What 12 hours of sleep, a neti pot, and Tylenol Daytime Cold will do for you

So, it's 2 am, and I am wide, wide awake. I have been suffering for the last week from some nasty allergies that simulate a cold. I actually went to the natural foods store yesterday and bought a neti pot, which I have renamed the snot pot. Apparently,  congested yogis since the ancient times have been using this bad boy to cleanse the sinuses, and baffle Westerners, because who pours water UP their nose on purpose? I had heard from many  that this was the way to beat congestion, allergies and general sinus malaise. Having been suffering for almost a week, I decided it was time to take the plunge, literally. I took the adorable petite teapot and shoved the spout up my left nostril, humming "I'm a little teapot" all the while. The lady in the diagram looked ecstatic as water dripped in a steady stream out of her opposing nostril, so I did my best to breathe and smile as the lukewarm saline water filled my sinus cavity and slowly made its way out the other side.

THAT WAS COOL. Like, the weirdest, yet not unpleasant feeling. Like laughing and snorting milk up your nose without the burn. It made me want to climb up inside my nose and watch how this miracle occurred. And then, I blew my nose. Aside from being lightheaded, it wasn't too impressive, but I was pretty sure it was helping. Last night I slept pretty well, and my head was less stuffy til morning, when I tried to repeat the nose douche. I learned that if you are totally stuffed up, it is NOT pleasant. You can actually fill your sinuses with a cup of water without anything coming back out. It was like my head was a fishbowl. I could feel the water behind my eyes and inside my ears, like swimmer's ear in reverse. What the hell did the yogis do when they were too congested for an olfactory enema? This question was left unanswered, for the time being.

 About 4 pm I broke down and took Tylenol Daytime Cold medicine. This plus my ever present 800 Motrin began to make me feel human right about sunset. The combination of having spent the greater part of today dizzy and sleeping (with a 7 hour kid interval in the middle) and the drugs reviving me prompted me to paint the bathroom ceiling and trim  from 10:30 pm to 12:30 am. Crazy but true. At 12:30 I attacked Ryan, which took another hour, and as usual, he fell immediately into a coma.  I settled into the task of finishing the Chelsea Handler book. (Good sex always makes me wired, and I am usually resigned to read to wind down) Allow me to set the scene: I am sitting up in the bed, which has been moved from its previous position against the wall to a rather unique position up against the sliding glass window.  This is  because the wall the bed used to be against has been torn apart for the fireplace construction occurring on the other side, in the living room. The curtain is drawn so I can prop up my pillows for reading. My awesome Wal-Mart clip on lamp, which was previously attached to the headboard, is clinging onto Ryan's soccer cleat, placed some 10 inches from my head on the nightstand/dresser drawer that contains all of Ryan's underwear and socks.

(I have concluded that all men have a dresser such as this that they have had since childhood, and are greatly attached to. It was usually constructed by a family member, previously teamed with a waterbed, and it is the man's last vestige of his childhood furniture.)

I am not sure how my head ended up by his dresser, which is now piled with his shoes, since we currently have no closet ( the closet space is now the fireplace area, hence the wall issues) However, I made the most of it and since the soccer cleats have been unused for some time, seemed like the safest place to attach my very necessary lamp.

Anyway, I am reading the last chapter of the book, which is quite funny, but something else keeps popping in my head. It is, of course, something Hayden said after soccer practice tonight. Hayden frequently has comfort issues with the velcro straps of his shin guards, and they are a source of great contention. He spends a good deal of energy adjusting them and freaking out if they shift. Tonight, I  suggested he wear them outside his socks, eliminating the dreaded skin/velcro contact. 

"Hayden, do you want to try wearing your shinguard ON TOP of your socks?  I  saw one of your team mates wearing his like that."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know."

"Was it Shrivka?"

"I don't know. I was looking at his legs."

"Did he have a small head?"

I start laughing.

Chelsea Handler is describing the agony of traveling to Costa Rica with her 75 year old father, whom she calls "Bitch Tits," and I am laughing because Hayden identifies his teammate Shrivka by the minute size of his melon. This, somehow, is funnier. I am laughing out loud, which of course does not wake Ryan because of his ability to skip REM sleep and dive immediately into deep sleep. I only know he is alive because of his soft snore, which would take an entire blog to imitate. 

This train of thought continues to the other funny things Hayden said tonight, when I was giving Skylar her practice spelling test. These words are included in sentences I create like:

"WRING." " I am going to wring your neck if you don't be quiet while I am giving your sister her practice test."

To which Hayden replies, with the exact same enunciation and emphasis as I used, "CHINESE. My mom speaks Chinese when she's happy."

"CROUCH." Do not crouch on the couch." (me)

"Crotch. I will kick you in the crotch when you are happy."(Hayden)

And that is why i had to get up at 2 am, and write this down, because in the morning, after my 3 and a half hours of sleep, not only will I have forgotten all of this, I will be so goddamned tired it won't seem funny.

I had to get up and pee, anyway.

Renovate or Separate (or, who the hell comes up with paint names?)

The title of this blog is courtesy of our good friend "Obamaman." I have yet to clear "Obamaman's" permission to use his real name in my blog, so, until I do so, he shall be known as such. Anywho, Obamaman came up with the idea that Ryan and I need a reality show to document the hilarity and drama that occurs daily on our homestead. The hilarity is mostly due to my quick wit and iron fist, Ryan's compulsion to placate me, and the roadrunner-like activities of our children. (meep meep) The drama is due to the economy, basilisks, and the exes, also known as "frexemies."Frexemies is a word I created to describe our baby-mamas and baby-daddies, due to their ever-changing status of exes, friends, and enemies. Sienna the cat is also responsible for a great deal of the events of this household, as she secretly controls the entire scenario.

The latest development in the renovating of "The House on Ry's Hill" (also coined by Obamaman) is the attempted selection of a color to paint the entry to the kitchen from the garage, and the main entry and hall. The consensus was a "warm-cool brown" as defined by Ryan, supported by his explicit knowledge of the color wheel, complementary colors, and his Prismatic pencil set that was used as evidence that there are warm grays and cool grays, and apparently brown is a warm gray. Uh Hum. So, my job was to go forth to Blowes, Homey D's, and Osh Kosh B'Gosh hardware stores to find the perfect shade of tan.

The first  gallon can was called "New Penny." Unfortunately, it should have been called "Tan in the store, pink at home." The next try, I got smart and purchased one quart each of "Rolling Hills" and "Old Cedar." On the wall, these were identified as "Diarrhea" and "Explosive Diarrhea." Not exactly the best color for the walls between the bathroom and kitchen. My quest to find the color that I sought  led me to create my own paint names. "Skidmark," Turkey Dung," and "Shower Mildew" references only caused confusion and smirks from paint center employees, proving to me that those who can actually identify paint colors are surely not those who name them.

Because when you see my kitchen, do you see "Caramel Dream," or "Construction Zone Ahead?"

Luckily, we like bright orange, and this is only the beginning of the journey we are undertaking to make this space our sanctuary. So, honestly,  either name applies.

Peanut Butter Jelly Time, or, an oldie but goodie

My unsupervised time, or, why it is a good thing I don't live alone

I am eating chocolate cake and strawberries for dinner, because no one is home and I can do whatever the Hay-ell I want.  

Ryan is at his yearly hot wheel convention (yes, there are enough collectors to fill an entire convention center and hotel!) Being the loving wife that I am, and knowing he had to blow his carefully saved  hot wheel money on a speeding ticket and new tires, I slipped a hundred in his wallet before he left. This gift was accompanied by a note that said "Know how I know you're gay? You go to hot wheel conventions and share hotel beds with 5 other hairy men." I was going to stop at "you go to hot wheel conventions" but I have it on good authority that gay men wouldn't be caught dead there.  Thank you 40 year old virgin. 

Some women are afraid to be home alone. I truly enjoy it. I think I used up all my fear as a child, when the Green Goo would attack me in the car, the monsters under the bed would attempt to grab me unless I leaped from the doorway to the bed, and something living in the toilet was going to attack my butt. I have my bevy of critters who stay within a 13.5 inch radius of me at all times. 

I am simultaneously banking, myspacing, facebooking, illegally downloading music, and eating a quesadilla. Who knew Christina Aguilera and Cake makes a pretty cool mash-up? I have hat hair from wearing my Disneyland elf cap earlier to Skylar's game, and the bangs are too short, my bad. Kind of a Scott Baio look.  However,  the back looks cute. My stylist told me the back of the A-line style is called a stack. I said, "So I'm stacked in the front AND back? Sweet!"

My wild single night ended at 10:30 pm (yawn) and I popped out of bed at 7:30 am, knowing that if I went back to sleep, I could kiss goodbye any productivity today. Besides, this means I can nap as early as 10 am! The new Beck cd and a cup of coffee keep me company. Yesterday at Trader's I found some healthy looking creamer boasting creamy vanilla flavor, no trans or hydrogenated fats, no hormones, blah blah. Turns out, it tastes like non fat milk with sugar! Sucker. I should have stuck to the creamer otherwise known as crack. Vanilla coffee mate, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even drink coffee. This shit should be classified as an addictive controlled substance. Even Ryan, who drank his coffee black with sugar before he met me  and my morning meth, refuses to drink his coffee without it. (Apparently coffee that wasn't black was girly. Seriously, he thought this was a  man card violation. Need I  mention his other violations?) And coffee is not like sex, where even bad sex is better than none. If you've recently had coffee with vanilla crack in it, trust me, you'd rather do without than drink the shit I am forcing down.

My current method of brainstorming consists of this: write down every stupid thing I do, think or say that I think is funny, in no particular order. Edit, edit, edit. Remove cat from desk. Get yogurt. Listen to recorded messages I left myself on cell phone of things that seemed so funny I might forget them if they weren't documented immediately. Erase all but one. Protect yogurt from dairy-obsessed cat. Chew fingers. Go to the bathroom. Become completely distracted by examining pores in mirror. Stay in bathroom long enough to finish Chelsea Handler book.

* Can I just say, I heart Chelsea? She is totally my new role model.* 

Realize I left yogurt defenseless on desk. Return to find cat with head stuck in Trader Joe's Organic Lowfat Strawberry container. Restart Beck cd because somehow it ended already. Pay Pg & E bill. Move plant  to other side of desk shelf so cat does not decimate it jumping from the windowsill. Take yogurt cup to sink as cat tries to trip me in an effort to acquire yogurt cup. End up letting her lick it because she is so chubby and cute. Because who can resist a cat who watches the toilet flush and actually moves her head in a circle? Wow, is that cd over already? Again? 

9:21. Naptime!

After a grueling 3 hour nap, I am awoken by Ryan's call, telling me he is heading home. I spring into action. This action consists of sitting on the couch for the next 2-3 hours watching Chelsea Lately and the Colbert report.  Eventually I realize I am in great danger of pissing the entire day away, and go shower. This is followed by: more examining of pores,  blowdrying my hair upside down just to see what it looks like, (think:upsidedown Scott Baio in the front, party in the back) trying on bras I never wear and checking myself out, and realizing I'm hungry.

God, I love Sundays!