Sundays with Stretchy Pants

I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving for lots of reasons, but my number one happy reason is because, after it’s all over, then I can stop screaming obscenities at my car radio every time I inadvertently come across one of the stations that plays all Christmas music, all the time. It started on November 1st and I’m too lazy to re-set my pre-sets, so I keep stumbling upon effing Christmas music. Since the day after Halloween. It’s not right. And I will stab somebody. I know I should be thinking about effing Christmas. I know I have to buy people stuff. I know, I know, I know. I don’t need stupid songs to remind me. Kids Know Stuff is backfiring for me because, while I’m getting good gift ideas for my kids, my kids already have the stuff because they had to review it. I should’ve thought this through a little better. It works out well for you, though, because you could win a bunch of cool DVDs from my kids. You’re so selfish. I would try to win them, too, but my kids already have them. I can’t even re-wrap them for Christmas because that might be a touch meaner than usual.

This Thanksgiving, I’ll be running the Turkey Trot 5-miler for the 3rd year in a row. This year is different, though, because Mechelle won’t be here (boo!), and my husband is running it with me (yay!) Bryan is a natural sprinter; he does not “try to kill himself” by running more than a few miles at a time at super-sonic speed. The one time he tried to run with me, he had to shorten up his stride so much in order to stay slow that he got injured. I’m slow and short, with no competitive edge, enabling me to run long(ish) distances without ever having a heart attack. He’s fast, tall, competitive, and generally has ants in his pants, so it’s hard for him to pace himself. This should be interesting. The best part is, I don’t have to use my endorphins as energy for cooking Thanksgiving dinner because Kristen is doing that! Isn’t she sweet? That means I’ll be able to use that energy high for things like drinking. And pouring drinks. Should be fun. Also, Kristen‘s husband and son are running with Bryan and me. I hope they remember to wait for me when it’s over. And I hope Bryan doesn’t weep because he doesn’t come in first. The last time he ran races regularly, he usually came in first and colleges watched him and sent him letters promising money to him for the pleasure of enjoying his long, lean legs and his powerful stride. Or something like that. That’s him winning. *sigh*

I found this blog personality type analysis thingy at Wonkette, which is where I find everything of questionable value in my life. And since it must be your lucky day, I’m posting my results here for you along with the results for Kids Know Stuff.

The analysis indicates that the author of http://sundayswithstretchypants.com is of the type:

ESFP – The Performers

The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead – they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.

The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation – qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.

In case you’re wondering, and you don’t know me in real life, that is an actual picture of me. If you do know me in real life, it’s still an actual picture of me, it’s just the one that Bryan keeps in his head. For special occasions. And obviously, none of that analysis is true except for the part about it being hard for me to be in management positions. I’m extremely coachable, but I’m a horrible coach. Uh, so good thing I homeschool? Shit.

Anyway, here’s Kids Know Stuff:

ISFP – The Artists

The gentle and compassionate type. They are especially attuned their inner values and what other people need. They are not friends of many words and tend to take the worries of the world on their shoulders. They tend to follow the path of least resistance and have to look out not to be taken advantage of.

They often prefer working quietly, behind the scene as a part of a team. They tend to value their friends and family above what they do for a living.

No, that’s not an actual picture of any of the children. And, I think, not even a picture anybody would ever have in their heads. Of anybody. Ever. However, the analysis is definitely true. My babies are precious little sweety punkins. They’re vulnerable and quiet and they definitely wouldn’t think it was funny to burp on camera or anything like that.

Speaking of artists, I know some. My friend Kristen Marra Marek has some photographs in the C-note Art Show. (There isn’t a search form on the site and there are a lot of artists, so do ctrl-f and then type her name in if you want see her stuff.) And maybe vote for her stuff because it’s good. I wouldn’t try to make you vote my way, though. No, I would never do that. I think voting should be private and not talked about at all.

*cough*

I know another awesome artist in that show, too: Sharon H. Bell. You could vote for her too if you wanted to. I know it says one vote/IP address, but sometimes that’s a lie. Sometimes it’s not, but you should try to vote twice like I did in the presidential election.

And it’s a little bit freaky. Because they’ll die and then we’re next.

Bryan’s dad turned 59 on Monday and Bryan and I talked all night about how that’s almost 60 and we remember when our parenst were 33 and 34 and weren’t they old? Yeah, but we’re not old, right? Nah! And our kids will be doing this when they’re in their 30s and they’ll talk about us like we’re about to die and that’s not cool! Those kids are mean! Let’s wake them up and beat them, thus proving our youthfulness. They’ll remember that, I bet!

My parents will be 60 in January and April. They’ve never seemed old before, but 60? It seems kind of old. Not because they’re old, but because I’m too young to have parents in their 60s. It’s about me! My parents were 26 when I was born, which is pretty young, so if they’re old, I’m old. It’s only logical.

Speaking of my parents, do you know that I still know the phone numbers to all of the bars in Chesaning, even the ones that are closed now (I’m looking at you Rathskellar and Farmers Inn) and the golf course? And of course Dave’s Bar, which has outlasted them all. I do. Because I used to call them a lot when I was a little girl. (No, not to order stuff, but if you know me in real life, I can see how you would think that). I’m not judging, but I can’t imagine a scenario in which my kids regularly had to call me or my husband at the bar. My parent shame would be unbearable and my wife rage would be, well, extremely unpleasant. Like the kind of unpleasant where you say, “Wow, this gunshot wound is extremely unpleasant.” But I guess if our kids had to call us at the bar, they would just call our cell phones and it wouldn’t suddenly hit them in adulthood that they know all of the phone numbers to the bars where they grew up. I guess that means we should go to the bar more often. Then we can forget about all of this oldness nonsense. Problem solved.

Adding to the oldness problem is a little theory that Bryan and I have. We believe that if you had kids before you turned 30, then you have to add the age of your oldest child to your actual calendar age and that gives you your true, social age. So we’re not 33 and 34. We’re 42 and 43, socially. It’s true. When we hang out with real 33 and 34 year olds, we have no idea what we’re doing. None. They talk differently. They drink differently. They care about different things. If they have children at all, they probably only have one so they’re still operating under the illusion that their child is interesting to other people. And it’s awkward when we laugh at them when they tell us their 18 month old is gifted. Because we think they’re joking, but they’re not. And then they think we’re mean, which we are, but that isn’t the point. The point is, we’re way older than everybody our age. And we’re all going to die. And now I have to take pictures again.

My name is Abby and that makes me first in a lot of cell phone contacts lists. Unless you have an Aaron in there, I’m first. Or unless you mess with it like Kristen does and put AAAJoe so her husband is first. Or if you put ZZZAbby so I’m last. Anyway, if you don’t mess with it, I’m usually first.

Because of this alphabeticality (it could be a word) of my name, I get butt-dialed a lot and it’s kind of creepy sometimes. I mean, somebody calls me and doesn’t say anything, but I can hear background stuff? It’s weird. My nephew does it pretty frequently and I always think it’s an emergency. Like maybe his leg is trapped under a tree and his cell phone is just out of reach so he threw a rock at it just to get it dialing and he can’t tell that it called me and before he figured it out, he passed out from the pain. I always debate calling 911. One of these days I’m going to do it. Maybe.

The other night, Kristen’s husband was working through the night at his dangerous lighting job and he butt-dialed us 7 times and left 5 messages. We turned our ringer off, but the first time he butt-dialed us, Bryan answered and we were both a little worried that it was an emergency. I heard Bryan answer the phone and then I heard him say, “I can’t hear you! Joe? JOE!” Bryan swears he heard him say, “Dude!” which we thought meant he was probably trying to say, “Dude, I’m trapped in a puddle of water and there’s a live wire swinging around wildly! It’s just a matter of time before I’m toasted! Dude, help!” We were going to call 911, but then we remembered that we didn’t know exactly where Joe was working and we felt it would be rude to send the rescue workers on a wild goose chase, so we just turned the ringer off and went back to sleep. He was alright, though. In the morning there were 5 messages that all had Joe’s far-away voice talking about lighting and prices and what goes where. It was boring and the only emergency was that I could have died from boredom. But I listened because what if he said something interesting? What if there really was an emergency?

Really, I think I’m getting desensitized to the feeling that there’s an emergency when somebody calls and doesn’t say anything. So if there is an emergency which doesn’t prohibit your cell phone from calling me, but does prohibit your speech, you should not call me. I’ll totally hang up on you. And then I’ll make fun of you for butt-dialing me and you won’t get rescued. And that would be embarassing for me.

I think I might be a sci-fi/fantasy fan. I don’t know. I’m not sure. There are signs. My love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for instance. I thought that was just dabbling, you know? Everybody dabbles, right? But then I read an interview with Neil Gaiman on Goodreads and I thought, “My, but Good Omens sounds like a wonderful book.” And so I read it. And it was the best book I’d read in a long time. And I read Preludes and Nocturnes. (A comic? Shut your mouth!) And now I’m reading everything Neil Gaiman. After Good Omens and Preludes and Nocturnes, it was Coraline. I made the girls listen to the audio version on the Halloween road trip to Michigan. They were creeped out, but once they heard the ending, they wanted to hear it again and I was filled with glee. I’m not a re-reader or a re-listener, but I couldn’t wait to listen to Coraline again. And then Lena found a graphic novel version of it at the library and did a review of it on Kids Know Stuff. In the meantime, I checked out American Gods (excellent) and Neverwhere (extra excellent).

You would think that just the fact that I’ve been reading all of these books would tip me off to my new genre obsession, but it wasn’t until I saw that Neil Gaiman linked to Lena’s review of Coraline that I realized my true feelings. The thrill I felt upon seeing that was completely uncalled for. First, I did a little dance. Then, I sang a little song. Next, I reserved more Neil Gaiman from the library. Finally, I admitted to myself that I am a sci-fi/fantasy fan and it’s time to watch Battlestar Galactica and the complete X-Files.

I’m just surprised because I usually read Ya-Ya Sisterhood-type books, you know? Because that’s who I am. But it’s super refreshing to read these books with plot points that don’t revolve around an abused woman/child who finally learns her worth and sets her husband/father on fire or something. It’s a whole new world.

So fill me in. If I like Neil Gaiman, who else will I like?

And another giveaway at Kids Know Stuff will post today at noon. I’m not revealing anything, but it will have something to do with super healthy, tasty and fun Goji cereal. (Cereal for Christmas? Shut your mouth!) Trust me, you want to win this giveaway!