|Conan the Barbarian, of course|
I've already given my husband the warning:
"For your own safety today, I advise you all to give me a WIDE BERTH."
* From http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/wide-berth.html "The Phrase Finder":
'A Wide Berth'
A goodly distance.
'Wide berth' is most commonly found in the phrases 'keep a wide berth of', 'give a wide berth to' etc. It was originally a nautical term. We now think of a ship's berth as the place where the ship is moored. Before that though it meant 'a place where there is sea room to moor a ship'. This derives in turn from the probable derivation of the word berth, i.e. 'bearing off'. When sailors were warned to keep a wide bearing off something they were being told to make sure to maintain enough sea room from it..."
Isn't the computer fun, peeps???
For breakfast I had pizza and Doritos. Breakfast--you know: the most important meal of the day? And now I'm floating facedown in a cup of coffee. Every time I succumb to this sodium/fat/msg-laden crap, I hear the same chirpy PMS advice rattle through my brain:
*avoid salty foods, as this will make me turn into a human water balloon
* avoid sugary foods, as this will make my blood sugar rise and fall like a rollercoaster ride
* avoid caffeine as this will only make symptoms worse
But, I've added my own rule to the end of that, which TRUMPS all the others:
* do whatever it takes to avoid lopping off heads like that dude in Highlander.
So, I had the zesty cheese chips and a slice of pizza. I considered washing it all down with some egg nog, but I'm not a total animal, so I had some freaking apple juice instead.
Apple juice. Why do children love it so much? Why, as it becomes apparent that I HAVE to go for groceries today, is apple juice the only juice left in good supply? No orange juice. No antioxidant-rich berry juice. No, just apple juice, which I will NEVER like again after surviving all those years with childhood illnesses, nursing a cup of room temperature apple juice or gingerale. I should also note that it took years before I liked Canada Dry Gingerale again. Years.
This is how I imagine a conversation with my PMS Brain would sound:
PMS: heat up that pizza
karen: isn't it a gross waste of energy to heat up the oven for ONE piece of pizza???
PMS: JUST F$#&ING DO IT!!!!
karen: okay, okay!
PMS: mmgoodmmph mmph chompchomp pizza good...oh no
karen: what? What's the matter?
PMS: this pizza slice isn't going to cut it. WE NEED MORE FOOD
karen: okay! Okay! Calm down!
PMS: GET THOSE DORITOS
karen: Should we be eating those for breakfast?
PMS: yeah, it's SO much better if you eat them at bed time, dough head.
PMS: mmgoodmmph mmph chompchomp zesty cheesy chips good
karen: yes, they are good, and they're making me feel...happy! CHOMPCHOMP--
PMS: what the hell do you think you're doing?
karen: I'm eating these chips
PMS: oh my god. You're disgusting. What are you doing eating nacho chips for breakfast. FRUIT, WE NEED FRUIT. Seriously, you should be ashamed of yourself.
So, as I was eating my horrible breakfast, and being left (mercifully) alone, I was musing again about recreating my Polish grandmother's pierogi. This will be the 2nd Christmas without grandma, and everyone has Grandma's own creation of pierogi filling on their minds.
* pork roast, boiled until soft...then, put through the meat grinder
* saur kraut boiled...and then...through the meat grinder
* canned mushrooms...meat grinder
* fried onions
* loads of pepper...
* make dough with the recipe in my Ukranian Ladies' cookbook...
ponder, ponder, ponder...
I have the meat grinder too. Grandma's meat grinder. It's some heavy, industrial, no frills little contraption that I'm supposed to clamp on to the end of my table for use. My brother asked me what I think of it. I told him that using it will make me feel like even more of a carnivore than I already am. Sheesh. Hey, there's even an ancient tubette of some mystery meat that Grandma failed to clean out of one of the little holes. Yeah, exciting, right?
It's soothing thinking about it though. And let me tell you, I'm in a not so soothing state of mind. Little Ella's been hacking up a lung (pardon that ugly expression) for days now, so every time, during the night, she hacked, I woke up. Hack, awake. Hack, awake. Y'dig?
Yesterday at breakfast time, The Man was standing attractively in his pyjama pants with no shirt on. He goes to karate twice a week, and I pointed out to him that he had more "cut" to his muscles thanks to that (He'd be displeased to know that I'm even typing this, but the point of it is not about HIM, but about my hyperbolic response). He then did an easy flex and turned his stomach into a four pack. And I said; "isn't it nice that when men have children come into their lives, their bodies don't have to change? Isn't that great? You know, YOU PEOPLE should thank me. You should thank me EVERY DAY."
Ha ha ha, I'm a picnic, aren't I?
It is now 1:11 on a Sunday afternoon. Ella has been cooped up in the house since Friday. Jack has been having a youtube festival all weekend, and even now is tapping his foot impatiently for me to get off the computer. The Man appears to be coming down with something now and I am nearly debilitated with the need to stick a pen in my eye and end the angst.
And so I end this rant with a question: how far can a half tank of gas get me?