New Year, same crappy weather

Happy New Year!  I’m back!  Literally.

We returned late Saturday night from our mini vacation to the in laws house in Terre Haute, IN.

Here are some pics of the view from their huge living room window.

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I wanted to take more pictures of their beautiful home but didn’t get the opportunity.  I’m lucky to have nice in laws that tell us to leave the boys with them and go out and have fun.  In the two and a half days we were there, my husband and I managed to catch the latest Hunger Games movie and have a belated anniversary dinner.

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Here are pics of the condiments that came with the bread and the soup I ordered because I thought it came free with my meal.

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Terre Haute’s a cute little semi-rural town that’s full of farms, hills, woods, and railroads.  I probably think more of it because I associate it with free babysitting and lots of touristy type of fun, but it’s definitely home to some beautiful natural scenery.  I managed to get a few pictures of the area, but neither my phone’s camera nor the fugly winter weather did the landscape any justice.  I’ll post some spring/summer pictures in the future and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

I also hope to devote a blog post to the neighboring city of Bloomington, IN, which houses the main campus of Indiana University and was my home for a few months after my wedding.  I was accepted to IU but unfortunately never attended :(.  Bad decision making at its finest.

Here are some really ugly winter pics of Terre Haute for your viewing pleasure.  It was a rainy, foggy day when I finally got the chance to drive around town for some camera action.

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Terre Haute is home to Indiana State University, which my husband tells me is famous for Larry Bird.  Whoever he is.  The city also contains the Wabash river state park, which we didn’t get a chance to visit, a huge federal correctional facility, and what seems like half the country’s railroads.  It’s definitely train town there.

We had to stop at the local Walmart for some essentials while we were vacationing.  When we got back to the car, I adjusted my scarf and found this. IMG_4752

Yes, those are two and a quarter old french fries stuck to my scarf via crusty old ketchup stain.  I’m on a low carb diet and mostly sticking to it, so they weren’t even mine.  They must have come from my four year old’s lunch, where he was sitting on my lap, and I missed it because they got lost in the folds of an infinity scarf that wraps around your neck a few bazillion times.

And here I was thinking the people at Walmart were staring and giving me the kind of pitying smile you save for homeless people because of the fabulous new way I did my hair.  I was slightly embarrassed at first, I must admit, but compared to the other social and fashion faux pas I’ve made, this is pretty minor.  Let’s just laugh and move right along, shall we?

We came home to a lovely dinner put together by my family <gushing family love> and this. IMG_4856 IMG_4857

Have I mentioned I find winter fugly?

I’ve given up on football for the season, but my husband is still into it because his team, the Indianapolis Colts, are in the playoffs.  He’s not loving the outcome of the first round, though, where Dallas beat Detroit.  My husband feels bad for the Lions because they live in Detroit they play in the same division as the Bears and the Packers and he feels they never get a fair chance.  Lucky for them that this year the Bears decided to suck ass.

I hope not to spend so much time away from blogging in the future and want to thank the internetters who have been wondering where the hell I have been.  I started this blog as a means of catharsis after the demise of my social life around (how old is firstborn child?  oh, yeah, seven) seven years ago and as a way to keep my writing mojo intact.  Soon after, though, I realized I do have a life and it keeps me busy, apparently.  But no worries.  I return, fashion faux pas and all.

You were meant to read this

Prayers for the innocent victims of the violence in Sydney and Peshawar and for their loved ones.  Posting one of my favorite poems in their honor and memory.  Poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

It’s been a sad week.  Disturbing images of death and grief have kept me from wanting to do anything but just sit and hate the world.  That doesn’t do anyone any good, especially not me.  Too much sitting negatively affects my slower than the turning rate of a dead gerbil’s spinning wheel metabolism.  I realized I needed to get off my ass and just do something, so I decided to blog, even though I have no idea what to blog about.  If this post make any sense, it’ll have the good fortune of being published.  If not, then why should you care. You don’t even know about it.

Now that you’ve read the last paragraph, you can see what the title is implying.

I’ve attempted to blog three times this week and all three times I fell asleep with the laptop warming my thighs and the light from the screen reflecting off my face.  Once I woke up from a nightmare where I was being fondled by a giant i-pad.  I kid you not.  That shit cray cray.  I think my laptop conned its electronic brethren into sending me a subliminal message.  Do this for me or I’ll tell Apple you’re sleeping with Motorola. 

If it could talk I’m sure my laptop would say either fucking write something or get the eff off of me.  Being upset really messes with your blogging mojo.  I don’t write very well in dramatic.  When I try to, my stories come out sounding less like The Fault in Our Stars and more like the script of a bad episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians.  That’s not really narrowing it down, though, since they’re all pretty shitty.  Pick one of your choice.  There.  That’s how bad my drama is.

And please don’t say it.  Don’t.  Believe me, it’s scripted.  All that botox can’t emote on its own.

Sarcastic smart ass is more my dialect.  But there was nothing to be sarcastic or smart ass about within the past week.  There was only sadness.  So I stayed away.

What’s on my mind right now is that a whole group of people will be judged for the actions of the few or the one.  While things have been bad in the past, they’ve never been this bad.  We’ve had to change what we wear.  Alter our plans for the weekend.  Take well lit and more populated roads home at night.  That’s right, folks.  That’s right.  There’s a long, hard road ahead for us Bears fans.

Wait, what?  What did you think I was talking about?

Oh, that.  Pshaw.  I have a cousin in Sydney whose husband is a police officer.  When they visited us a few summers ago, he would go on and on about how everything’s better in Australia, from the food to the weather.  Even the pots and pans.  And we’d get irritated, because while Australia is awesome, you know everything in the US is the bestest.  Including the people.

With the weekend just around the corner, this suck ass week will come to an end, thank god.  This weekend means watching the football game where Jay Interception Cutler will be warming his ass on the bench it’ll be perched on.  Nice to see that he’s working hard for the salary that Chicago will have to, I don’t know, sell the fucking Willis Tower for? 

I don’t want to pick on the guy.  He’s not the only player on the team that sucks ass.  But when you’re being paid one of the highest salaries in the NFL, if not the highest, it’d be nice if you did something other than help the other team win.

Tried to throwback thursday that too was interceptedI’m not a big football fan.  I only got into it because my husband likes it.  I understand precisely half the game and less than that of the terminology, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it means when you throw the ball and a player from the other team catches it.  You can always count on me to get excited for the local team,  but not this season.  No.  Not this season.  *Shudders*


Now for some The View Through The Window household news.  That’s the “diamond” my son got me as a present from his school’s holiday gift shop.  He was excited when he handed it to me but said I can always take it back! when I punished him for being naughty later on in the day.  I tried to explain to him that gifts should come from the heart and aren’t conditional, to which he made a quacking duck sort of movement with his right hand and replied blah blah blah.

This is the same child who answered eat more salad when he overheard me asking my husband what my husband would tell me if he could be completely honest.  It’s a measure of how much I love the kid that the remark only got him a time out.  More than being a gift, the fake giant diamond is proof that he has a softer side to him somewhere in his utterly spoiled and sarcastically rude self.  He does love me, I just know it.

Last week we accidentally left the front door to our house wide open on our way out to run some errands around town.  So basically for over an hour our house’s welcome mat stood for my owners are sleep deprived idiots, please come rob them.  When we got back and saw what we had (or hadn’t) done, the accusations went flying even faster than the ones racking up against Bill Cosby.  I blamed my husband, he blamed me, and we both blamed the kids even though we didn’t say it.  Some shit had gone down in the van where they had dropped water on the seats and in the ensuing confusion, I guess we forgot to lock up.

I might have been sleep deprived before, but that night I was a freaking insomniac.  Even with the alarm system on I couldn’t close my eyes for more than a split second.  Behind every corner I thought I saw an axe murderer with a passion for hacking off people’s heads while they slumbered.  Luckily nothing happened, except that the next night I was so tired that I dozed off while putting my son to bed and instead of telling him a bedtime story, I started sleep talking the plot line to While You Were Sleeping

I kid you not.  You can’t make this stuff up.  This shit cray cray.

Poem retrieved from  Throwback Thursday pic from everywhere you look, because woah, Chicago is pissed.

What’s so terroristic about that?

*The why do I even bother, you know I swear too much, three out of six blog posts come with a warning disclaimer : why do I even bother, you know I swear too much, three out of six blog posts come with a warning.

I’ve been kind of bummed lately.  Not only am I facing a week filled with homework and finals, since the end of the semester is right around the corner, but my blog’s spam catcher tells me someone has used my Santa post on their site as anti Muslim propaganda.  Which totally confuses me.  If anything I thought Muslims would be offended by that post.  I can’t say I wasn’t expecting some ignorant shit, though, ever since ISI won’t even fucking finish that took the religion and mutated it to the point where even Professor X’s bald ass can’t help it much.  The painstakingly slow face lift of the Islamic faith was underway when these douches from where the eff did they come from, exactly? showed up and the patient flat lined on the operating table.

It’s the reason why I never wanted to put the fact out there.  I never wanted to mention that I was a Muslim (albeit not a very good one). I didn’t want to go through my blogging life donning a scarlet comment bubble.  I swear, I only looked at that guy twice and only one of those times was I thinking something dirty.  But it’s a part of who I am and I didn’t want to hide that either.

The mere mention of the M word makes me and the majority of the other billion followers automatically guilty by association of various types of crimes that not only would we never perpetrate, but recoil in horror from. Apparently anything I do, say, write, pick or fart is now considered suspect.  Even my gas might be poisonous.  The spammer has proven that by linking a simple, humorous Santa story to how Muslims like to invite abandoned little children into their gingerbread homes and eat them once they’re nice and fat.  Not literally, but I’m sure he could and some people wouldn’t even bat an eye lid.  I’m not that practicing, but even if I were a Muslim’s long lost uncle’s fifth cousin eight times removed to the negative tenth power times the square root of 9, I’d still be considered an enemy and a threat.

If it makes the spammer happy, there’s a good chance that I am going to hell.  Too.  You won’t find me in the I hated people based on their religion section because that’s just not how I roll, but more likely in the I slept through Fajr, watched TV during Zuhr, another episode was on during Asr, at Maghrib I ate dinner and for why I missed Isha, please refer to why I missed Fajr section.  Those are the five daily Muslim prayers, for those wondering what the eff ?   I might also be transferred to the I vomited after my first attempt at a 15 hour fast so I used it as an excuse and never fasted again area.  And let’s not forget that I can’t seem to form a sentence without sticking a four letter word in there somewhere, to the point where if I go to a job interview and the guy asks me So why are you here today?  I’m afraid I’ll answer because I want the money, mofo, and to be able to say ‘I earned this’, or else I’d still be sitting at home watching my ass grow while wearing a shirt that reads ‘I leech off my husband’ .

Great, now I’ve raised the ire of the hard cores.  A moderately liberal Muslim just can’t win these days.  We’re playing Red Rover with the ultra religious wacky and the go back to your country, towel head crowds and no one wants us to come over. 😦

Seriously, though, none of us has come off the assembly line with our factory settings firmly set to convert or kill.  Hand some ignorant dumb ass the chance to do something divinely grand with his life, while also setting up a fat 401k for the afterlife, cherry pick some religious verses on how this is what God wants you to do, really he does and you’ve got yourself Tom Cruise telling women thinking happy thoughts will make the postpartum depression go away. 

Dealing with ignorance is like talking to your senile great aunt while she’s eating creamed corn out of  a can and her dentures are falling out.  It’s a disease that starts by attacking and shutting off the parts of the human brain that control free thought and compassion.  I’d never be so arrogant enough to think that I know all there is to know about, well, pretty much anything, really, and I don’t understand how other people can.  Over a billion followers and you think those dumb fucks out in the sand dunes of where the eff did they come from exactly represent us?  Please.  Our PR department might be bad, but it’s not that bad.

I am a graduate of the school of humanity, with a concentration on a certain damn, they’ve messed it up beyond the point of recognition Abrahamic faith.  I can totally respect that there are a few billion people in the world and some of them believe the world will end in fire and some in ice, a la Robert Frost, and some think it’ll be when the Cubs win the world series again.  I personally believe that hell is actually Chicago traffic during rush hour, with a polar vortex style background, after the Bears have had their asses handed to them by the Packers and Cutler’s out for the season again.