Daily Diatribes

I have nothing to blog about so I am going to free associate. After all, some of the most creative minds in history used this method to create their masterpieces. Like e.e. Cummins (or is it Cummings….what the hell do I know??). And Robin Williams. So why shouldn’t I take this approach to blogging and see what I produce?

I feel really sorry for the mother of the teenager who was decapitated on Saturday at Six Flags. Had I been his mother, I would have arrived on the scene, picked up the head and smacked it around a lot and screamed at it. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING??? IF YOU WEREN’T ALREADY DEAD, YOU WOULD WISH YOU WERE!!! NO MORE COMPUTER FOR YOU MISTER!!!” He jumped a fence for God’s sake. Two fences. Fences are usually erected for a reason. They weren’t decorative. I would hate to go down in history as the mother of the stupid kid who got his stupid head cut off. Dumb shit.

We pulled into the parking lot at church last week and saw a family with triplets crossing the parking lot. Napoleon rubbed his hands together with glee. “Oooooh, triplets,” he said, “let’s get them and we can make some money off of them. You get all kinds of free stuff with triplets.” I stared at him. What the hell goes on his mind?? I guess he thought we could tour them around the country like an exhibit and charge money. Because triplets are sooooo rare and people will pay gobs to see them. He is a weird kid. Then again, he pees musically so what do you expect?

MA has two volumes: loud and screech. There is a third, LOUD SCREECH, but you have to be an expert to discern between the three. She is currently stomping around the house, screeching, because “I HAVE TO DO ALL THE WORK AROUND HERE NO ONE ELSE DOES ANYTHING AND I HATE YOU ALL!!!” Really, that translates into “thank you for giving me the gift of life and I love you all so much it hurts.” It really does. I promise.

Yesterday, I picked up the goddess’s swim team ribbons. She had a really pretty red one and it proudly declared she had won 12th place. Wow, there’s one for the wall of fame! Don’t think you won’t be seeing her in the 2016 summer olympics!! It was from last year and she is doing much better this year. I believe she’s moved up to 10th place.

We are going to Alabama Adventure today with Nancy. Blue Momma, I forgot to tell you….it’s not too late for you to meet us!! I love Alabama Adventure. I couldn’t find our passes, though, so I had to search through my car. It has been condemned by the health department. I found a First Communion gift I bought for someone two years ago. Maybe I can give it to her for Confirmation. I found the baggie of condoms I got at the Gay Pride Parade: Safe Sex is Good Sex! I found one pearl earring, which means the other one is still in the car somewhere. I finally found the passes wedged between the seat and the console, in a puddle of ketchup. Condoms and Condiments…my car is a veritable smorgasbord of alliteration!!

I am going to wrap this up without even bothering to go back and check it to see if it makes sense. I figure that just adds to the mystique, right? I’m going to go and wash the ketchup off my hands and duct tape MA’s mouth. Have a great day!!

Ok, here is a post you men out there will appreciate. Even now, I can visualize you sitting at your computer, scratching yourselves and smirking. Myself, I am never, ever, in a million YEARS going to understand what makes you people tick!!

We just got back from the beach today and I was sitting at the table sorting mail. Napoleon ambled by holding his shorts in his hand, a foolish grin on his face. “Uh, mom,” he said, “I had a little accident.”

This is an opening I still expect from the goddess, but it was a bit unnerving coming from my 15 year old son. My mind went into Web MD mode, searching my mental data base for possible causes. Diabetes?? Kidney stones?? Cancer?

Before I could utter a word, he continued. “I just found out I could make different sounds by peeing in different places in the bowl. If I pee high, the sound is lower and if I pee low, it’s higher. I peed a little too low” and here, he brandished the shorts, “and I hit myself instead of the toilet. Sorry ’bout that. I promise they’ll be dry by the time you wash them.”

I stared at him, my dreams of having produced a Rhodes scholar crumbling into tiny pieces around me. It was hard to comprehend that my 15 year old son had just wet himself trying to compose symphonies with his urine stream. Oh well, at least he had a good ear for pitch. Maybe he’ll get a music scholarship!!

Yesterday was just a surreal kind of day. I ended my day by treating myself to a pedicure and then running over to grab Subway for dinner. Hugo and Napoleon left for the beach yesterday. The girls and I are joining them today after girl scout hell…er, I mean camp is over. Since it was just the three of us, I figured I would get us each a foot long Subway; 1/2 for dinner and 1/2 for lunch the next day. I’m always thinking ahead like that!

Our Subway has recently been staffing Indians. I’m not sure if the ownership has changed hands or if they just like working at Subway, but for whatever reason, all the “sandwich technicians” are now Indian. They are always smiling and always polite which is what really matters to me.

HOWEVER…..last night a new face appeared. It belonged to an older gentleman and he seemed suspiciously familiar to me. I placed my orders and he started on the sandwiches. The goddess’s sandwich was created last and hers was one where the meat had already been laid out and wrapped up in plastic wrap so it could be turned out on to the bread. The man pulled it out of the tray and opened it up and revealed a very healthy looking fly. Calmly, without making eye contact, he used the plastic wrap to remove the fly and proceeded to place the meat on the bread. He then asked me what kind of cheese I wanted.

It had been a very long day and my brain was slow in processing the following facts:
There was a fly wrapped up with the meat
The man removed the fly
He then placed the meat on the bread
There is probably fly poop on the meat
And maybe fly babies
That is disgusting

I was speechless. And then I started second guessing myself. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘he didn’t make a big deal out of it, so maybe it’s not so bad. It’s just a fly. They’re everywhere.’ But somewhere deep inside, the voice of reason was screaming “OH MY GOD THERE WAS A LIVE FLY ON THAT MEAT!!! IT’S BEEN WRAPPED UP WITH THE MEAT AND IT HAS PROBABLY LAID EGGS ON IT!!! THE GODDESS WILL BE EATING MAGGOTS!!!!!!’

The girl from behind the register came over to help him and when she asked me what else I wanted on the goddess’s sandwich, the paralysis broke and I was able to choke out, albeit very humbly, “Um…can I please have some meat that didn’t have a fly on it??”

She smiled and said “oh of course” and handed it off to the older man who looked at me malevolently and then dumped the whole sandwich in the garbage. The girl removed two layers of meat from the container and grabbed a third and built a sandwich for the goddess from that. I felt better. I’m sure flies are tasty and delicious, but I didn’t order the BMTF…I just wanted the regular BMT.

So I guess I’ll have to find a new Subway to patronize. It’s obvious Habib has left the cable company and is ready to take America down with his terrorist flies!!

Today, I escaped from Girl Scout camp for an hour and had lunch all by myself. Here’s what happened. MA spent the night with her friends and I forgot to pack her a lunch. She had to eat my lunch, leaving me with nothing. So Rita, the best unit leader in the world, told me to go and get something to eat. I left while they were all in chemistry class. I know, I know, girl scout camp is wayyyyy more serious than it used to be!!

I decided to go to Taco Bell because it’s cheap and easy. About once a year, I crave Taco Bell and nothing else will satisfy me. After I indulge myself, the taste lingers for three days and I subsequently remember why I never eat there. But there’s one close to the camp and so I headed off in my quiet SUV. No children, no blazing sun, just me and the air conditioner and the open road.

I parked in the Taco Bell lot and walked inside. Only one couple was in front of me and I made the egregious error of gloating silently to myself. ‘Now I can sit here and eat and stay away from camp even longer,’ I thought to myself gleefully. Falser words were never thought.

Taco Bell serves two types of food: burritos and tacos. Everything else on the menu is a variation of those two items. A Gordita is just a chewy taco. A quesadilla is just a fried burrito. There is a standard blueprint of meat, beans, red sauce and onions. In other words, we’re not talking about haute cuisine here. Unfortunately, Ms. Redneck USA, who was in front of me, had just wandered in out of the backwoods and had obviously never been faced with so many menu choices.

I swear I am not making this up. I prefer truthfulness in my blogging and I seldom exaggerate, even for effect. So believe me when I say the girl actually asked the toothless woman behind the counter “What’s good here?”

Whoa. That’s a question you ask at a nice restaurant, when you are presented with a list of various, succulent sounding dishes that include truffle oil and sweetbreads. This is not a question one normally poses at the Taco Bell. At the Taco Bell, the most pressing question is usually do you want hot sauce or mild? “What’s good here” implies that your food stamps don’t cover a trip through the drive through so you are just SO excited to be here!

What killed me is they had been in line for several minutes before they even got up to the register, yet she STILL didn’t know what to order. She hemmed and hawed and dithered as she tried to figure out whether to order the soft taco or the crunchy taco. It was almost too much for her to bear. “You order first honey,” she finally implored her boyfriend.

I’ve said that before myself, but never at Taco Bell. It’s pretty easy for me there, you know, deciding between the taco and the burrito. Sometimes I even get really wild and crazy and order one of each. “I know what I want,’ he told her impatiently, so it’s not gonna give you any time at all.”

“Oh, pleeeeeaassse,” she begged. The whole time I was bouncing back and forth, ready to jump in and order myself. I almost said out loud…and I mean I literally had to stop myself because I almost blurted it out (I’m really tired today)…..JUST ORDER LARDASS!!!. Luckily, I caught myself before it came out.

Well, her boyfriend ordered immediately: “a number 5 with no tomatoes and no sour cream and no onions and also a cheesy beefy double burrito.” She looked at him in awe, obviously bowled over by his cosmopolitan air. Chicks are easily impressed by a man who knows his own mind at Taco Bell.

Now the pressure was really on and we all stared at her, waiting for her to order. By this time, even the cashier was ready to whack her with a gordita. “Hmmm….well…..gee….I guess…..I guess I’ll have what he ordered….but wait….what’s a cheesy beefy double burrito?”

“IT’S A FREAKIN’ TORTILLA WITH FREAKIN’ TACO MEAT, FREAKIN’ CHEESE AND FREAKIN’ BEANS YOU FREAKIN’ GENIUS,” I wanted to scream, but I again managed to control myself. Her boyfriend snarled “It’s on the SIGN RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.” The romance was beginning to wear thin I guess.

“Oh…well…ok, I’ll have the number 5 also, but with NO LETTUCE. Ok, I mean NO LETTUCE.” Because God forbid she should ingest anything remotely resembling vegetation. “But I want everything else, ok?”

We all sighed with relief and the cashier rang it all up. “That’ll be $19.53,” she said. Whoa, did I say Taco Bell was cheap???

Apparently this was a bit more than she anticipated and she turned to her boyfriend, who had gone to get his drink, and hollered “IT”S $19.53!!!!”

“It’s fine,” he called back. By this point, I was brandishing my wallet, ready to pay if need be. I was ready to get my taco and get the HELL OUT OF THERE!! She paid and went and sat down. I was next and within thirty seconds, I had placed my order, paid and was on my way to a table. Because Taco Bell is not hard. I know I’m elitist and spoiled, but still…TACO BELL??? Maybe if she marries the boyfriend, they can have the wedding reception at Golden Corral. Although it would kill the wedding night, since she would be pondering over the food choices on the buffet ALL NIGHT!!!

My volunteerism has taken an unpleasant twist. Yesterday, I was at girl scout camp ALL DAY. It was 95 degrees in the shade. Multiple biting things were abundant. Even I got bitten and I am usually the type who can walk through a swarm of mosquitoes unscathed. The children were especially high maintenance. It was a long day. I went straight from that unpaid volunteer job to another one.

Yes, last night was swim meet night and of course, I am in charge of entering the stats into the computer. Who else would be stupid enough to do it?? I will say that of all the swim meet jobs, it’s not the worst. It involves sitting in an air conditioned room and after being at camp all day, it’s all I was capable of doing. Once the meet starts, I don’t stop. Results come through the door ever five or six minutes, and the swim times from each heat are entered and then the event is scored. Results have to be printed and posted. Last night, however, every five minutes someone would come through the door with a change that had to be made. I would have to stop, enter the change and then try and figure out where I was before I was interrupted. Plus, they had already made so many changes by hand that we were frequently faced with times that had no matching swimmer in the computer. It was a nightmare.

The goddess swam her two heats and went home. I was left alone in my little room, frantically entering stats. Luckily, I had a great helper who was anal enough to enjoy matching the DQ slips to the swimmer. This is all very important because if a swimmer is disqualified, his or her time doesn’t count and the other coach might want to see the slip explaining why the swimmer was DQ’ed. In three short weeks, I have learned a whole new language. I highly doubt it will help me if I go backpacking through Europe.

This was the longest swim meet ever. Plus, the other team was ahead of us all night by five points. Until Eric, the mighty referee, DQ’ed one of their relays. Eric is my neighbor across the street. He is a great guy and knowing he was, I volunteered him to be a stroke and turn judge and told him after the fact. I think he might forgive me on his deathbed. He went through the training and suddenly, he became All Time Referee, which is not nearly as glorious as All Time Quarterback. It means every week, when something goes wrong (and it always does), people come and get in his face and holler until little veins pop out of their heads. I have to admit, it’s wildly entertaining. At least it is if you’re not the referee!!

The thing that makes Eric such a great referee though is that he is unflinchingly honest. It’s also what makes him a despised referee!! He’s so honest in fact, that he DQ’ed his own little daughter last night even though no one else saw her mistake. He’s a freakin’ boy scout! Anyway, last night he DQ’s the relay and suddenly, people come pouring into my little cubicle demanding answers. Why did Eric DQ the relay?? And he didn’t throw up his arm, the other coach insisted. Apparently the arm has to be thrown up in a DQ signal. Frankly, I can think of some signals I can make by throwing up my arm, but they are not family friendly. Eric (who is an attorney) very calmly told the other coach that no, in fact, you do NOT have to throw up your arm and he was not going to be influenced by coaches from either team, that he simply called what he saw and he stood by it. I was sitting there just waiting for everyone to get the hell out of my office so I could lock up.

Because I am such a great person that the club management all went home and gave me the keys and asked me to set the alarm on my way out. Yes, it’s true: JENNIFER SLICES, SHE DICES, SHE MAKES JULIENNE FRIES AND SHE LOCKS UP!!! THERE IS NOTHING SHE CAN’T (OR WON’T) DO AND IF YOU CALL RIGHT NOW (OR ANY TIME) SHE’LL DO IT FREE!!!! So I was sitting there grumbling under my breath and was ready to bludgeon somebody with the computer. The coaches insisted on going through each and every relay to try and figure out why our team won by a whopping two points. The other coach was almost hyperventilating because he was so upset, a trait I don’t find attractive in a man. Eric was slumped in a chair, glowering at everyone.  I wanted them all to leave. Mostly I wanted to shake them all and scream “IT’S A CHILDREN’S SWIM TEAM PEOPLE!!! NO ONE IS GETTING A GOLD MEDAL TONIGHT!!! THERE WILL BE NO PRODUCT ENDORSEMENTS BASED ON TONIGHT’S RESULTS!!! LET IT GO SO WE CAN GO HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Let’s put it in perspective….it’s CHILDREN’S SPORTS!! The coaches are not moving up to coach in the pro’s because THERE ARE NO MAJOR LEAGUE SWIM TEAMS!!! Somehow, last night, a fun summer activity for children morphed into an athletic event of paramount importance. At least in their minds!! But I kept my mouth shut, and finally they all left, some of them grumbling (’should’ve raised his arm’) and some of them gloating (’we won by two points!!’) and some of us just drooping with exhaustion. I locked up and made it home by 10 p.m. And some of you think your careers are hard; at least you get a paycheck!! Well, I’ve got to hit the showers now so I can head back out to the woods. I think it’s only supposed to be 95 today!! 

Tomorrow begins my week in boot camp….uh….girl scout camp. I’m not sure why I volunteer every year. Somehow, over the course of fifty two weeks, I forget just how much I loathe tramping through the piney woods of Alabama dodging snakes and swatting mosquitoes. It’s coming back to me now and there is no way out. Tomorrow I will be spending the day with twelve little girls, trying to remember all the verses to “Tarzan” as we hike up mountains and swing across valleys. Oh joy.

It’s not so much that I mind going to camp as it is I hate leaving my house. I have air conditioning and internet access and a refrigerator full of cold drinks. I can always lock myself in the bathroom if the kids get to be too much. Out in the woods, I am stuck. From 8:30 until 4:00 (!!) I will be tramping and singing and huffing and puffing and cursing and swearing. At least my back feels a little better, so I won’t be suffering on top of my suffering.

When you read this tomorrow, think of me. Imagine me in my little girl scout hat on my head, with my little girl scout whistle around my neck and with a crazed look in my eyes. By this time tomorrow night, I will probably be heading for the psych ward at the hospital, unable to communicate except in song form and trying to hang myself with a lanyard. It could happen!!

I write this in a haze of pain. There are little planets and moons and exclamation points circling my head. My back is throbbing and I am in a very bad mood. Stupid dog.

Yes, that’s right, Lulu, the Golden Retriever of death, has felled me. This is how it happened. MA is participating in a triathlon today. I opted not to go and watch her since it’s an hour away from here and it’s outdoors. I have no desire to go stand in the woods and watch her run and bike. And I really don’t want to watch her swim. She didn’t do any training at all and I am afraid she may drown during the swimming.

She is a natural athlete, but everyone has a weak spot and hers is swimming. She doesn’t know how to do the basic strokes. I took her to swim on Wednesday and she swam back and forth looking an awful lot like a crackhead doing the funky chicken. The goddess kept trying to teach her how to do it right and you can imagine how well that went over; 7 year old sister shouldn’t have more knowledge than 13 year old sister!

This morning, I woke MA up bright and early. She ate a good breakfast and then went across the street because she was riding to the event with our friends. She put her stuff in the truck and then hollered out at me “Mom, I need another t-shirt to take with me.”

Dutifully, I came back in the house and huffed up the stairs. Lulu the wonder dog galumphed up behind me. I sidled into MA’s room and shut the door behind me. The goddess was sleeping in MA’s bed and Lulu loves to pounce on unsuspecting sleepers. But as I rustled through the drawers, looking for a shirt, Lulu ambushed me from the bathroom. We have a Jack and Jill bathroom upstairs, so Lulu snuck through the goddess’s bedroom and came in through the bath.

I turned around to see her bounding for the sleeping goddess. I rushed over to her and intercepted her before she landed on top of the goddess. “Bad dog,” I hissed and grabbed her by the scruff. “frkkin mangy stupid frrknnnn asinine stupid mutt,” I muttered, trying to get her out of the bedroom.

I hauled her one way and she lurched the other and my lower back suddenly clenched. I am sure there is some law of physics that states “Applying force to a resisting 70 pound dog will result in a counterforce vector which will apply pressure to the lumbar disc and cause great pain.” If there isn’t one, there should be.

One moment, I was yanking on the dog, the next moment, the world went gray and a wave of nausea overtook me. My lower back felt as if the seven dwarves (dwarfs?) were sadistically hacking away with their little pickaxes. Somehow, I managed to keep it together long enough to evict the dog and stagger to the door with the shirt clenched in my hand. I hobbled down the stairs and out the front door; luckily MA came across the street to get her shirt. I waved feebly at her and came in and collapsed.

I am now suffering in the state of “it hurts to sit down, it hurts to stand up, it hurts to move, it hurts to exist” and I know from past experience I will just have to tough it out until it resolves itself. As for the dog, she suffered no ill effects whatsoever and is happily racing around the house with her perfectly healthy back. Freakin’ dog!! If anyone has any extra prescription painkillers they would like to send my way, I am accepting donations. Otherwise, my plan is to drink very heavily today until I fall into a coma!

I have blogger’s block this week. There are 11 unfinished posts languishing on my toolbar. I need to bust through and finish some of them, but when I sit down, the words won’t come. I’m sure it was this way for Tolstoy too. Brilliance is such a heavy burden to bear!!

I was reading “Time” last week and read an article listing all the billionaires and how influential they are. The dude who invented Facebook was listed. He’s 24. And worth about 2 trillion!! Little snot. When I was 24, I had just birthed my first baby and was trying to figure out what the heck I was supposed to do with it!! And we barely had the money to put diapers on the kid!!

Anyway, the sad thing is, I am addicted to Facebook right now. It’s a jolt of instant gratification with a hefty dose of narcissism added for good measure. It’s all about me and people sign on just to be with me. It’s even better than this blog because people have no expectation of me. It’s a low investment, high yield pastime and I am hooked!

I actually created the page last year when Napoleon was making his page. I figured I needed to know how Facebook worked so I could monitor his activity and make sure he wasn’t being stalked by perverts. I played with it for a day or so and then it lapsed into oblivion. The only “friends” I had were Napoleon’s and one can only have so many “LMAO” exchanges with a 14 year old before it gets old.

A few weeks ago, I got a notice that someone I went to high school with had sent me a message on Facebook. Then a friend from college looked me up and I was hooked. Suddenly, I found myself hunched over the keyboard, adding pictures to my page and adding fun applications to make it look snazzier. People started sending me things like virtual plants (which I will probably virtually kill) and fun buttons to display. I imported my blog so it was accessible to everyone. Cyber Nirvana!

I haven’t played Pogo all week. I have been too busy sending “pieces of flair” to all my friends so I can get more points to order more flair for myself. One of the moms I know from Girl Scouts just created a page and we have spent the last 12 hours writing on each other’s wall and sending each other gifts. She sent me a “piece of flair” that read “What Happens at Girl Scout Camp Stays at Girl Scout Camp!!” It made my week!!

I am a sad and shallow person. Fortunately, I had no illusions to the contrary, so I am not too disappointed in myself. Now I’m off to rearrange my “flair board” and hook back up with the “Never Ending Movie Trivia Quiz”; I’m ranked number 8,172,345 in the nation right now!! I’m trying to move up in the rankings!!

I apologize; the toy was introduced LAST year, and has already been pulled from the market because the turds pose a choking hazard.

I have been spending a lot of quality time with my children. So much quality time. Hours and hours on end of quality time. Quality time where they whine and complain and I scream like a deranged maniac. I am going to start drinking heavily any day now.

Occasionally, however, one of them will say something that makes me laugh and keeps them alive for a few hours longer. The day of the Polly Pocket Massacre, the czarina had come over to play with the goddess. As the goddess sobbed over Sleepover Polly’s severed limbs, I heard the Czarina say in a very somber tone: “Maybe we should start a Polly Pocket cemetery.”

I laughed until I cried, but then my mind started working. You know, Mattell just introduced a new Barbie with a labrador retriever friend that shits. I am not even making that up; Barbie comes with her very own pooper scooper to pick up the turds. Makes Betsy Wetsy look downright benign! So who’s to say that Graveyard Polly wouldn’t catch on like wildfire?? Polly would come complete with her own little rubber casket and a tiny headstone that says “POLLY RIP”. Children need to learn about death and who better to teach them than Polly Pocket? I know I’m on to something here!

Yesterday I was running errands and the goddess was watching a movie in the car. I was one of those parents who was appalled by the notion of a television in the car. These days children watch so much TV and their minds are mush, so shouldn’t they have a small break from it? Then, when I actually had children and realized how freakin’ annoying they are in the car, I rushed right out and bought a car with a DVD player factory installed. So she was watching “Home on the Range” which is one of those cow cartoons and one of the characters says “I mean, who would want to eat a chicken?”

The goddess piped right up and said “I would!! Their legs taste great!” Hard to argue that point since Colonel Sanders made a fortune on chicken legs. Then followed one of those deep discussions one can only have with a seven year old as to which animals were edible and which were not. She drew the line at eating dogs and cats, even though I assured her they were an integral part of cuisine in certain cultures. We both agreed eating Rocky’s mealworms was out of the question, although she wanted to know how one would cook them. Fried, I guess.

Last night, we were eating at a Chinese restaurant. We ordered CHICKEN, not dog!! I was relating to Napoleon a comedy routine I had heard regarding Chinese food, which included the line “chinese people are mostly made of chinese food.” Up pipes the goddess: “So does that mean we can eat them?”

Ah, children are so very literal. I tried to explain the joke to her, but she didn’t get it. I finally told her that Chinese people were not for eating because they were generally stringy and rather tough. Myself, I would eat a Mexican because they have a little more meat on them and I love Mexican food.

I ended the day knowing my child will NEVER pursue vegetarianism. She’s too willing to eat any mammal that crosses her path. If you encounter her in the wild, you better beware!!