Indiana is getting better every day. He really is. He is eating, even though he’d prefer to eat the chicken and rice and all the other fanciness my stepmom spoiled him with while we were away…potatoes, yams, carrots, apples. He is pooping, even though he’s prefer to do it, um, inside the house. He is not lethargicÂ anymore, even though he’d prefer to spend those excitable hours at, oh, um, between 2 and 4 in the morning. so, essentially I have a newborn…he can drive you batty and exhaust every bone in your body and force you to clean up his poop but you don’t really give a rat’s ass because HE IS HERE AND HE IS ALIVE…and you just want to sing from the rooftops or the Austrian mountains how blissfully happy you are.
as long as it’s not that song from Rent. That one with all the stupid numbers. The one Emily hasn’t been able to stop singing. Who in the hell taught that song to my daughter? I’ve never even seen Rent. I think the biggest problem with her singing this song allthelivelongday is that I don’t entirely hate it. and I hate Rent on principle.
the same way I hate the whole pomegranates-are-taking-over-the-world thing
and taking baths
and Indian food
and fake tans
and chunky peanut butter
and Dancing with the Stars
and Lord of the Rings
I just do. but if I actually gave these things a chance, I would most likely actually, you know, like.
(Fine, I DID take a bath once and seriously enjoyed it…even though it totally goes against my feelings about getting wet)
(I still hate showers)
It could be Lightning Crashes (although, you know, the whole placenta falling to the floor bit isn’t exactly the most uplifting of songs to be singing from the rooftops). but, my god, I may have finally found a radio station in Atlanta that doesn’tÂ play a constant Nickelback loop. and even though it’s kind of confusing because it’s called 99x, but it’s on 97.9 (WHAT?) which makes absolutely zero sense to me, but it does play music I like…and plays all the good old shit I loved in high school, and, you know, still like. Pearl Jam, Bush, STP, Collective Soul, Oasis…and, of course, Live. which, you know, sends me back to a time of oversized flannel and doc martens and mini-backpack purses and matching socks and scrunchies. and, as someone who knew me back then cleverly pointed out on facebook – - – overalls.
oh hell, did I love those overalls.
like you never.
whatever. at least they weren’t McHammer pants. or fanny packs. or pants with stirrups.
which I not only hate on principle; I hate because, my god, stirrups.