If you’re viewing this on Facebook, it’s imported from my regular site, Le Blog. Click at the bottom of this post by the comments where it says “View original post” to see all of the content!
Oh, hi. Guess what? There’s E. Coli at a store near you! Gag. The very first thing I ever posted here on Le Blog was an article I wrote about beef and corn. I just re-read it and had more pause for thought about that whole hornet’s nest… ugh. If you don’t know my beef with beef, I invite you to read all about it! Oh, and here’s that junk about your neighborhood filth:
If you’re viewing this on Facebook, it’s imported from my regular site, Le Blog. Click at the bottom of this post by the comments where it says “View original post” to see all of the content!
So, I always wanted to make a baby and I did it! Before that I wanted to work in the graphic design field: check. Before that I wanted to go to school for design: also done. Before that I just wanted to party and travel Europe: still not done with that one, but I can check it off the list as having done…
I started thinking in the spring of ‘08 about changing a career. Some of you probably know that I have looked into opening my own Biergarten here in Austin. Although this is still a viable idea, it’s going to have to be shelved for the time being. There’s this boob-attachment I’ve got here that sort of inhibits business-starting tendencies don’tcha know. In any case, I’m given pause for thought these days whilst doing my full-time mothering job. I’ll have to insert here that mothering is not only the most intense work I’ve ever done (there are no days off!!!) but also the most gratifying.
After two months now (can you believe she’s that old already??), I’m beginning to get a little stir-crazy and think about what the future will hold for me aside from housework and being sucked on every few hours. Things change rapidly over here at ye olde NiColby Castle (now it’s NiColetteBy Castle!). The routine is settling in a little more with longer sleep periods every night and one of these days the nap time number is going to be a bit more regulated. (I think).
Here are some newer considerations that don’t have anything to do with laundry or diapers:
First of all, some sort of interim career is desired even if it’s sporadic and income isn’t exactly forthright or reliable. I’m not in need of income per se, but it would be nice to get a pedicure every now and again since I’m currently living on Colby’s financial teat. It’s a family boob-chain! Lately I’ve been considering writing. OK, I’ve always considered it, but I figured I needed more education under my belt. However, I went to a great resource- my other mom, Suzanne, who is a professional writer- and asked her opinion and advice. It turns out that I can submit articles on whatever the heck I feel like to any publication I so choose. There’s no guarantee that they’ll take anything I write, but if I can get published even once, there’s a foot in the door. If someone would pay me to write junk I would be doubly pleased since I do it all the time anyways.
In the meantime, I’ve got another opportunity albeit somewhat infrequent and certainly unstable in terms of cash flow. The other day Colby was on the phone with a client, and this is what I hear, “Uh, OK. Fire-engine red, eh? Hmm. Well, that might work… Hmm.” After he hung up I asked if he didn’t just need some designer services consultation. Not only was there a resounding YES answer, but could I also go with the clients to shop for their home-renovating doo-dads? Hells yes I could. This is Colby’s least favorite part of the job, shopping and working on design and I can get paid for it! I met with a client last Sunday and today. Woo! So far we just picked out some exterior paint colors and tile. Next step, interior paint and cabinetry options. I could totally do this at least for a little while. The only problem is, as with graphic design, I have never felt like the design realm was altruistic enough for me to stick with. What the hell am I contributing to the world? All I’m doing is essentially assisting with luxury projects.
So, that leads me to the next avenue! Today I signed up to volunteer with Meals on Wheels in their shopping program. Some clients can still cook in-home and need folks like me to go get groceries twice a month. Can do.
Why, you ask? Why would I want to volunteer my time? Well, because it makes me feel good for starters. Secondly, I have this overwhelming feeling of abundance and richness in my life and I didn’t really do anything to earn it. I’ve got a perfect little baby living in my house and for that I am more grateful than I can possibly describe with words. I’m not going to get on a soapbox about how bountiful my life is, but it’s pretty freakin’ great. I’m able to stay home indefinitely, I’ve got a loving (and hilarious) partner that’s glad to provide for his family (oh, who’s also handsome to boot), air conditioning, a reliable automobile, the internet, fantastic (even if retarded) pets… seriously there is a lot to be thankful for. Anyways, it’s hard to be this lucky and not want to do at least SOMETHING for my community. We’re talking 2 days a week, so not even very much, but at least I’ll be putting a little back into the pot.
Well, that’s all for today’s update. I’ll keep y’all posted with subsequent blags (shout-out, CB!!) regarding jobs, paid and unpaid…
If you’re viewing this on Facebook, it’s imported from my regular blog site. Click at the bottom of this post by the comments where it says “View original post” to see all of the content!
Colby, Colette and I took a trip out to my parents’ house on Lake Buchanan last weekend for Father’s day. It was about a hundred and million degrees outside, so consequently we stayed mostly indoors. However, whenever I’m there, no matter what the weather, I’ve just got to get down to the lake. It’s down pretty far right now so there are a ton of little stumps to watch out for.
The stumps are a result of damming up the Lower Colorado River back in the 60’s (I think!). I guess they just clear-cut what would be turning into lake and these are the last lonesome leftovers that pop out whenever there’s a drought. This one in the foreground looks like you could just knock it right over, but none of them are as precariously placed as they seem. Extensive root systems underground still hold each one in place:
The dogs put on their crazypants and rawk out every time we let them loose out here. On Saturday, Toolie went ahead and inhaled at least 3 ancient fish carcasses (that I know of) after rolling all up in their raunch. Two Thanksgivings ago, it was really miserable and cold. We’d had the dogs out at the lake where she’d scarfed down a few of the corpses. Since there were so many folks at the house and it was so cold, I put the dogs in the car where they’d be warm and not bother anyone. I had some supplies in there for making mashed potatoes the following day. Uh, I guess I shoulda known that Toolie wasn’t going to be able to resist the butter I had stashed in there because she also had three sticks down the hatch before I noticed what she was up to. That night, after feeding the dogs actual dogfood and going to sleep I awoke out of a dead sleep… by way of a SERIOUSLY HEINOUS FUNK. I looked up from the bed just in time to see Toolie slinking away from a pile of regurgitated fish and dogfood chunks floating in a sea of melted butter-barf. It’s a good thing she’s cute. That’s all I’m sayin’…
Anyways, Toolie did great this trip. She didn’t throw up or nothin’!
I really like this pair of tree trunks. I think one of them is goosing the other. Whaddya you think?
Lona’s gonna goose ‘em both! Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s just making sure there’s no tasty treats in there that she could possibly miss.
This one looks like some sort of devil tree horns. This is another of those stumps that looks like it should just fall over. Or at least be easily kick-over-able. Nope!
The colors! Wouldja lookit that water please?
And gimme a break with this cute, eh?
More of the pretties:
Lastly, I loved the lines and colors on and surrounding this one stump.
We were wondering what causes the orange coloration. It looks like rust, but there’s no pile of metal anywhere on the beach…
On our way out of town, we saw this guy:
I couldn’t resist snapping a shot of him from the car. I could hear him givin’ somebody on the phone the what-for. I dunno what about, though. But really, I mean, REALLY? This guy was there on foot with his lawnmower in this outfit talking on his cell phone. I have to wonder what the hell led to this situation and why he was chewin’ someone out… ”NAW, Cletus! You lissen hear! Ah done tole you that ye cain’t just use mah lawnmower’n ‘spect me to just READ yer mind that ye tweren’t gonna put no more gas innit! I’m stuck over here on highway 29 now an’ I ain’t even got a beer now come git me ‘fore I go crazy n do somethin’ I’mma regret like take it out on mah mower!”
I dunno where my brain gets this stuff sometimes. The lake water musta gotten to me…
It’s hard to put into words what’s going on over here because it’s so much. The realization that I’m a parent is finally starting to get through. Hey, just because they let me leave the hospital with some baby doesn’t mean it’s an immediate understanding! Here I prepared for months reading, singing to my unborn baby, talking to other mamas, thinking, writing, and generally revving up for what’s now happening and although it was all good stimulation… the ole cliches are right there at the front of the line to quip, “I SAID nothing can prepare you!” Well, that’s right.
Colette has changed my life so much more than in just the predictable fashions. Why yes, I do find myself mooing and chewing cud occasionally, and as a matter of fact I am a speedy lil champ now when it comes to answering those whimpers and sniffles, deciphering what’s needed based on the slightest of cues. Mmmhmm: Hunger. Oh yeah: Diap-ee Dump Central. Oooh: Somebody’s t-t-t-tired! Aside from all these obvious institutions of motherhood, there are the things that seem to fall in place where I least expected them…
Take the relationships that I have with a couple of my family members. These folks can push my buttons pronto, yo. Sheesh, and their dexterity at it! I mean, I’ll find myself back in grade-school sometimes ready to go medieval on their patooties. As an adult, we’re talking years of therapy that should have taught me by now how to rise above all that junk, but the only coping tool I’ve managed to ratify thus far is just a non-reaction with a subsequent, private seething rant. Thank my lucky stars this sort of thing doesn’t happen very often.
So, what happened? What’s changed? I tell ya, again with the typical adage, “Kids put everything into perspective”. Jeez, if anyone had told me 20 years ago when I was but a wee ne’er-do-well sulking to the Dead Kennedys blaring out of my cassette player somewhere on the drag that I would be this predictable, I’m sure I would have had a coronary. Hmm. Oh, sorry, anyways, I was going to say that Colette has truly showed me a different angle on life. While I was pregnant I got to thinking a lot about the kinds of behaviors exhibited in my family that I didn’t want to pass on to her. We all have those toxins slinking around in our normally well-balanced emotional systems. I was intent on the buck stoppin’ right here. I refuse to let that virus affect my kid(s). (Yeah, I put that plural in there because we want one more). But what to do about it? How do I find another way around this junk? I don’t know, it just… came to me. I could just ask the family members in question what they mean when they start with the sort of explosive dispatches I’m referring to.
Let’s take an example, and I’ll try to explain what I’m talking about.
1) They insult me as per usual.
2) Instead of stuffing it and stewing, I say (with a bemused expression), “Uh, ya know that sounds condescending, right?”
3) The response I get is a flustered, “Oh no! That’s certainly not what I meant!”
Now look, that may seem simple, but it is not EASY. A while ago, after ranting to Colby about these problems, he just said, “Sweetheart, you need to treat them as though they are RETARDED”. Dood, that shit works. If I can manage to keep in mind that they are, first of all, clearly only doing this power play junk because maybe they’ve got their own insecurities goin’ on, things are a lot easier to take. Simply put, I have found compassion. It’s not that I never cared about these family members, I just didn’t ever know how to look at them with untainted lenses.
Hey, guess what’s even weirder? The parts of myself that I don’t like… are the same parts of THEM that I don’t like! (OH CRAP)!!!!! Now this part is hard, OK? This is the really sticky stuff. I’m sorting through my personal sin-cache and I’m having to look at it all in order to weed out the bad behaviors. Uh, yuck! Thanks, BABY!
Well, actually… thank you very, very, very much.
I look down at her in my arms and I find myself straining to stop time. Please let each of these moments be etched forever into eternity, I think. I know all parents wax prosaic about their little ones, but here’s the thing: they’re magic. They make you a better person. I stare into her teeniest versions of my very own eyes and lock in until they get heavy and finally droop closed. There is nothing in the world more important. I realized the other day that if there was some ridiculous Hollywood moment where I had to choose between myself and her falling off the proverbial cliff, there would be no question. Sign me up! I just love free-falling to my death!! Let’s GO!!!
So while I’m trying to teach this miniature human all about this crazy world (that I feel like I know so little about), here she is teaching me all of life’s greatest lessons. All this without a single word.
OK, I just have to share this. It was just posted in an email group I’m part of. My friend Nikki, who happens to be black wrote the following. My heart pretty much just jumps out of my chest with how much love and admiration I have for her:
Hi! So… I just called a fat nigger at the gas station. Now… I’m not telling you guys this for sympathy or for you to commiserate with me, I just want to share this with you in order to get to a better point.
I’m at the gas station. I very much accidentally cut a guy off pulling up to the pump. He had to pull around. He got out and I immediate said ‘Sorry about that! I didn’t see you’ To which he replied ‘fucking fat nigger’.
Now, as a side note, the fat part didn’t bother me. AT ALL… Being called fat lost it’s sting when I was in like 8th grade.. but Nigger? Seriously? Who besides rappers even say that anymore? It was almost laughable. I mean I could get into a whole thing about who should and shouldn’t say that word, but really… who cares? It’s all about intention anyway.
SO ANYWAY… I respond with ‘excuse me?’ he ignores me. I say ‘excuse me? did you say what I think you said?’ His response was to say ‘you heard me’ and walk into the store… I wait for him to come out… and I approach him again (which I know is stupid… but I was so curious). I say ‘REALLY? did you just call me a nigger? In 2009? REALLY?’ he’s still ignoring me… So I REFUSE to yell, scream or cuss, because I figure that’s what he would expect. SO I smile, at him and say something like ‘btw… the president is black, so you should prolly… you know… let it go.’
My reason for sharing this is… when I got in my car, the first thing I thought was… ‘wow, just when I forget I live in Texas!’… but strangely, my second thought was… I am SO lucky. I spend most of my time around white people. Seriously… like 80-90% of my time is spent with someone white. My love and energy is spent predominately on white people. Miraculously I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been called that word maliciously. In 34 years ya’ll.. That’s amazing! I am so lucky. I’m lucky that the people I spend my time with have never made me feel unwanted, or unloved, or different. I’m lucky that I can be in situations where I am the ONLY black person, and never feel out of place. Sure, some of it is my obliviousness, and my naive thinking that I can go anywhere I want at any time… but a lot of it is because my friends provide a safety and love that never causes worry.
So seriously… not to get all mushy.. but, you guys are awesome. I love you so much, and I’m just so fucking lucky to have found you. I don’t say it enough. At some point each of you amaze, surprise and inspire me. I’m really thankful. Because I don’t think that Nikki from 10 years ago would’ve let his ass drive off with throwing SOMETHING. And I know a lot of that is because of this place I’m in right now. I can’t explain it, but it has a lot to do with all of you.
I don’t know what kept me from photographing the action while Colby was shaving the Prof, but this is the aftermath. Poor, poor Professor got his summer haircut. Two summers ago Colby and I shaved him ourselves. It didn’t turn out so well and the Prof was appropriately horrified. Well, he was happier afterwards, and though I didn’t exactly retire my broom, things were at least marginally less fluff-tastic around the ole homestead.
Last year when I figured I’d just bite the bullet and take him to the groomer to get it done right, they told me I’d have to have him sedated. I mean, I walked in with my normally way laid back kitty who even lets my large-ish dogs nose him on a regular basis, and the guy turned into a demon-puss. Whose cat was this?? We got by without shaving him that year, but then again, we were busy…
This year I’ve turned into a 100% domestic lady- an unwed housewife, even! The hair: it is the bane of my existence… along with the fleas (and cockroaches who, although they have nothing to do with this story must be mentioned because they are really even worse than all the hair and fleas in the whole world put together). So it was that Colby and I decided to shave the Prof and Toolie whose hair is a lot longer than Lona’s who we left out of the shaving party.
I sent Colby to the vet to get some kitty sedatives. I figured, heck, if we’re going to pay for them, we might as well shave the dang cat ourselves, right? The vet told him that they use phenylbarbitol (sp??), an anti-seizure medication. She also said it has about a 50/ 50 rate of, uh, making a cat either crazy or sedate. She likened it to how when you drink, and sometimes you pass out… aaaaand sometimes you go bat-shit crazy. Guess what kind of cat we have. Go ahead.
Colby gave him a pill a few weeks ago and I came into the living room to find the Professor wrapped around Colby’s pant leg making love to his ankle. This is, um, not typical behavior. A bit later, with the reasoning of, “at least he’s high right now”, Colby and our friend Chip decided to have a go at the shearing. This didn’t just not go over well, Big P was having NONE of it. So they got the scissors since they figured he hates the clippers so much and gave him such a sad haircut that a friend came over a few days later and lamentingly commented, “Oooh, he’s got the mange”. She was dead serious.
Fast forward a week, after I finally sucked it up and opened up a vein for some professional pet clippers. Well, I’m here to report that I have NEVER heard noises like that come out of a cat in my life. You would have though we were seriously brutalizing this poor feline. Slowly killing him, say, with scalding oil drip by slow drip. Naw, just giving him a HAIRCUT!
Anyways, the amount of hair was UNREAL. We shaved Toolie next, who before receiving treats, reacted about the same and then relaxed into it.
If you could read Prof’s mind, I believe here he was thinking, “You bastards!”:
PERHAPS without all this hair we’ll actually have a little less fuzz. Perhaps.
Oh, and lastly! Note Toolbox’s light undercoat! She is half Husky after all, so here you can see how shearing off the top layer of black-tipped fur has given way to the white undercoat:
I keep looking outside going, where’d that dog come fr- oh. She looks like she’s got her head on the wrong body!!
The animals seem to be scratching less from fleas. I’ve been calling it the war of the roaches over here, but more accurately it’s just war of the bugs. 2 yard sprays, 2 house sprays, 2 under-house bombings, 400 roach motels, and multiple pills, sprays and dips administered to the animals, we are slowly making a dent in this battle.
So, this here article tells the top foods to buy organic. Another link found on the page tells you about foods that don’t need to be bought organic. I knew most of that stuff about meat and dairy (this picky lil palette certainly doesn’t entertain anything but fancy shmancy organic meat), but I learned some interesting things about which vegetables to buy organic. Traditionally, I’ve just bought the stuff that I could afford to buy organic. If it costed over about 25% more, I would usually just go for conventional. In any case, as a buying guide I found this to be really handy… And BTW, if you read the article, you have to click on each little food icon over on the right to read about each one.
I am obviously a woman and therefore have not patronized this establishment. I’m giving it one star because the guy who’s there all the time is a disgusting asshole.
I work down the street from this place and am often forced to walk past it to get food. Dude sits outside all day and makes suggestive sounds and comments to women. I try very hard to walk out in the street when I must past by, hoping I’ll go unnoticed. If he does say anything I just act like I didn’t hear it. Today, since I was in the street, he decided if he YELLED at me I’d respond. “Strawberry! Hey, Strawberry!” Aw, how endearing. BARF! I yelled back, “Don’t talk to me. NEVER talk to me!” and made my way into Little City to order lunch. Uh…he FOLLOWED me in! And standing very close to me at the counter, towering intimidatingly over me said (get this), “You got a problem with a black man talking to you?” Oh fucking PLEASE! “This has NOTHING to do with your race. Don’t talk to me.” He leaves, I stew. Order a salad from the nice young man behind the counter. Wait, stew, receive salad, thank nice man, walk right over to Belvederes MEN’S Day Spa and say, “I owe it to myself to give you an explanation. I see you oogling and cat calling women out here all the time. It’s demeaning and rude.” Rude Demeaning Man calmly explains that he’s just trying to round up business, that’s all. Take a moment to process that….
HOW in the HELL does talking down to women passing by muster up business in your MENs day spa?! Do men see him doing that and say, “That’s the place for me!” I went on to tell him it’s rude and he went on to tell me I’m the first to think so. Again, I say BARF!
I’m proud I finally said something. We’ll see how my future trips to happy salad town go.
Don’t look at me, I didn’t give her those preternaturally long toes! I guess you can’t tell from underneath that Colby has chopsticks for toes. Trust me, the man can pick up pretty much anything with them. Too bad he’s the opposite of limber and can’t get his feet much more than a foot off the ground!
Hi, I'm Nicole Labry.
I tend to think of this place as a scrapbook of my brain. (Welcome to Randomtown, population 1). I live in Austin, TX with 2 mutts, 1 extremely puffy cat, and 1 giant boyfriend that resembles a handsome Brawny Towel Man. We're working on making a baby. Her name is Colette, and she's due sometime in mid April. I make designy things and would like to one day own my own biergarten. I like to call myself a humanist.
Here is the puff-daddy:
Leaving Comments:
Comments can be entered UNDER each post. I know it looks like the comment link is above each post, but that just ain't the case... and I haven't figured out how to fix it just yet! Also, you don't have to register with disqus to leave a comment. Talk to me- I like to hear your opinions!
