Category Archives for "Miscellaneous"

If you make a living as a chauffeur for fecal matter, I guess you had better have a sense of humor

Yesterday, it took me one hour to drive one mile YES I SAID ONE FREAKING MILE and I don’t even live in LA.

I live in western New York where Route 590 is a goddamn, filthy cesspool of traffic jam every morning.

Periodically, while at yet another dead stop, I’d yell SHIT SHIT SHITTY SHIT SHIT ON A STICK at the miles of vehicles stretched out before me, including this one, whose cargo, I believe, turned out to be quite prophetic.

Irony, thy name is Witty Septic Guy.

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Coming soon to a road near you

Every so often I allow myself one feeding frenzy at the all-you-can-eat lunacy trough, just so I can get in touch with my own inner batshit crazy and make sure it’s still up to challenge. The last thing I want is my batshit crazy to languish and atrophy because I won’t be able to distinguish it from my metabolism and then where will I be?

The last time I stuffed my psyche’s face at this trough was back in February 2010 while driving our Durango home from the IKEA in Pittsburgh and we all know how that ended.

This time around, I’ve been standing at the damn trough for so long, my feet have grown roots and I have a permanent hunchback. Not to mention my emotional stability is so distended from gorging itself on the never-ending buffet of whackadoodle, it’s got stretch marks and on more than one occasion, I’ve mistaken it for my stomach.

For my own sanity, I decided to no longer stand at this damn trough but rather, sit down on the couch, make myself comfy and hold out for a full-blown midlife crisis instead because I hear they’re a lot more fun. To prepare for it, I bought myself my very first thong. Look for a post coming your way soon entitled WHY AM I WEARING A COLONOSCOPY ON MY ASS?

But just as I was settling down to await my crisis by eating my weight in Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies while watching a marathon of Real Housewives of New York City…

… Zoe decided to shoot my life to hell by signing up for her driver’s license test.

This was Zoe, filled with nervous excitement, right before her test was to start.

If I had known how to shoot video with my phone, you would have heard her saying something like “Ten more minutes until the world as you know it changes forever, Mom!” and then you would have seen a panning shot of the clouds and the sky and then more clouds and then more sky and then a bunch of shaky trees and then some grass and dirt and then someone probably would have zoomed in an emotionally fragile, bespectacled, perimenopausal woman lying flat on her back from the OH MY GODness of it all.

But only if that someone didn’t care about being grounded until she turned thirty.

This was Zoe’s instructor.

My first thought was that he might keel over and die of old age before Zoe completed her test, thus making it null and void and forcing her to reschedule it for sometime in 2021, which was the only time I could find in my busy schedule to drive her back here.

But he was all perky and said stuff like Howdy, there! Ready to rock and roll? Let’s get moving, then! and he showed absolutely no signs of kicking the bucket anytime soon, let alone in the next ten minutes.

My second thought was DAMN IT ALL TO HELL.

 

This is Zoe, pulling away from the curb.

Again, if I had known how to shoot video with my phone, you would have seen a shot of the car driving away with the camera running after it and you’d probably hear some delusional maniac frantically shouting HEY! SHE FORGOT TO USE HER TURNING SIGNAL! THAT’S LIKE, A TWENTY POINT PENALTY, RIGHT?

And then you’d have probably seen some footage of stubble on a pale, white leg walking slowly to the sidewalk with a voice over of HEY! WHOSE JOB WAS IT TO REMIND ME TO SHAVE TODAY?

You know, it’s probably a good thing no one knows how to shoot video on my phone.

While waiting for life to end as I know it, Helena and I had ourselves a nice conversation in which I commented on what a gorgeous day it was and how upset I was that her big sister had to go and muck it all to hell by growing up and how Helena was my baby and would always be my baby and how I was so happy that she wouldn’t do horribly stupid things to her mama like dating and applying to college and then she said something about there being a little over 2,000 days until Zoe and I would be sitting in these same chairs in this same spot as she took her own driver’s license test and OH MY GOSH, MOM, HOW COOL IS THAT?

And then I said something about Santa going out on permanent disability with a hernia and how I no longer loved her best.

And then we stopped talking.

When Zoe returned from her test, she and the instructor spent a full five minutes in the car, discussing the results of her test.

Coincidentally, I spent that same five minutes yelling WELL? WELL? WELL? WELL? and having a myocardial infarction.

Or twenty.

And then the verdict came in and as I did with the OJ Simpson and Casey Anthony trials and the 2000 presidential election and the rumors about Anderson Cooper, I went into immediate denial and demanded a recount and threatened to become a lesbian and move to Canada.

MAKE ROOM AT THE TROUGH, PEOPLES.

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Thank you. And? My mother-in-law opened her mouth and a potty came flying out. Who knew?

You know how it is when you struggle with how to write something and then you type it, delete it, type it again and then delete it again? And you do this again and again and again until the eyeballs in your fingers glaze over?

Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and it’s itchy.

So I will simply say thank you.

Thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers.

For offering them up to my family without demanding details or an explanation in return.

For lifting my family up and wrapping them in the warm and comforting embrace of hope.

Your words have brought me a sense of peace amidst the screaming chaos. They have made me smile when I thought I had forgotten how.

I am humbled.

It is inevitable that I will come out of this darkness a changed person. It is my hope that I will come out a better one as well.

We are taking each day as it comes and hoping that one day soon, the good ones will outnumber the bad ones. Until then, I am trying to stay positive and, for the time being at least, avoid analyzing the male psyche because I’ve come to learn that analyzing the way men think is kind of like giving birth to an angry porcupine without drugs … it’s no fun and you bleed a lot.

I’m also trying to find my way back to writing as that has always been my comfort zone. I hope I stumble across the funny along the way. It’s got to be somewhere around here. I’m thinking it might be hiding underneath that moment last week when my mild-mannered, good-natured, docile, sixty-four year old mother-in-law yelled OH MY GOOD GOD FUCKING SHIT two seconds before she yelled DAMMIT, DID I JUST SAY THAT OUT LOUD?

See you soon.

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Some goings on

Some going ons?

Which is it?

I could probably avoid the whole issue by changing this post title to “Some happenings” but then I wouldn’t have had anything to write about these past three sentences.

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I don’t like playing video games. No Xbox, PlayStation, Nintendo, blah blah blah and the last time I even attempted the Wii, some short, squat, rotund thing that looked suspiciously like me appeared on my screen and informed me that I had exceeded a healthy BMI by approximately HOLY SHIT, DID YOU EAT A WHALE FOR BREAKFAST points. I’ve never gotten into the gaming part of Facebook either. In fact, I block all those kinds of updates from my wall so I can concentrate on the really important stuff in my feed, like that post from that person I haven’t talked to in over twenty years, advising me that she’s checking in from Starbucks. THANK GOD,  I WAS WORRIED.

But then I got an iPhone.

And then I got Angry Birds.

And then this happened:

Mom, when are we leaving for karate?

After you tell me why I can’t get this chicken to fly high enough to poop an egg between these trees. And why does the egg explode but not the chicken? And why are those … what are those things? Frogs? Pigs? Seasick gerbils? Why are they allowed to wear helmets? And what’s up with the red birds having no super powers? How am I supposed to detonate the TNT and kill the pig under the boulders on the glass train in the basement without super powers? And why can’t I get that stupid mountain to move? IT WON’T MOVE no matter how many birds I fling at it. How come I can’t just have a hundred of those exploding black globs? And why are some of the pigs winking at me? Do they know something I don’t? And I think that one ate my bird. Are the pigs supposed to eat the birds? What the hell? And why do I only have two stars on level six? I just blew up forty pigs in glass houses with one chicken and I only have two stars? Does it have something to do with how far I pull the slingshot? OH MY GOD, ARE MY CHICKENS DEFECTIVE?

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Do me a favor and go check out my new sponsor: Bullgrit! He’s over there in my sidebar. I “met” Bullgrit online a couple of years ago. In fact, he was the one who gave me the idea for my Sunday regurgitation posts. I guess you could say Bullgrit made me throw up! But don’t say it to his face because he’s a good ol’ southern boy and he might strap you to the hood of his 4×4 truck and pelt you with beer cans if you do. Then again, he might own a minivan and drink White Zinfandel out of a champagne flute. I really have no idea. But who cares? Bullgrit runs a t-shirt design business and I think some of them would be great for Father’s Day.

I like that first one.

How many of you have a husband who refuses to read directions because he thinks it will cause him to spontaneously grow a vagina on his forehead?

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Helena, Zoe and Zoe’s friend Nicole, on our way to Ithaca College for a tour, somewhere between ARE WE THERE YET? and ARE WE EVER GOING TO BE THERE YET?

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This made me happy.

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No regurgitation today because my brain was too busy obsessing about an alien with an eating disorder

There’s no regurgitation post today because I was half way through writing one and had copied/pasted the older post into my regurgitation when I realized that I had *just* regurgitated that same post a couple of months ago. It was the one about how I had assembled a stockpile in the event Nate and I were ever forced to repopulate the earth after a terrorist attack and how the population of humanity was destined to stay at a maximum of two because I had neglected to pack a razor and enough toilet paper.

I was going to tie it all in with the whole Rapture mess and I started writing it late last night since that’s when I finally discovered what Rapture was all about because, as usual, I had no idea what the hell was going on until it was almost over. All day yesterday, I had seen a bunch of Rapture discussions on a chat board I belong to but I hadn’t read any of them because the second I saw the word “rapture” in their titles, I immediately had a flashback to Blondie and the eighties and before I could stop it, my brain stopped concentrating on the here and now and started rapping about Fab Five Freddie and getting in my car and driving all night and seeing a light and almost running over the man from Mars who shoots me dead and eats my head and then goes on to eat Cadillacs and Lincolns too, Mercuries and Subarus and a lot of other inedible crap.

Luckily, my brain was quiet and my lips didn’t hear it so I never wound up screaming CAUSE THE MAN FROM MARS STOPPED EATING CARS AND EATING BARS AND NOW HE ONLY EATS GUITARS! GET UP! in the produce aisle of Wegmans.

I hate it when that happens.

When I eventually realized that Rapture was supposed to be the end of the world, it was late last night and I was a bit pissed because if it turned out to be true, I had celebrated my last day on earth by inhaling the smell of feet at a dojo, fishing a chunk of hair out of my shower drain, dealing with sudden onset period, scraping two day’s worth of peanut butter off my kitchen island and trying to get the sour smell out of a load of laundry, leaving me with only twenty minutes remaining in which to eat my weight in cheesecake and try to have my way with Anderson Cooper. And if it turned out to be false, I was still spending a perfectly good Saturday night writing a blog post about the psychedelic hallucinations of a victim of a binge-eating Martian set against the backdrop of Nate’s deafening snoring.

Either way, it was sexless and depressing.

And repetitive, not because of the sexlessness and depression although that could be argued, but because I was *this* close to regurgitating a post that I had just upchucked in your general direction this past February.

So I scrapped the whole thing, ate almost an entire bag of Milano cookies and wrote this post instead.

Aren’t you lucky?

If you only had one day left to live, how would you spend it?

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