People. GEEZ. Get your minds out of the gutter, please. (Amy-Go, I AM LOOKING AT YOU.) I appreciate all of your fine suggestions and even the chuckles I gleaned from all the innuendo, but seriously. Y’all need to get out a bit more often. And if someone like ME is saying that to YOU, well, that’s way beyond irony all the way over to ridiculous. Just sayin’.
(More on that stuff in a bit. You were naughty and now you have to wait, while you think about what you did.)
But first! Other things!
Why, look! Here is a thing, now! Totally unrelated to the fact that I seem to have become infected with the excessive exclamation points virus! The excellent and so very pretty folks over at BlogHer asked me to join in as a contributing editor in the Mommy & Family area. After I finished squealing “Really? Really??” and offering to braid Lisa Stone‘s hair in San Jose, I ran right over there and put up my first post. I’m thrilled to be on board over there and very much looking forward to Many Good Things.
Here is another thing! My father told me tonight that his doctor is really earning his (her?) money. First of all, apparently–like most men, simple creatures that they are–when he sleeps on his back, he snores. Which wakes my stepmom. (I always used to handle this problem with my ex by smacking him repeatedly until he rolled back onto his side.) But my dad’s doctor suggested stitching a pouch onto the back of a t-shirt and putting a tennis ball in said pouch. I believe this method is designed to curb snoring by cracking several of your vertebrae each time you land on your back, thereby stifling any snoring you might have done in favor of anguished screams.
I was almost done laughing over that when my stepmom volunteered that the same doctor also now has my father sleeping with socks on his hands. I was afraid to even ask, truthfully. But I guess this is an eczema thing, and Dad is now beautifying each night by slathering his hands in vaseline and then capping them off with socks. I’m thinking that between that and the tennis ball, for Mother’s Day I need to buy my stepmom her own bed. Or maybe a cabana boy. (Dad gets the short end of the stick on Father’s Day, with a can of Crisco and a neck brace, but I guess he should’ve thought of that before he started snoring.)
One more thing! Have you checked out my 3-Day donation page recently?
I’m sort of stalled juuuuust before the $4000 mark. I still have plenty of time to raise my remaining money before the walk, but the almost-there-ness of where I’m stuck is driving me a little bit batty. UPDATE: Yay Melissa for making a SECOND donation! THANK YOU! I have officially crested the 4k mark, now, and Melissa, please email me if you have a chance. If you haven’t donated yet, and would like to, now would be a great time. Or, you know, go buy a 3-Day shirt and $10 goes towards the walk from that. Do it for the boobies, people.
Okay! Back to the eating of the food and not getting any stuck in the teeth. Actually, I need to back up a bit further.
First, it was rainy this morning. Do you remember that I have curly hair? I didn’t. I mean, I’ve been tormenting it into straightness for so long, prior to cutting it off, that I had sort of forgotten. But it’s getting longer on top and it was wet and humid today and hence… I was smartly clad for my outing with a small poodle on my head. Pretty! (Pretty disturbing.)
Perhaps you recall a few times I’ve shared here that when I have something important to do–typically work-related–I tend to come a bit unglued over small details. HAHAHAHA. Sorry. I mean, it’s funny. I am funny! It was funny today when I drove right past my exit on the highway! I actually called myself a dumbass, right out loud, there in my car. Why did I miss my exit? Was I unclear on the directions, and/or somehow unfamiliar with the route? Why no, I was just too busy trying to relax myself by singing along with the radio to notice that I’d blown right past my turn.
I got off at the next exit, turned around, made it back to where I was going. But I still think it’s pretty impressive, missing an exit I take all the time.
Needless to say, I was feeling pretty suave when I walked in. I immediately launched into one of my famous “absence of brain to mouth filter” rambling apologies for being late. Because I was. Late. TWO WHOLE MINUTES. Which means that no one in the universe cared except for me, and now, anyone subjected to listening to me babble about it. So. That went well!
However, I did rally and continue on to eat an entire meal without
1) knocking anything over,
2) dropping food down my front or in my lap,
3) spitting anything on anyone,
4) getting anything stuck in my teeth.
All in all, a success. I fully expected to walk out of there and discover that my sweater was tucked into my underwear or something, but no! I was cool! I was together! I remembered my exit on the way home! Yay me!
And that’s all I have to say about THAT for right now. Oh, except this: You CAN eat salad as long as you put it carefully into your mouth and place it by your molars. And surreptitiously sort of swipe your napkin across your teeth when you wipe your mouth. And remind yourself that this is still preferrable to wrangling with a sandwich as big as your head. And also remind yourself that if you had left matters to the internet, you’d be eating… fish and potatoes and a glass of milk.
It’s just so exciting when I survive a day with only minor embarrassment. I bet my Dad’s wishing he could say the same, right now.