Hey! It's my blog's anniversary! Three whole years of this nonsense. To celebrate, I thought I'd do something really unique and wild and crazy and actually...wait for it...update my stupid blog. I know! Stand back, for we do know how to party around here. Don't even get me started on the barn burner that was our Thanksgiving. Hey there, good-looking. I'm a venture capitalist from Vermont. I have an emerging maple syrup conglomerate. Wanna dance? This past week has been a blur. Everything got kick-started into crazy fast motion last Sunday when we officially accepted an offer on our condo. Our real estate agent neatly shuffled the papers and glanced at her watch, noting that it was 3:30 pm and we had exactly 30 minutes left of Open House time. And then we were all, BREAK! GOOOO ESCROWS! and high-tailed it over to see a couple townhouses. We actually thought we were lost and almost turned around. (And by "we" I mean "I thought we were lost and demanded Jason turn around because THIS ISN'T RIGHT AND WE ONLY HAVE 15 MINUTES BEFORE THE OPEN HOUSES CLOSE OH MY GAWWWWD" and Jason reminded me that it's not like the realtors... Read more →

My very dark eyebags and I are pleased to report that we have a house. Okay, a townhouse. Okay, a contract on a townhouse. Okay, everything could still possibly go to fucking hell and back, but didn't the first sentence sound better and way less neurotic? I did not get my dancing monkey, but I did get four toilets, which is a downright decadent ratio of bathrooms-to-bladders, and of course no one will be allowed to use at least two or three of them because Jesus Christ, you think I am scrubbing four damn toilets on a regular basis? But still, is a very nice little house with a nice little yard. I love it to pieces. Except for the carpet. I really hate the carpet. Am going to think about all my closet space instead. Ahhh, closets. Okay. Now I have to start packing, and freaking out about the home inspections on Monday, and then work on some entries in which I complain some more about how much I hate my new carpet. Read more →

So. We hand over the keys to the new owners in 30 days 27 days. They are newlyweds and apparently we've "made their dreams come true." They are also going to "paint over everything, including the leaves I painted with my OWN HANDS in my son's nursery, letsnotthinktoohardaboutthatokaythanksbye." I've been saying "30 days" since Saturday, and yet it turns out that time is not a static concept but rather keeps on slipping (slipping!) into the future. Like dust in the wind, like sands through the hourglass, time marches on. I know! I am shocked, and frankly, I blame popular culture for not reinforcing this idea in a way I could easily understand. As it stands now, we are going to be homeless in 27 days, because we are so. flipping. nuts. When we first started this whole moving nonsense, we drove through a charming little suburban neighborhood with our realtor and I pointed at a charming little brick house and said I wanted a house just like that. And our realtor said awesome, because there are no less than 40 bazillion houses just like that around here. And I said awesome, and Jason said awesome and it was like, totally... Read more →

We are once again free to live with unmade beds, visible paper towels and brazenly exposed toasters. We have 30 days to find a new house, buy a new house, and get the fuck out. Uhh. Look! Here is a picture of my dog wearing a onesie. That pretty much sums everything up. Read more →

Realtor: There is a very good possibility that an offer will be coming in. Will you be available? Amy & Jason: YES! WE WILL BE AVAILABLE! EEEEEEE. Amy: *sits by phone, stares* Jason: *reloads realtor.com for the millionth time* Amy: *PHONE. STARES. HARD* Noah: *cuts two enormous molars, FINALLY, thus ending a week-long streak of non-stop torment and snot and fever and screaming because Amy was so used to ignoring the endless dance of the bulging-cutting-swelling-disappearing molars that it never occurred to her to maybe give the poor child some Motrin* So that's pretty much all that's been going on around here. Um. Yeah. I'll try to do something a little more interesting or embarrassing this weekend. We're going to the Oyster Riot tonight (shockingly enough I was NOT asked to come judge the wine again, haaaaaaaa loser) so maybe I'll fall down or spill wine on somebody important. Or -- horrors of horrors -- I'll show up wearing LEGGINGS. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Read more →

On second thought, don't answer that. We don't have that many hours. Here's one obvious problem, at least: Just wait. It gets worse. For the record, I am ashamed. Deeply ashamed. And yet... Um. Hee? The best part is that's an EXTRA SMALL sweatshirt. For dogs "5 lbs +/-" And Ceiba will ALWAYS be an extra small, because she will never grow up and stop being my eensy weensy baby, unlike SOME PEOPLE AROUND HERE who are suddenly wearing size 24 month clothing, which is totally not as cute as those little polka-dot footie jammies, and the hats hardly ever have ears on them anymore, and why do all the stores want to dress my child like a damn lumberjack? Seriously: this plus these plus this equals: This. Minus the ladies' undergarments, obviously, but still. Okay, Noah might have the suspenders. And I think we do maybe have a similar kind of hat. And how damn awesome is this? But I draw the line at the shirt! I have my limits! GOD. FINE. I totally don't, since the doggie sweatshirt wasn't even close to being the most obnoxious thing I purchased that day. The hypocrisy! It burns! Again: so deeply... Read more →

(The title of this post was meant to convey the Losing Of Amy's Mind, but is also [for those of y'all who are not as down and gritty and street as me] the title of an Eminem song where he goes "just lose it AH-AH-AH-AH-AH" in this weird voice, and I have been walking around the house singing that for hours now, and I don't know why I feel compelled to tell you this, except to say: I have for dead serious lost my everloving mind.) Noah has another cold. This is probably cold number five or six or 17 or so. I've lost track. Am I supposed to keep track? Because sometimes I just feel like scribbling "MUCUS!" on every page of Noah's baby book and calling it an infancy. The only thing that gives Noah any relief is this stuff, however I currently cannot find our bottle since Noah loves chewing on the rubber top of the dropper and has probably chucked it behind the couch somewhere. And before you yell at me for letting my child use a bottle of medicine as a plaything, let me explain: I am a really rotten mother. I am so rotten,... Read more →

But first, an aside.* You people CRACK MY ASS UP. Over 220 comments about toilet paper, with the vast majority of you copping to major "over" OCD and a tendency to flip (AND FOLD) other people's rolls. Seriously, I had NO idea there was a "right" way to hang toilet paper. NO IDEA. It's like that time I read how when you make the bed, any pattern on your flat sheet is actually supposed to face the mattress, so you can "see" the pattern when you fold the covers back or something, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around that AT ALL, and still to this day make the bed wrong ON PURPOSE because I am a REBEL. I don't need your RULES, man. Our toilet paper hangs free and easy and in WHICHEVER DIRECTION IT CHOOSES. And God help me, Flippy McOverNuts, I'll set up a webcam in there if I have to. *Can it be an aside if I haven't actually said anything yet? ANYWAY. The five of you who read the Quaalude Blog over at ClubMom already know my super-fun-exciting news from yesterday. As do the rest of you, I suppose, if you read the title... Read more →

Okay, so remember the time I posted a picture of my exciting new toilet paper holder? (I mean, of course you do! How could you forget?) And a whole slew of you were all, OMFG YOUR PAPER IS UNDER AND IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE OVER I AM HAVING A STROKE NOW AAAEEEIIIIIIII? Honestly, the whole thing made me want to create an entire personality test based solely on toilet-paper-hanging preferences. Which I did. Look! OVER: Sort of nuts, crazed OCD type-A types who probably get those eyelid twitches a lot. UNDER: Laid back, easy-going types who probably know where to score good weed. Anyway, my absolute favorite comment came from Jes: "My husband and I are both OCD. And we like our toilet paper OVER. So much, in fact, that when I go over to friend's houses and the TP is headed the wrong direction? I fix it for them. And I think I'm doing them a favor." Ha! She's funny. The idea of anybody being that crazy as to FLIP OTHER PEOPLE'S TOILET PAPER is funny. So very, very funny. Y'all? Somebody who came to our open house on Sunday flipped our toilet paper. Somebody who has obviously never... Read more →

I tried to take Noah to the "open gym time" at Gymboree* on Thursday. Don't ask me why. IT IS JUST WHAT I DO. But we had to turn around and come home instead, because Gymboree was ON FIRE. No! Seriously! I am only sort of being overly dramatic here. Not pictured: the two other firetrucks parked behind this one, because I wasn't sure if it was okay to be taking pictures of firetrucks, so I just snapped this one all discreetly-like from my car, lest the Invisible Photo-Taking Enforcement Police swarm me and demand my film, and no, I don't know why I live my entire life in constant fear of getting yelled at by imaginary authority figures.** Okay, so I'm being overly dramatic. (Surprise!) I don't think Gymboree was actually on fire, but something else at the shopping center appeared to be. Or maybe it was just a power outage. I don't know. Either way, no Gymboree for us. Just an up-close encounter with a lot of firemen running around the different levels of the shopping center. While carrying AXES! That was pretty cool. I don't know how many more signs from God it will take before I... Read more →