Over the weekend I was cleaning my kitchen because sometimes I do that. Not often, but sometimes. There was a spider hanging out on the counter, and in my domestic opinion, rogue spiders do not a clean kitchen make. I hollered into the other room, "Baby, will you come take care of a spider for me?" And yes I might have said "kill" instead of "take care of." To my defense, I knew Mike wouldn't actually kill the spider. He never does. That's just the kind of gentle, loving man I married. Furthermore, I probably wouldn't have killed it either. I probably would have left the room in a very strong state of denial.
Anyway, so Mike walked into the kitchen, took a look at the spider and said, "Oh, that's just Fred." I ... well, I can't remember how I responded, truth be told, but I think it was something along the lines of "What?" "Yeah, I found him the other day and put him in our houseplant. I thought he'd like it there." Hey, you know what spiders also like? WALKING WITH THEIR EIGHT LEGS. Maybe a HOUSEPLANT on our WINDOWSILL above our SINK where I wash our son's BOTTLES isn't the best place for Fred. After a few more rounds of, "Wait...what?" Mike picked up Fred and decided to just put him outside. Probably so I'd stop writing in ALL CAPS or something.
"Oh crap."
"What?"
"Fred jumped out of my hand."
Oh, yes. A jumping spider is exactly the kind of pet I would have chosen to inhabit our kitchen.
Instead of just admitting there were a few very crucial holes in his plan, Mike said, "God, Fred is in a mood today."
Yeah, this is my life.
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So, the VMAs, should this 27 year old comment on them? You're shaking your heads in unison, I CAN ALMOST PICTURE IT, and I'm sure the world really doesn't need one more person calling Kanye West a douchenozzle, but KANYE WEST, YOU ARE A DOUCHENOZZLE. It's not even that I think he was wrong -- although I personally think Taylor Swift is 1) talented, 2) classy and 3) a crazy good role model for teens compared to, oh, EVERY OTHER SINGER OUT THERE -- but if you feel like speaking out against the injustice of AN MTV AWARD, MY GOD, then take to Twitter. Twitter was totally made for this shit. Or take to your personal blog. Or bitch to that woman you brought with you. Rant and rave to anyone with a microphone when that microphone is, you know, OFFERED TO YOU. But don't crown yourself the awards police.
In other VMA-related news, I still love Greenday. I still don't get Lady Gaga although the woman has a killer body, I WANT THOSE ABS. I still kind of roll my eyes at Mike's hardcore crush on Pink while simultaneously kind of having my own hardcore crush on Pink. And I still get goosebumps every time Alicia Keys opens her ridiculously talented mouth.
The New Moon trailer also reminded me why I jumped on the very big, very littered with tweens Twilight bandwagon in the first place. Oh, it looks good!
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The True Blood finale was the biggest letdown of any finale I've seen in ages. THOSE WERE NOT CLIFFHANGERS, TRUE BLOOD POWERS-THAT-BE.
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I have not forgotten about choosing a winner from this post. I have to sort out all the comments I personally left like a total, clueless idiot, and then figure out how many actual comments there were. So, simple math. I have to do simple math, and that's the hold up. Yeah.
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We also went to a birthday party for Kyle's cougar girlfriend, Payton, this weekend. (Crystal's baby girl.) She turned one and had a Hello Kitty party to celebrate. Kyle had a blast, and I think this picture accurately captures that.
He's just SO! EXCITED! ABOUT! THAT! PIG! He doesn't have that many toys at home as you may able to tell by his PURE GLEE! But, just look at him, geeked out over this toy. I was watching him at the party, and the way he was sharing toys and interacting with the other babies and watching Payton open her gifts, and this is so cheesy and ridiculous, but I almost choked up because LOOK AT THAT LITTLE PERSON. He's no longer a teeny-tiny infant you can stick in the corner asleep in his car seat. I can almost make out the little boy and the bigger boy and the glaring-emo-adolescent boy he'll turn into be. I can see this person emerging, more and more every day, and it's beautiful. It's everything. It really, really is. No one warns you about these moments, and I'm pretty sure if they did, you'd look at them like they had lost their minds anyway. A PIG, WOMAN? REALLY? God, get over your stupid mom self already.
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After I put that LITTLE PERSON to bed tonight, I'm pouring myself a glass of wine and enjoying the premiere of two of my favorite CW shows. So, yeah, it's not all mom stuff around here. Sometimes it's 16-year-old TV tastes, too.
