Lately there have been far too many USO’s laying around our house.

Little black flecks of what seems like …hard plastic? Somewhat reminiscent of when the dog chews something up…except that I can’t, for the life of me, find what it was that has been destroyed, and all the flecks are the same tiny size (not characteristic of a chew-up).  See, he never actually eats anything he chews up, so we always find it on the floor in 5 kazillion pieces, but with a large chunk of it still intact.

And in addition to being scattered about the living room floor, the black flecks are in rooms where the dog hasn’t been.

Apparently, The Aliens haven’t been cleaning their shoes before they traipse through our house.

And then there’s the paint flecks. Little Button keeps bringing me these little pieces of what I can only describe as dried iridescent purple nail polish. No idea where she’s getting them from. Little random bits that seem to have been torn off something I don’t recognize in the slightest. I don’t even own nail polish. When they get wet, they get kind of sticky and really pliable.

Obviously the exterior of The Aliens’ space craft needs a new paint job.

So I vacuumed the living room to get rid of all the mysterious “flecks.” I’ve been wanting new carpet for a while now because the carpet that we have was put in when the house was built and it’s pretty mashed down and dirty and has several stained spots. So after I vacuumed, I looked at my floor. And I just couldn’t take it anymore.

I pulled out “The Beast,” our massive clunky carpet shampooer, and went to work. I cleared all the furniture, shampooed and rinsed. 3 hours and 15 gallons of nasty, brown water later, I had a much nicer looking floor that was no longer mashed down (at least, not nearly as much) and a really tired arm. That thing is hella-heavy and there is nothing built into it to assist you in dragging it back and forth across the carpet.

Afterward, the carpet was quite wet. And try as I might, I could not get it into Little Button’s head that it was not a good idea to go running across the wet carpet and onto the oh-so-slippery tile, particularly by the fireplace which for some reason was THE PLACE TO BE during that timeframe.

Unfortunately, our living room is constructed in such a way that it simply isn’t possible to blockade her out of it. As a result, she took many, many spills and I eventually had to strap her into her highchair for her own safety. She was none to please about the former, nor the latter.

She hates falling - even if it doesn’t hurt her, it makes her angry to have her groove interrupted so rudely. Her legs go out from under her in two different directions and when she lands on her butt she looks at me like Did you do that? Because I had everything under control. What just happened???

“It’s The Aliens, honey.”

We had scheduled a furniture assembly company to come by today and (10 points to anyone who guesses this) assemble some furniture.  But the desk/hutch/bookcase were in boxes at my parents’ house where they have been since before Christmas.

So J called up Jon and they collected the really big boxes of disassembled furniture and brought them to our house.

And put them in the living room.

I asked J why he and Jon weren’t bringing the boxes upstairs to the office, where the assembled furniture would go.  He replied that he would let the assembly guys do that.

I asked him if he was sure that assembly companies moved furniture - after all, they were assemblers, not furniture delivery men.  He said something about it would be silly for them not to move it where it was supposed to go, in order to assemble it, and that they weren’t going to show up and then leave because it wasn’t in the right place.

Again, I asked him if he was sure about this, and if they would charge us extra for having to move it.  He assured me that I had nothing to worry about and that it would be the assembly company’s responsibility to get the boxes upstairs.

By now, you’ve probably guessed where this story is going.

A short while later, the assembly crew guy showed up.  He took one look at the boxes and informed J that he was not moving any boxes, especially up stairs.

So guess who gets pulled off her butt in the middle of a work-related project to move three 200-pound boxes up a flight of stairs.

Just to be repetitively clear on something…Those things were HEAVY.  I couldn’t even lift my end of one of them.  And all the while, Mr. Assembly Man is standing there watching me break my back with this look of hurry up, I didn’t drive over here to wait.

Not that he would have been much help.  The guy looked like an emaciated version of ZZ Top and seemed to have enough difficulty getting his own bag of tools up the stairs.

But still.

Afterward, he didn’t even clean up after himself.  It’s one thing to avoid carrying heavy boxes up the stairs for liability.  It’s quite another to charge $200 to put a few screws in some furniture and then leave all the empty boxes and debris all over the place.

or “Why I’m the Biggest Dork Alive Vol. #17″

I was my own Southwest Airlines commercial tonight.

I was invited to a “Spa Party,” which I was looking forward to as it fits nicely with my self-indulgence motif. The host’s house is approximately 45 minutes away, so I made sure to leave in plenty of time to get there by 7pm, allowing for “lost time,” and made it almost exactly on time. I was, however, a little curious as to why there were no cars parked outside and the porch light wasn’t on.

The host’s husband answered the door and it took him a few seconds to recognize who this woman was, standing in his doorway looking so expectantly. He gives me a polite, but confused “hi” and then she comes to the door.

When she sees the slightly bewildered look on my face, she makes a pretty good guess at why I’m here.

“It’s tomorrow night.”

“It’s…what??? Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” She’s giving me that look that says Stupid people are so cute.

“Are you sure???” I ask. Apparently there is some small part of my delusional mind that actually believes I know more about her party than she does. Like I’m expecting her to say Oh, actually come to think of it, you’re right - it was tonight and EVERYBODY BUT YOU GOT IT WRONG.

“Yeah. …Do you… want to come in?”

“Tomorrow night? What is today?”

“Tuesday.”

“And it’s tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Um…We’re just about to sit down to dinner - are you hungry? You could stay and have dinner with us.”

I look past her to see that they are apparently having company. My face turns about 3 shades of red.

“Um…no, thanks. I’ll… be going…now…So it’s tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, are you free tomorrow?”

“I don’t know…I hadn’t even thought about tomorrow night until…now.”

Suddenly, I realize what happened. Another friend of mine was having a party on Tuesday night. I mumble some explanation about Other Party…Tuesday…Jewelry…I’ll be going now…

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner - or are you going to see if you can make it to the other party?”

Actually, the other party was last Tuesday, and I wasn’t able to go. For some reason, the day “Tuesday” stuck with me and I guess I had transferred it over to this party. But in addition to seeming like overkill, that much explanation would probably make her think I had just gotten off the crazy bus. Instead, I just muttered something along the lines of “yes.” And then I left, pausing briefly to scrape my sense of pride off the doormat.

I’ve been on a roll recently with humiliating myself at other people’s houses. Maybe I should just stay home tomorrow night.

This weekend I started a phase of self-indulgence.

J watched Little Button on Saturday for 4 glorious hours so I could go shopping by myself (and he gave me some shopping money for no reason, so I didn’t even have to spend my own play money - SUWEET). I came home with a new haircut, new clothes, and a trial sized version of a new skin regiment that costs way too much and that I would never splurge for, except that my birthday is coming up next month so if I like it, other people can buy it for me. 

I like it.

To my surprise and relief, Button didn’t seem to care at all that my hair was shorter. A good thing, as part of me was afraid she wouldn’t know me without the extra 6 inches. Yesterday, I took the test one step further and colored it auburn - something I haven’t done in 2 years. Granted, auburn isn’t too far off my natural color, but she still knows her Mama, which makes me happy that she loves me for more than just my hair. I was beginning to wonder…

There’s something about the little things I get just for me that make me feel better about myself. Today I don’t feel nearly as fat, frumpy and past my prime as I did last week. This is important right now because 27 has always been a “marker” age in my mind - where I officially have to turn in my badge of youth and become an adult. I turn 27 on the 27th of next month.

So for now, I’m enjoying my self-indulgence and planning to set an appointment soon at a nearby spa to which I have a GC. Have any of you ever had a body wrap? I’m curious to know if they really work as well as I’ve heard as far as taking inches off the middle.

I’m also considering getting some of that reallyreally expensive MAC makeup to go with my new hair. Just for fun. And ’cause I can.

Well, I think I can. I’ll have to see how much is left in my “play money” account.

As I mentioned a couple days ago, this month marks 2 years that I’ve been blogging. It’s interesting to look back and see how much has changed during that time.

For instance, This Post was written 2 years ago today. At that point, I was pregnant with Little Button but didn’t know it yet.

People I talk to on the phone are still stupid, though I must say I think our distributors have gotten a little better. As long as they’re not discussing websites.

That 12 pounds that I was inching away at? Two years and a baby later, it has become 15 pounds. Bummer. I’ve informed J that we cannot have another child until we have enough money in savings for me to get abdominal liposuction after the delivery. I am so not kidding about that.

My food allergy is still a mystery. It got me again Thursday night at JaI’s house. Spaghetti with non-cheese marinara and a soft drink - a meal that is practically a staple in my diet - and yet 10 minutes later I ended up in the bathroom emptying the contents of my body.

As much fun as having an “episode” at somebody else’s house is, it’s even better when there’s a stranger there (the Verizon guy was hooking up Fios in the room next to the bathroom).

And even better when you have to ask your hosts for a plunger. Do I know how to have a good time or what??? Just take my word on that one.

Whoopee.

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