what doesn't kill ya

Mind of Me

A bunch of crap is floating around in my head.  I shall share this crap with you.

I cannot get with the whole vanity plate thing.  WTF?  I saw two yesterday that made me nauseous with disgust:  "1SXYWYF" AND "TOOSEXY."  First of all, the decrepit dried out old man driving with the sexy wife plate was undoubtedly in the midst of some mid- or three-quarter-life crisis.  Dude was cruising around in a late model convertible Corvette, with his three remaining wisps of hair flapping in the hot wind.  And his wife?  All I can say is, a botox and silicone shortage is surely upon us.  Also, she really should be sharing some of her flaxen extensions with her poor husband's head. 

"TOOSEXY" chick was also in a Corvette.  She was pulled off to the side at the Wendy's Drive Thru, awaiting her Biggie Fries or some shit.  She rolled down her black tinted windows when someone approached with her bag, and outstretched her free hand (the one not holding the cell phone) to take the bag.  She didn't even look in the person's direction, or at least not that I could tell.  I couldn't see her eyes all that well through the bling-encrusted Chanel sunglasses that covered half of her Mystic-Tanned face.

I'm glad to see that humility is alive and well in my fine city.

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Today is the eve of The Weekend of Doom.  Yes, it's another weekend with all four kids, His and Mine. The group that "somehow forms a family," like the Brady Bunch. Except there's no Alice, no spacious split-level, no wacky camping trips, and no visits from Davy Jones.  However, there very well COULD be a broken nose. 

I'm taking bets.  Anyone care to wager on who will get sick?  How about who will come to tears first?  (John and myself are the favorites.)  Anyone care to bet on who clogs up the toilet?   Or how about who will burn themselves, get bitten by an unidentifiable creature, sprain an ankle or wrist, or get a bloody nose?  These odds are all outstanding.  Screw Vegas.

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HEAT.  Stifling, unrelenting, smoke-your-ass-like-a-turkey heat.  Heat in which we have chosen to live, and give ourselves a swift bitch-slap for doing so right about May every year.  The realization hits us that the next four months will be filled with convection oven cars, melted frozen goods, and sweaty ass cracks.  We will eat mostly ramen noodles, because most of our income is spent on electricity.  Electricity that is working to air-condition an apartment that gets daily twelve-hour beatings from an atomic fireball that sits directly outside the living room window.

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What do you do when your child is in tears, and you are fighting to keep from laughing?  It was all I could do this morning, to keep a straight face.  You know, because it would be so unbelievably cruel for me to LAUGH AT SOMETHING FUNNY.

I was getting ready for work, and noticed that Noelle's hair was disheveled.  I told her I wanted to fix it.  "Noooooooo!  My daddy said I could leave it down!"  (He had gotten her ready at his house and dropped her off - I was taking her to school.) 

"But I just want to pull part of it back, so --"  And with that, Noelle flung her self backwards, trying to flop on the toilet to mope.  Thing is, she had just peed in it before our exchange, and had not yet flushed the toilet.  But she did have her skirt pulled back up.

Her flinging skills are top-notch, so she landed right in the toilet.  Slam dunk!  The look on her face was priceless heart-wrenching.  Her legs dangled over the side, and I must admit she looked a bit like Bambi, with her limbs all over the place and whatnot.  I wanted to tell her this, because I thought it might make her laugh.  But it might also make her cry harder.  So I went another route.

"At least you hadn't pooped."

Sampler Platter Numero Uno

I’ll be honest – sometimes turning what’s spinning around in my head into written form is, well, daunting. Especially after days - NO, WEEKS – of crappy sleep.  I am better served by jotting these random thoughts down and giving my brain a cleansing, a colonic, if you will.  Except the only shit you have to worry about here is figurative.  Plus, no one has to violate me with a plastic tube.

Behold!  I present to you the very first Dorkette Sampler Platter, a smattering of thoughts, observations, opinions, and pretty much whatever the hell I want:

J           Okay, all this talk about sampler platters has me thinking of mozzarella cheese sticks and jalapeno poppers.   The ones with cream cheese, not cheddar cheese, people.  Cheddar cheese rocks in its own right, but keep it away from the poppers.

K           I’ve started making jewelry again – earrings, bracelets, etc.   I went to a bead store the other day, and honestly, I was skerred by the women I saw there.  A whole gaggle of them was hanging out, working on projects in the store.  I’m all for creativity and whatnot, but THE FRUMPINESS.  And the headgear – scuba-mask-like things with magnetic lenses and lights.  I was frightened that I might be having a glimpse into my future.   I decided that I must be vigilant in avoiding the frump.

J           I haven’t cut my hair (other than an at-home trim) in 2.5 YEARS.  I don’t want to cut it because I really like the length.  Plus, trimming my split ends relaxes me.  Because my hair is so long, I can curl up with some cuticle scissors and go to town. Weirdo?  Check.

J           I’m really digging the new season of “The Sopranos.”  And “Big Love” is pretty cool too.  HBO kicks ass.  I’m still bummed that “Six Feet Under” is no more.

K           Noelle was playing Twister the other day.  She got all tangled up like a pretzel and exclaimed:  “Mom, I am officially freaked out!”  That makes two of us.

L           Last week I had what I fondly refer to as “BAS,” an acronym for Busted Ass Syndrome.  In other words, diarrhea.  This week I have been blessed with a sinus infection.  Ah, the power of daycare.

L           The New Way of Life, a.k.a. the diet from hell, is not going so well.  Let’s just say that my dependence on pie has been a hindrance.  Oh, and the elliptical trainer I bought last month?  It’s a great conversation piece.

J           I’m totally crushing on my friend Paula’s baby boy, Noah.  Damn, does he ever get the estrogen flowing.

L           Songs that make me want to set my ear drums on fire:  “Mony Mony,” anything by Liz Phair, “Kokomo,” “Kiss Me,” and “Breakfast At Tiffany’s.” Bluah.

K           Easter is coming up and I could care less.  I know this sounds harsh, but Easter has never been a favorite holiday of mine, despite the proliferation of chocolate bunnies and Marshmallow Peeps.  I am not religious (in a categorical, traditional sort of way) so that whole aspect of it is lost on me.  Easter doesn’t affect me much, except that the M&Ms I stuff my face with are pastel for about a month.  That and I like egg salad sandwiches.