- My classmates from high school look pretty damn good after 25 years. I remember when I was graduating, my mom was about to go to her 20th and I was all like, “that must be so weird mom… how will you know who is who?” She succinctly explained to me that everyone looks the same, just older. Good older, not bad older. The slightly immature me was kinda like, excited to see old friends – and kinda like, glad they were happy to see me. It was like high school all over again! Except no one was getting arrested for drinking! I had such a good time, and I loved seeing old friends and I enjoyed seeing the people who have become friends to me today. The revelation hit me that I really didn't care who wasn't there. I am SO glad you were there and SO glad we had a chance to chat, even if it didn’t seem long enough. I especially enjoyed meeting the wives. Okay, I’m done gushing.
- It’s difficult to drive the speed limit in a Mustang. After finally acknowledging my issue with speeders (not to mention the a-holes who have no idea how to drive 15 mph in a school zone), I decided perhaps I would try driving the speed limit for a while to see just how difficult it is. The result: driving the speed limit in the Mustang, with not only a lead foot but extreme nervous energy, is not only damaging to my nerves but apparently pisses off quite a few other drivers on the road. Well, Todd did say as how the majority of drivers on I-95 are quick to get out of his way when he’s driving it. So perhaps my driving the speed limit in said Mustang is just irritating enough to those motorists who would sooner pull out in front of you than show an ounce of kindness by giving you your legal right of way… because in my case they realized they’d made a terrible mistake. This is no ordinary Mustang driver. The first day I executed this, I noticed a white sedan riding so close to my bumper I could see the wrinkles on the elderly driver and the huge white sunglasses on his equally gray companion, in my rearview. Jeesh! Even old people drive too fast.
- Inappropriate laughter is a chronic affliction nationwide. The most common being inappropriate, if not disturbing, laughter at funerals. I have a terrible inappropriate-laughter tick (as evidenced earlier in the week in a separate incident that shall hereafter be stricken from my record as less funny, more my bad) that, thankfully, has never reared its goofy-goober head at a funeral but first emerged at a small, intimate piano concerto in California. By small I mean no more than 40 people attended this event I was invited to by a friend I was visiting. Personally, I think classical piano falls way below the parameters I have set for lively entertainment. And there was no wine. So there I was, sitting in one of those padded folding chairs lined up in several rows, sort of spacing out and thinking about what we were going to do to wake up my nerve cells before they shut down completely when what to my delicate ears should assault… but the sound of keys striking suddenly and loudly…to a halt. The man to my left was apparently three or four notes ahead of me into a coma and so his whole ENTIRE body jerked like he’d been hit with a defibrillator. Oh shit. It started in my shoulders, and then my face started to twitch. My companion shot me a look like, don’t you dare. Not one to attract attention, I sat there trembling as the tears welled up in my eyes, but I’m sure no one missed my silent hysteria.
- I could make a living doing my husband’s laundry. Quarters, nickels, dimes… last week I found a twenty dollar bill! It’s awesome – like playing the lottery, only I don’t have to play to win! Seriously though… it occurred to me that if he keeps leaving change in his pants, and I keep collecting it… by the end of next year we could go to Disney! Or, perhaps, if I keep announcing my finds loud enough – maybe one of the kids will want to do laundry too! We’ll create a new childhood myth – the laundry fairy. Look kids! You don’t have to pull your own teeth out, just fold the laundry!
- I am NOT a good sick person. I don’t act polite, I don’t behave selflessly, I don’t jump for joy to meet my kids’ every need. I"m actually quite not joyful. Really, it HAS occurred to me that there are some things the kids can do for themselves that I continue to handle myself… and, while I am mostly a willing slave to their constant demands, it has recently dawned on me that I could have so much more time if they’d just take their own showers without a chaperone.
- And while we’re on the subject of parenting – sometimes I just don’t want to be “the parent.” (Particularly when I’m sick.) They say we have to choose our battles… and frankly, some days I don’t want to pick a battle at all. I get so tired of that whole you have to be consistent shit. I don’t want to be consistent! It’s exhausting. When the kids were messing around the other day before practice and Ava told her brother to “open the fuckin door,” I just didn’t feel like hollering at her about it. They both know bad words are bad, and that they’re not allowed to say them – what the hell else can I do?? Todd said, “and she got to go?” So, ever the sarcastic one, I said, “of course! I laughed out loud and said good job honey!” She is, after all, a chip off the old mamablock.
More interesting tidbits…
The cost of admission at Hershey Park is $56.95. The cost of admission for a 7-year-old is
$35.95, which is cheaper than riding the Community fair’s rides for an entire
evening. Unless you purchase an
unlimited-ride wristband for $18, which is good for Friday only and then only from
11am-2pm. But that’s only cheaper if the
kid you bought it for actually RIDES anything.
My kid went down the giant slide twice. Translation: $9 per burlap sack. Most expensive slide. Ever.
The Eagles beat the Ravens last week in an undeserved
one-point game, and lost to the Cardinals 27 – 6 yesterday in a much-deserved
loss. Our Mighty Mites team (now 1 for
3) lost to the opposing team yesterday 33 – 0, but they played their little
hearts out. The cheerleaders, on the
other hand, can’t be beat: they are 3 for 3.
The average cost for dog sitting services per dog: $15.00
(for a 30 minute visit, with or without a walk), add $2.00 per additional dog. Average cost of gas to drive 40 minutes round
trip to transport two dogs PLUS 50 minutes roundtrip unsuccessful attempt to let two other dogs out in a
different location: $35. Total
spent: $35. What I earned: the Joy of temporary dog ownership and a
relaxing drive in the country, doing the speed limit.
Last year the IRS reported that 99, 123 refund checks had
yet to be collected as of November.
And finally, the awesome 6th grade vocabulary
word of the week: prevaricate. Don’t know it? Neither did this BA graduate of English. Look it up.
My son says his sister is always prevaricating. And that she has the audacity to be pompous and
impulsive. Well, sometimes, he’s not far off the mark
and at others – he’s just being facetious.
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