Meat Bandage
My three year old just walked up to me, crouched over and clutching her left knee, and said, “I gotta put my bandage on my owie!”
Then I realized that she was using a large slice of roast beef as a bandage.
I started to chastise her for sticking food on her body, but then I thought, “Huh. That’s pretty creative.” So I shut up.
Because not every three year old will think to use lunch meat for first aid.
‘Course, I did get irate when she stuck the roast beef on the TV screen like one of those Colorforms.
Everyone Knows
If you ignore the brown liquid in the bottom of the vegetable crisper drawer, it will go away.
Fuckin’ Baby.
Tha Boy will not watch The Omen with me because it’s dark outside.
Cool It Is Deemed
My (almost) 16 year old is quite popular. Not in a jock kind of way, but more in a alternative-y kind of way. He goes to a “gifted” high school, and I must say that their standards for cool are slightly different than those of your standard high school. For instance, at his school it’s cool to be in band. As another example, this year my son decided to play tuba, and he’s still (miraculously, in my opinion) cool.
He take his cool status fairly seriously. Perhaps I should stop being in awe of his cool, because it only encourages him. I note that when he picks up a new habit, that it only takes another couple weeks for a dozen other boys to follow suit (witness the Tight White T-Shirt Fad of ‘07). I should stop noting these things out loud, and in his presence, because sometimes I think that he invents new and patently ridiculous mini-fads just to see if they’ll catch on.
Yesterday my little Cool Maker discovered the next fad for his high school, and I thought I’d let you in on the ground floor. See, it all started when I was buying Vitamin Water for the boy. Vitamin Water was the drink of choice of his high school for Spring ‘07. Next to the Vitamin Water was something called Metromint. On sale for $1 a bottle, same as Vitamin Water. On a whim, I bought one of each flavor. Had I stopped to think, I would have realized that 1) I don’t want mint flavored water, and 2) My son will probably vomit if I present him with mint-flavored water.
I, however, did not stop to think. I just bought four bottles of overpriced mint-flavored water.
While putting away the groceries, my son reached into a bag and grabbed one of the Metromints. He looked at it closely, turned it around in his hand, threw it in the air and caught it, and said, “Get more of these. This is the new cool water.” “Oh,” I said, “Are people at your school already drinking these?” He looked at me with mild disgust. “No.” He then commented on how it was “sexy” (and let me go off on a brief tangent about hearing the word “sexy” coming out of your teenager’s mouth: you don’t want to hear it, and it’s even weirder when he’s saying it to describe a bottle of water) and how long, skinny bottles were the cool new bottle shape. “Yeah, but…” I said, “you haven’t even tried it. What if you don’t like it?” Oh, the look– like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to disown me or pity my embarrassing naivete– and he said, “Yeah, I DON’T CARE. This is the cool new water. Buy some more.”
And then I told him to stop telling me what to do, but he was too busy fondling his Metromint to hear me.
It’s All Bad.
After the triumph that was yesterday (which was only improved by dinner at P.F. Chang’s with my awesome chauffeurin’ pal, and my charmingly crazed 3 year old), I was bitchslapped by today. Trauma is listed in the order in which it occurred:
- If I’d had a car today, I would have driven it away from my job and never returned.
- Speaking of my car, they finally called and said it was ready. The mechanic mentioned that they ‘d replaced a part I’ d never approved. When I asked the total (thinking it would be a few bucks more than the $150 they quoted me), I heard, “$272.” Really? Because before you said ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY, FUCKER.
- I picked up my car and paid $252 (they reduced it $20, probably because of how shrill my voice went when I repeated the number), because you can’t take your car home with you unless you pay the ransom. So now I get to go back tomorrow morning and argue with the manager, “Junior.”
- My son called and asked me (well, told me, but I don’t want you to think that I worry about the disapproval of my almost-16 year old child, which I do) to stop at the store for food. When asked what he wanted, he responded, “Meat, Vitamin Water, and candy.”
- While at the deli counter, some early 40’s dude who looked like he still might smoke a little doobie now and then ended his break (where he might have smoked a little doobie) deigned to assist me in obtaining meat for Mr. MeatVitaminWaterCandy. He’s standing at the little counter unwrapping the slab of roast beast, and then he reaches up with his plastic gloved finger and pries a chunk of food out of his front teeth. Then, in slo mo,
-
- he looks at the food on his finger
- he goes to unwrap the roast beast
- he looks up to see if I was looking
- I raise my eyebrow
- he looks at the other deli counterperson
- she looks at me and raises her eyebrow
- he changes his gloves resignedly
- he pretends that nothing happened
- he changes his gloves resignedly
- she looks at me and raises her eyebrow
- he looks at the other deli counterperson
- I raise my eyebrow
- he looks up to see if I was looking
- he goes to unwrap the roast beast
- he looks at the food on his finger
My kid ate Skittles and deli turkey for dinner.
It’s All Good.
Random good-ish things that happened to me today:
- Mechanic left voicemail saying that the stupid hose is backordered and won’t be in until Wednesday. I have minor panic attack, thinking he means next Wednesday. Because, if you mean tomorrow Wednesday, wouldn’t you just say tomorrow? But he did indeed mean tomorrow.
- Fancy yuppie daycare gave me a partial scholarship for the upcoming year.
- Some other good thing that I already forgot. See how grateful I am?
- Oh! And I read this blog post, which I thought was fairly awesome.
I Can’t Believe That People Bag On LAWYERS.
I’m home today because my car’s overheating like mad. Here’s what the mechanic says:
“blah blah water pump hose busted blah blah when was the last time you had an oil change blah blah $150 blah blah no aftermarket hose, have to get it from Ford in the morning, blah blah we’ll call you.”
You know it’s a $5 (non-Ford) hose, ten minutes worth of labor, and $10 in materials for the oil change. In Mechanic Math, that equals $150.
NO ONE ALIVE TODAY will ever see it again. Yeah, I’m Fine With That.
My Dunce Cousin (not my Crazy Cousin, who had to be hospitalized because she thought she was Job) who always sends me pictures of her kid (who looked mildly retarded as a baby, but who now looks more or less normal) (the preceding parenthetical applies to both my cousin AND her kid), sent me the following spam:
*27th Aug the Whole World is waiting for..*Planet Mars will be the brightest in the night sky .It will look as large as the full moon to the naked eye. This will cultivate on Aug. 27 when Mars comes within 34.65M miles of earth. Be sure to watch the sky on Aug. 27 It will look like the earth has 2 moons. The next time Mars may come this close is in 2287. Share this with your friends as NO ONE ALIVE TODAY will ever see it again.
I was unaware the Whole World was waiting for this.
Yeah, I’m okay with skipping it.
Do you remember when your parents forced you to look through a telescope at Haley’s Comet, back in 198_? What a Big Fucking Non-Event that was, that miniscule blur, and the adults all grimly demanding that their children gaze upon this once-in-a-lifetime flying chunk of flaming rock. I know the adults weren’t any more impressed than we were, but how cranky they were that we failed to appreciate the unique opportunity and the luck we had, to be alive at that moment in history!
Sunday Is Career Desperation Day
Sunday is the day where I consider the fact that I have to go to my job the next day, for five more days of torment. Sunday, then, is the day that I try to come up with a magical new career that allows me to
- Make a shitload of money. Alternatively, a minimum of $20 an hour.
- Be my own boss.
- Have a flexible schedule.
- Fuck around all day on the internet.
That type of career does not come up on Monster.com often, though I keep my eye out for it. So I decided (after reading a Writer’s Digest Magazine that my shrink gave me) that I would look into the wacky world of freelancing. To that end, I bought Writer’s Market 2008 Deluxe (deluxe– because I’m worth it), Six-Figure Freelancing (dude, I know this book is going to be full of shit, but I couldn’t help buying it anyway, much like someone holding a chunk of iron pyrite holds out hope that it’s really gold), and The Renegade Writer: A Totally Unconventional Guide to Freelance Writing Success (because, you know, I’m such a dang renegade). So far I’ve only started in on Renegade, which is interesting, but presumes a level of knowledge that I don’t have. Like: query letter. I’ve kinda figured it out from the context clues and I’m sure a quick Google of the term would confirm my guess, but… apparently I’m kind of a moron about freelancin’. I refuse to buy The Complete Idiot’s Guide, because… I have pride. It’s pretty much all I have, pride…
I’m also reading Bird By Bird by Anne Lamott (genius nonfiction writer, that one), and she keeps pointing out how financially unstable she is, and how it took until her third book for her to not be completely broke, and she’s just ruining the fucking fantasy. Granted, Bird By Bird wasn’t written yesterday and hopefully she’s doing a lot better since then, but still… I did not need her shitting on my parade.
Pack Your Bags, We’re Going On A Guilt Trip!
Last week I house/babysat. A friend of my son’s– he 15, so he doesn’t really require much. The parents were going out of town to set their other child up in Ridiculously Expensive Private College, and rather than bring my son’s friend to our tiny and disgustingly hot and humid evaporative-cooled hellhole for a few days, we agreed to stay at their spacious and air-conditioned home. Even though it was lovely to have 1) space and 2) cold, dry air, it’s always weird inhabiting someone else’s space.
I’d been in those parts of the house immediately accessible from the front door– I’d seen enough to know that the house appeared to be clean– well, sterile compared to my own home, really. It was not until I took possession of said house for a period of three days that I knew the true and complete horror of the situation.
The house wasn’t just tidy. It was meticulously clean and organized. It gave new meaning to the phrase, “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”
See, I’m a latent perfectionist. I want my house to look as anally tidy as this house. But I’m lazy. And I’m a single mother. And I’m poor. My house is not going to conform to my secret fantasies of freakish cleanliness and organization. Because I can’t have it perfect, I won’t have it at all. It’s all or nothing. Since my house can’t be the shining example of cleanliness and organization, I fling my hands up and say, “Fuck it!”
This house had no junk drawer. Instead, there was a drawer with protein and granola bars, filed in neat rows. There was a cup of writing utensils next to the phone, and a neatly written and precisely-placed list of phone numbers hanging above. In the laundry room was a set of wall-mounted cubbyholes, neatly labeled with names of family members. There was a cubby marked “MAIL”. There was a corkboard with miscellany attached– those “Buy 10, Get 1 Free!” cards, used bookstore credits, business cards. The bathrooms were spotless, the guest towels hung just so. Beds made, natch. On the dining room table was a basket containing baggies filled with snacks. The pantry contained no five-year-old cans of green chiles.
The refrigerator was neat and clean, everything appropriately placed in baggies or plastic containers with lids. No red meat, no junk. No Kraft American cheese; just reduced fat Babybel. No hot dogs, no nitrate-filled cold cuts.
I was about to commit hari-kari, but then I found the freezer full of Klondike bars. Ha ha! I thought. NOW who’s so perfect???
I resolved to come home and immediately put my home in spotless order. That was two days ago. So far I have done two loads of laundry. And I wrote this blog post.
