Play that funky music, white boy
Chickadee used the Vulcan mind meld this morning to discover that I’d been angsting about her brother. She then exacted her revenge by rotating her head a full 360 degrees several times before she even made it down to breakfast. It really helped me to put things in perspective. (And by “put things in perspective,” I mean “made me want a stiff drink.”)
Nevertheless, I didn’t lock her in the attic or even threaten to cancel her birthday party. I got the kids off to school and turned my attention back to The Birthday That Never Ends (wasn’t her birthday WEEKS ago??) and final party preparations.
(Actually, first I did some work, and then went out for a “quick” 6-mile walk, wherein I burnt my shoulders into crispy cinders because I forgot that it’s sort of almost summer. Details.)
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The easy one
Memo to my son:
As I tell you nearly every day, there’s no out-loving your mother. I love you completely, and will continue to do so for the rest of my life. Nothing you could do will ever change that. At this particular point in your career, you should be very grateful for this unconditionality. Just sayin’.
P.S. Diet cherry coke cannot enable you to fly.
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Do as I boss
Remember how I said don’t be bossy? I mean it. Don’t.
I will be handling all of the bossiness around here. So that you don’t have to. Because, really, aren’t you glad to have me around to shoulder that burden? Do YOU want to be the one declaring, “YOUNG MAN, we do not chat on the phone WITH A NAKED BOTTOM. Please put something on before you get on the phone with Daddy!?” I didn’t think so.
So, in the spirit of carrying out my bossy duties and completely unrelated to just not having very much at all to cover today, I present the following list of things you need to do.
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Unrelated, but peppermint-scented
If you are looking for cohesion, please move along. I seem to be fresh out. However, I have plenty of minty goodness to share. More on that in a bit.
Onward!
Start spreadin’ the news
Blogging for Books is back again and despite the rather disturbing imagery rendering it less a contest and more a strung-out junkie, there are PRIZES! Plus there’s FAME! And… ummm… OTHER STUFF! Possibly! Maybe not! But definitely prizes! Go write an entry, and tell others to do the same. (Well, don’t be bossy about it or anything, but you know.)
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Quick! Tell someone!
If I were a less lazy person, well, I would do a lot of things. Like exercise more, and actually get up and put the ice cream container away instead of just eating the entire thing because the freezer is so far away, and I’d get up earlier in the morning, and– Wait, I think I had a point in here somewhere. Oh! Right! If I were less lazy, I’d find the post Joshilyn wrote recently about the ridiculousness of prescription drugs advertising on TV.
I couldn’t agree more. What a way to encourage a nation of hypochondriacs to self-diagnose even more than we already do! Fabulous!
Tonight I saw a commercial that I feel tops even the evil brain-licking Lunesta moth.
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Probably because I returned the shoes
I’ve been trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, that I’m unbothered, and I didn’t need to talk about it. I have this misguided belief, sometimes, that the RIGHT thing should by definition be the EASY thing; discontent becomes a sign of weakness, in my system, if the choice was correct.
But then, you know, there’s the whole thing where I don’t even like porridge but you are damn well going to have to listen to me complain about it if the temperature is off. It’s part of my charm.
So. Um. It’s time to tell you the thing about the thing, I think.
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How to make me hate committees
1) Pressure me into joining, schedule far too many meetings, saddle me with responsibilities better suited to someone else.
2) Ask me to proofread the copy, then while I’m out of town, decide amongst yourselves that my “recommended changes” are unnecessary.
3) Argue with me about my “recommendations.” News flash: I do this for a living, and YES, punctuation really DOES go inside the quotation marks–every time. It’s not a “recommendation” so much as “correct English usage which will prevent us from looking like morons.” (Did you catch the period inside the quotation marks, there?)
4) Wonder why I want to resign.
That’s theatre, the CLASSY spelling
I’ve gone off and met my friends inside the shiny box, before, and the experience never fails to fill me with a certain wide-eyed glee. To those people who insist you cannot form a real bond with people you haven’t met in real life, I say: Are you going to deny there’s a bond when within 15 minutes of meeting I am complimenting the other person’s tits in all earnest sincerity? Are you really that jaded and soulless? Fine for you, but I’m guessing you’re just not the sort of person whose rack I would WANT to exclaim over, anyway. (And it wouldn’t kill you to go for a professional bra fitting. Just sayin’, Droopy McSquashed.)
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I love you, but I’m a jetsetter
More not-blogging from me, as I finish unloading my car and get right back in it again to go hobnob with a semi-local internet celebrity. I plan to do more hobbing than nobbing, but you just never know.
I’ll be home quite late, so please take care of your dishes and lock up on your way out.
Bed sweet bed
We are home, and I am exhausted. Rather than regale you with stories of our adventures on the road, I shall heed the siren song of my pillow. It missed me terribly, you know.
But, um, to anyone who was at the Guilderland rest stop around noon today: If you heard a piercing scream and wondered if someone was being dismembered, I offer you my deepest and most sincere apologies and hope that normal hearing returns to you as soon as possible (and that all of the shattering glass didn’t interfere with your enjoyment of that Auntie Anne’s pretzel).
Who wants to bet that the creator of automatic-flush toilets didn’t have small children?