scared of blogging

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A cello

No violin in Fairytale. Only cello. I think. This explains my inability to make sense of it all.

Fairy Tale

Though I spent much of evening complaining about bad music (exceptions: Sexy Sadie, Sparkle-shirt/sweater guy Christmas thing, solo violin), was inspired enough to search out sheet music for The Fairytale of New York. Spent approximately 30 minutes tuning violin while Aidan ran circles around me. Too long for tuning. Probably why I don't play more often. Listened to c.d., track 4. Listened for violin/fiddle (they look a lot alike). Played by myself. Played with c.d. Played Tad and Aidan to sleep. Played myself into thinking that I could be a rock star for a night. But not by myself. Need Amanda. Need Mike. KT--if she wanted to. Wondering if we'd qualify as open jam. Don't know if I could do it if we didn't.

Gave up on reading. For today. Need to play music.

Adventures of Sparkle Shirt and the Moving Santa

Two beer maximum. Or three. Annoying Guy in the corner, dude. Hey dude. Don't make it bad. Fly Amero, fly away! Away! Away with the fuckface and the hugger and the white man's soul!

If I had the wings of a dove I would fly Fly away and only go back on a Monday.

Cleaning House

Should be reading 100 Years of Solitude, but instead I'm googling phrases such as "blogging about cleaning the bathtub." I found a woman who blogs almost daily about taking a bath and inevitably, about cleaning the tub. Sometimes she takes two a day. Not really very interesting. The "crazed woman" (self-described) rant was more interesting, but only mildly so. "Crazed woman" was nine months pregnant and annoyed with her family for not cleaning up after themselves in the bathroom. The soap scum got the best of her.

Last Thursday, I made a day out of cleaning the bathtub. I started with the curtains.To the washing machine with bleach. Then the towels, smelling slightly of bathroom. And the bath mat.

Donned canary yellow rubber gloves for scrubbing whatever it is that accumulates in the tub. Find it odd that we clean the thing that we clean ourselves in.

Threw out rubber non slip fish mat for reasons that are embarrassing to disclose.

Drove to Linens and Things. Explained to child why we could not purchase anything other than clear, anti-bacterial, anti-mildew, machine washable tub mat. Argued a bit and agreed to package of tub ducks.

To the washing machine to retrieve curtains. And towels. Separate loads.

Rinsed tub. Rehung curtains. Inserted tub insert. New plastic smell.

Bathed children in clean tub.

One Hundred Years of Solitude opens with a family tree and this sentence:

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."

Today I am going to omit domestic project. Instead, I will read.