cranky pixels

Why’d I call myself Cranky Mama again? Oh, right.

Here’s a list of this week’s peeves:

• Yes, I can probably build that website faster than you can. No, that does not mean I will do it for 1/16th of my stated estimate because you ‘think that’s what it should cost.’ I post my rates prominently on my business site; if you can’t afford to hire a designer, don’t hire a designer.
• That said, don’t come crying to me when your website looks like crap.
• Especially if I did do you a favor and make some tweaks to your site on the cheap, which is RARELY A GOOD IDEA, so remind me of that next time, yes? 
• Although sometimes it works out gorgeously, which lulls me into a false sense of security. 
• Dear Public: Maybe you do not use the same internet I use. Because my internet gives me the ability to fact-check, while yours apparently just supports every crazy-ass idea that comes into your head. You should use my internet next time.
• And on an unrelated note, having a long torso means low-rise trousers look terrible on me. Yet what is in all my drawers? LOW RISE, YOU HAVE WON THIS ROUND.
• Hair. Specifically my hair, and the fact that it does not do what I want it to do. Why you got to be like that, hair? I style you. I buy you expensive shampoo. What more do you want from me?

Oh, but it’s not all doom and gloom at Chez Cranky! No sir and/or madam, there are plenty of reasons to put on a party hat and dance like the devil, and here I shall enumerate:

• Easter candy. YES I SAID IT. Creme Eggs, people. I am just depraved enough to kidnap me a Cadbury bunny.
• My kid woke up in the middle of the night and said quite clearly “The dinosaur doesn’t eat that. Okay, mama?”
• Also: “Row, row, row your boat / gently down the drain…”
• Clearance at Target = closetful of cute clothes for me. Yay Target.
• I solved the Scone Issue that has been plaguing me and now have freshly-baked scones upon which to gorge. Burp.
• I have mostly wrapped my head around floats (in CSS). Shut up, it’s exciting to me.
• My new MacBook is all that and a bag of chips. It’s so sexy I keep having to stop myself from making out with it.
• I’m almost up to 80,000 words on my book.
• And stuff.

So, see, I am balanced. BALANCED I TELL YOU. Now be quiet: I’m hunting wabbit.

Got a super cute pair of Aerosoles on clearance at Macy’s. I love Macy’s clearance sales because things are marked down so much it’s just ridiculous. Seriously, where else can you find the 40% off rack with an additional 50% markdown? (I am a sucker for a good sale.)

These particular shoes are a teensy bit big (which, I know, shouldn’t even be possible given the massive size of my foot-planks) but once I add some insoles or whatever they should be fine. Also, they’re red. I love red shoes. I wonder if they’d make me look whorish paired with a kicky little plaid skirt?

After the 1,257th* consecutive day wearing jeans and a tee shirt, I started to think that maybe I could use some fashion advice. I used to be cute. Seriously! I had what they call “style,” which mostly means I wore a lot of black and had too many shoes.

(That’s me, circa 2003. Eagle-eyed viewers will note that my hair is remarkably similar now. Red stripe FTW!) I’ve been sort of at a loss lately as far as fashion is concerned. Not enough energy to go goth (plus, let’s face it, do I really want to perpetuate the Chubby Goth Girl stereotype?), too much belly fat to be hip, too old to be trendy. What’s a girl to do?

Then I started reading fashion blogs like the inimitable Some Girls Wander (which, like every other blog I come across at random, is by someone in Portland) and I realized that what it really comes down to is cute shoes and ruffles. Once you’ve got the cute shoes and the ruffles, it’s all good.

So! I’m going to start a) haunting consignment shops, b) combing sale pages and sites like 6pm and DSW (oh, let’s be honest, I was doing that already) and c) learning to use my sewing machine. At some point this has to equal cute outfits, yes?

Not going to ditch the jeans and tee shirts, though. I’m still made of me, you know.

*All numbers are approximate. And by “approximate” I mean “completely made up.”

So, you caught the ref to my emergency room adventure in the last post, huh? Yeah. As it turns out, ovarian cysts can feel a lot like appendicitis, only – surprise! – they’re just a totally benign set of baubles, hanging out in my ovaries and making me want to die. I bet my face was red! And not just from the morphine!*

It turns out I’ve got hemorrhagic cysts, which typically reabsorb or something, but in my case have merely proliferated and grown fat and lazy. They’re harmless, if by “harmless” you mean “extremely painful but not actually going to kill me.” Ask me how much I like the idea that my body spontaneously creates things which cause me excruciating pain! Because, seriously.

And it wasn’t like I’d planned on spending the first full day of my New York vacation being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance while I sent a pain-muddled text to my poor friend, due to meet me any moment, saying “I’m so sorry I can’t meet you but I’m on my way to the emerg room w/ severe abdom pain” – which, I would like to point out, is NOT THE SAME AS SPENDING THE AFTERNOON AT MOMA, thanks a lot, ovaries.

*Have I mentioned I don’t like morphine at all? I mean, yes, it took away the brunt of the pain, which was definitely of the good, but it gives me the spins something fierce and just makes me want to sleep for about five years, which isn’t exactly helpful when hospital-folk want questions answered in a competent manner. Then again, my gasping in agony wasn’t exactly helpful, either.