I am like sooooooooooo over flu season. Ugh, it is a filthy world. Do not touch anything. Ever. I learned this the hard way a couple weeks ago when I got in trouble for touching a beaver. Apparently, I have been doing it incorrectly for thirty-three years. I was chaperoning a field trip to this hideously boring wildlife museum for my daughter’s class when one of the elderly, ex-prison warden volunteers pulled out a beaver fur for the kids to touch.
I gave the beav a little pat and to my absolute delight was told, “Ma’am the beaver only likes to be touched with two fingers.” Um, no it doesn’t (me making my eyebrows go up and down really fast.) Of course I started laughing. Like hysterically. I wish I had time to seduce myself with two finger foreplay alas….I am busy and that is entirely impractical as any mother will attest. The angry volunteers then passed around an arctic fox fur. I had no idea we were not supposed to try it on. It looked beautiful on me. Oh calm your shit down, I don’t think those things are even endangered. Yawn.
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Next: In a state of exhaustion and frustration I took my daughter to a medical specialist last week in hopes that someone could tell me what if anything was wrong with her since she has not been feeling well for awhile now…. like six years. Her allergy testing indicated that she is highly allergic to cats so I made arrangements for Mr. Whiskerpuss to go live with my mom who is a gentle, vegetarian, non-declawing soul that will worship the very ground that Mr. W graces with his exquisite paws. Initially my stepdad was not real keen on the idea and I was about ready to threaten to slash his tires when he relented. Seriously, do all women ask for permission for such nonsensical things like bringing home a living animal? I reminded my mom that she could also vote now. At any rate, I am utterly devastated since Mr. W and I totally got one another and now I have no one to talk to all day.
The doctor also suspects my daughter has something known as “Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome.” Apparently this is some mitochondrial defect that is passed on by the mother. Of course it is. Substandard mitochondria is a real topper-offer since I simply do not have enough motherfucking guilt. While we do not have her blood results back yet, the medicine he gave us appears to be working. I am issuing a nationwide recall for anyone that may have purchased my eggs in the past.
Mike and I went to California last weekend to meet our new nephew. We had a late flight and I was seated next to a chatty, little, religious boy. He told me he had, “Eight hours of door knocking to do tomorrow in the name of my father and savior, Jesus Christ.” This helped me see that some people have way suckier lives than I do and momentarily distracted me from my faulty mitochondria. I finally gave him my phone and told him to play some video games so he would shut up and I could resume my depression. The poor kid was so starved for non-Jesus stimulation that I had to pry my phone from his little fingers when we landed.
I cheered up even more when we arrived at our hotel and discovered a post-it note on the headboard of our bed telling us the sheets were clean. I made sure to put a towel down on the couch before I sat there since there was not a note saying they had cleaned up the suspicious stain left by a prior guest. Sick. I drifted off to sleep illuminated by the light cast by the giant Costco sign across the freeway into our room.
My nephew is pretty much the most fabulous little creature ever. I have this horrible condition called “When babies fall asleep I just hold them and do not lay them down.” I rocked him for two hours and then when he woke up I went shopping and bought him a jungle gym floor playset and some toys and a Baby Einstein movie even though he is already way more advanced than other babies. Apparently his new toys over stimulated him and he did not sleep for a few days after. My bad.
I am sure my sister-in-law is currently sifting through the two hours of nanny-cam film they secretly took of me with when they went out for dinner. I waved at random electronics in their house. *I am super sorry I let your baby pee on his face and the wall and my socks and my shirt. I have never changed a boy child before. That was intense. Stuff was literally coming out of every orifice of his body all at once and I just sort of froze. He totally did not cry once however, because I am not an advocate of learning to self-soothe which is why I buy expensive purses and animals.
Annnnnd finally I need one of you to go to www.garagesalenow.com and buy my bedroom set. According to Mike he purchased this furniture right before he met me and I am the only woman to touch it. Right. Fortunately, I am not sentimental and the mattress was already broken in, so I totally did not give a shit until I discovered myself in a furniture store and found one that was more suitable to my decorative tastes. Mike said something like, “No.” (?) I then placed a bloody horse head under the covers since he is Italian and would understand the reference.
I hope you all have a wonderful week. Love to each of you! Smoochies. XO
P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEN L. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!! WHHHOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
Mike's sister says it looks like I just gave birth in this picture. Omg.
I am a writer, parent, and generally loose in the world. Yes, I meant what I said. Whatever. I handled it.
