after all these lovely menses years, does my period show up DIFFERENT every freakin' time? This time around it seems that the tall Y grass in the yard of our un-cut lawn has burrowed itself under my cranky skin.
Don't forget we have a spare lot too. Full of effing TALL Y GRASS.
RAGE! I has it, now please pass the Midol!!
Exit 99: I figured out what all of that oriental-like spam in my comments was about. They were mostly in Chinese and all trying to sell penis pills. Awesome. I'm still not going to moderate (too lazy for that) but at least Blogger seems to have improved controlling unmoderated comments. I'll try to remember to translate some of them for you next time they show up. In case you're interested in that kind of stuff. (Someone please tell me why the internet is controlled/censored in China but they can still spam the crap out of you trying to get you to buy medicine for your hot rocket love needs to please her?) (And after all these years, how come the internet STILL doesn't know I don't have a penis?)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
My brother gave me a Zen Garden (contains; rake, sand, rocks and garden tray) (their semicolon, not mine) for my birthday. He thinks I deserve some sand of my own to play in since I'm George the Monkey Cat's designated turd scooper. He's nice like that. My nephew even brought me a sparkly driveway rock to add to it.
(Cat Side Note: Why does my cat act like I'm stealing from her when I'm cleaning out the litter box? I'm serious, she pats my arms down, shakes my collector bag and looks at me as if to say, "Where are you going with my babies?!!? I made those you know. I put them there for a reason!" Anyone else's cat/s do this?)
(Crazy Cat Lady Side Note: Did I really just blog about cat poop?)
I finally took the garden out of the box today. I was expecting a bright burst of light into an exploding moment of enlightenment only to be met with the Styrofoam Floaty of Static Clingy-ness and a packet of silica gel giving me the stink eye. My first thought was "I'm going to need more sand." When I released the trapped sand from it's tiny confines of a zip lock bag it did pour out to be enough. Clearly my perspective is off (and not just about sand). I'm so out of whack lately that I had to look up images on how to play with this thing.
So I'm going to work on it. Real hard. And I do hope to find some zen. It's been a long, hot summer, my brain is fried and my heart is a bit hurty.
Who wants to start a pool on how long (or short) it will take me to knock said garden off my desk, therefore puking it's falling guts into my printer? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?