Tricks/Treats

I have a pirate eyepatch.

If I end up wearing the thing, it’ll look mighty silly, as I have to wear glasses with my Cruddy Eyeball doing what it’s doing, and did pirates ever wear eyepatches AND glasses? Wouldn’t they just wear a monocle for the one good eye? Or would that be too Thurston Howell the Third for them?

I have a list of Tricks that have been laid across my being lately, but before I get to them, one Treat.

I love this movie. And now it’s out on DVD. WITH commentary by the lead actors (Sam, Steve), whom I would love to spread with butter and mash up into some PB&J affair and eat slowly on the couch with a glass of milk. I mean, I love them. Harvey Fierstein and Peter Dinklage and Mark Ruffalo and Paul Giamatti are also in it. MUST. See. Tv.

And now, lads and lasses, a bit of a rant.

Last March, I got a new muffler on my car. Got it at a different place, because my usual garage was too busy. Muffler Shop also gave me new brakes (needed) and other mechanical things so my car wouldn’t drop onto the pavement as I drove it.

Since August, I’ve had my car in the regular shop, I think, 4 times for various ailments. The last time was 2 weeks ago, and when I got the car back, the muffler was loud…again. Every time my car goes in the garage, it comes out with a different ailment. (Yes, the car is 10 years old, but I still suspect conspiracy.) So yesterday afternoon I left work early and went to the Muffler Shop with my ‘lifetime guarantee’ in hand. The place has changed owners since I was there in March, and this bunch is cool…not scary, really cool tats and piercings, low-key and quick. So quick, mind you, that they replaced the part that needed replacing in less than an hour, while I sat there, and didn’t rape me on the price (guarantee didn't apply, it was a different part...of course). I drove out of there with my lovely quiet car, my heart beating so loudly that I got the thing FIXED in less than 60 minutes, low cost, sounds great, oh man I was FLYING emotionally.

Which means…yes…something had to bring me down to earth.

I drove the car to the bank, then home, and later had to take Boy-child to taekwondo. Got about one mile from home, and what happens? You can guess. What happens. The ‘Check Engine’ light comes on.

FUCKITY FUCK FUCKKKKK.

Same day. Same goddamn day.

Didn’t even wait a week or two or four to break again.

So now, today, Halloween, I have to call Muffler Shop and see if they have diagnostic setup to check the Error message, and can they fix it. If not, have to take car to Suspicious Regular Garage, call Enterprise and have them pick me up, get rental, run home, pick up cupcakes and 4 bins of H’ween party fixings, go to the store for ice, THEN go to school for parties. I have 2 hours total to do all these things. Any one of them could trip me up. And I’m pissed, because my euphoria was short-lived.

GAH.

It always happens like this, doesn’t it?

And then everything gets done, and then you realize that was Some Sort of Life Test and you passed, dammit, you passed and you’re still pissed at the cosmos for arranging things in such a sucky manner.

But at least tonight, the kids will go out and beg for candy.

And I will show my parental concern for their welfare by taking some of the bigger candy bars, all for myself, for ‘testing purposes’.

Hell. O.

I’m here folks, here with my one good eye and my one squinty eye, kicking myself for not taking my boss’s advice to “just work half a day today” and tough it out because I’m not really in THAT much pain, and yes, I’m sure it’s character-building to grimace through pin-prick-stabbing in your eye, and not being able to breath out your nose, and freaking out all the faaking time that the tube currently descending from your lacrimal sacs into your nose will suddenly POP. OUT. If you sneeze just right or open your eye a leetle too wide.

But really, I had no bruising (which I was sort of looking forward to in a garner-sympathy sort of way), and I had no bleeding (other than waving goodbye to the Crimson Permanent Assurance for another few weeks), and I can still see out that eye, regardless of the myriad of papers I had to sign that said I wouldn’t hold them responsible if I went Blind. Huh. Yeah. Like THAT would hold up in the Grand Jury Argument of my Mind.

(switch topic)

Tomorrow the kids are having Halloween parties at school, and I get to go home tonight and make cupcakes for Girl-child’s class, and gather raucous games for Boy-child’s class, and get their costumers in order (with names on the tags), and find something halfway resembling pirate garb for myself so I can put that black eyepatch to good use. I will be so glad when it’s Wednesday. Halloween, even the mention of the word, makes me belly-sick with remembrances of candy corn, which I really don’t like, and too many chocolate bars, which I do like. Are you dressing up for H’ween?

(switch topic)

The muffler on my car is making a terrible racket. I just had it replaced last March. It has a lifetime guarantee. I’m hoping I don’t have to resort to flashing cleavage to get the yay-hoos at the Muffler Place to look at and fix my car without having me pull out Ye Olde Credit Card. And the thought of flashing them anything, be it cleavage or credit card, gives me the Very Willies.

(switch topic)

How weird is it, when you see someone else’s hands on you, and then you realize it’s not a stranger but your own hands, and how the hell did they look like THAT? I’ve always had my mom’s hands, that is, my hands resemble hers (I don’t have hers in a box or anything). They’re functional, but more like farm-wife hands than model hands. So imagine my surprise this morning when I was getting ready for work and some model-like hands were on my HEAD. Freaky. Then I realized my hands were still the same stubby digit-filled apples they always were, but it must be residual drugs from surgery that made me look at them differently.

(switch topic)

Sergei and I thought we saw Cynical Girl at Famous Local Pie Place yesterday. So, yeah, uh, CG, if you were in our neck of the nape, email me with details.

(switch topic)

Watched “Monster House” last night. I’m interested to know if anyone else has a crush on Steve Buscemi, and some sort of weird girl-crush on Maggie Gyllenhaal. Just curious. Not “that” way, but…well…ya know….

(switch topic)

I’m sure I have a lot more to say, but my fingers can’t keep up today.

Pirate Eye Patches and a nice nap

I have my eye surgery this morning, which I'm sort of looking forward to (no more leaky eye! good drugs! naps!) and sort of not (they should NEVER tell you at the pre-op surgical consult exactly what they're gonna do...it's too weird and icky, and I nearly lost my lunch).

I'm sitting in the bedroom with my shirt undone, no makeup, nothing to eat or drink since midnight, the cat howling at me, and the sun reflecting mustard gold on the turning leaves. Every once in a while I'll look up into the trees in the backyard, from my little office vantage-point, and see a leaf careen down through the branches, too tired to hold on any more, committing autumn leaf-i-cide. It's very pretty, and relaxing. Which I need.

Sort of freaking out a little. Yeah, I'm a big pussy-baby, I have no problem being puked on by my kids or seeing my husband's fresh surgery scar, or heck, I even loves me some Discovery Channel surgery shows. But when it comes to me being sick, yeah, I basically want my mommy. Pffft....

Have a good weekend, y'all!

Head for Rent

I’m feeling a bit…well…not here. Not anywhere, really.

Here I went and asked the talented Karmic Jay to do the Poetry Friday Word last week, and it was a delicious one, and I never got to posting, so I feel like ten thousands kinds of terrible. Sorry Jay, maybe I can give you one of my secret family recipes to atone for my sin. Cheesecake?

Sergei’s surgery Thursday went well, took longer than we thought as the doctor was late, and there was much rushing around to get the kids from school during the actual operation and return to the hospital to pick up my patient and listen closely to instructions from the doctor, oh and dinner and bedtime and drugs and pillows propped and ice fetched and the cat shooed and pulling out the sleeping bag to crash on Girl-child’s bedroom floor so I’d be close if Sergei needed me. He’s bruised and swollen and walking/sleeping/sitting tentatively. No one slept much those first few days. We’re all of us exhausted.

My own eye surgery is this Thursday, and I’ll be out of the office from then til at least next Monday. (Poetry Friday? Not sure.) I just got the FMLA forms faxed back by my ophthalmologist, so my HR lady can kiss my big white heiney. (She’s known to ‘favoritism’, letting some employees use FMLA for anything…even a cold…while the rest of us have to jump through a billion jillion blazing hoops of razor studded death-wire.) Meanwhile my eye is leaking and sore, and this morning the surgical consultant said next Monday I “could” return to work, but I’d have sutures and a black eye. Instant Sympathy!

And now for the freak-out part. I found out this morning that a co-worker of mine, a really truly sweet guy with a wife and kids, this co-worker’s mother was murdered over the weekend. I’m just in shock. We don’t know what to do, those of us here at work. The company will send flowers, but what do WE do? We’re kicking around getting him a memorial plant or tree, definitely getting some food to his house so feeding his brood doesn’t have to be a chore, but what else? We’re walking around here like zombies today, not getting too much done really, other than shaking our heads and searching for the on-line obit to send funerary flowers.

And on THAT happy note, I give you this.

Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow, plus count backwards from 100.

The handsome and talented Karmic Jay has graciously offered up the Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow. Go to this post to find it. Go. Now! Tomorrow, feel free to shake this word over the steaming bowlful of your blog post, however it polishes your silver…story, poem, photo, audio post of you in an Awkward Social Situation, note from your doctor, etc.

I’m working a very short day today because my wonderful husband, Sergei, is having surgery this afternoon and I will be his faithful servant. Don’t worry, y’all, it’s not life-threatening, but it is necessary. Out-patient, good drugs, days off work, yeah, all good. Next week the tables turn, as I have surgery on My Stupid Leaky Eye and Sergei will be looking after my sorry whining ass. (The only time I’m a huge baby is when I’m sick, and by that I mean, when I’m puking my guts out. This has happened 4 times in the last two years, and looking back now, I believe all those times weren’t stomach flu as I originally thought, but food poisoning. I blame packaged salad greens. I sincerely do.)

Yesterday I mentioned that I’ve been to a doctor eleven times in the last two months. Lucia asked if I was serious. So I looked it up. Now, I’m lumping all manner of doctors together, including dentists (sadistic little bastards) and any place I had to go that my insurance paid for under ‘health benefits’. I’ve seen:
1) Ophthalmologist
2) Pediatrician
3) Ophthalmologist
4) Pediatrician
5) Optometrist (or whatever you call a ‘regular’ eye doctor)
6) OB-GYN
7) Ophthalmologist
8) OB-GYN
9) Ophthalmologist
10) Dentist
11) OB-GYN/Mammogram

Thank the jeebus for insurance!

Send good juju our way, if you believe in juju, that is…!

Stomp yer feet, clap yer hands

1) I wrote two different posts this morning, and then threw them both away. Arrrghhh…stupid writer’s indecision.

2) I got to work at 6 a.m., and in the last few hours, my belly has made a general, albeit growing, statement that it is NOT HAPPY with me. Herbal tea didn’t help…nor did deep breathing exercises…and I can’t go home because my work schedule is such that I HAVE (HAVEHAVEHAVE) to work until 3 today. So I did what I normally do in desperate situations…I found a handful of change and made my way to the break room, specifically, to the snack machine. There’s never anything really good in there…like an omelet…or a martini…but my eyes caught sight of strawberry Pop-tarts. I can’t eat Pop-tarts. Well, I CAN, but I shouldn’t, as I’m trying to be a good girl in the eating/working out department. But. Dammit. My stomach threatened mutiny, and my hands fed 90 cents into the odious machine, and there I stood, with Pop-tarts. Goddamn Pop-tarts. I ate the disgusting (tasty) nasty (delicious) bars of sugary, lard-y goodness (I know, I know), and y’know what? They made me burp. Which, in turn, made my stomach feel not quite so bad. So now I feel guilty and a bit sugar-sick, but at least the feeling of impending wretching is subsiding.

3) My car is in the shop. Now, I love my car. It’s the same age as my Boy-child. It’s served me well. However, in the last 2 months, it’s been in the shop 4 times. Of course, in the last 2 months, I’ve been at a doctor’s office 11 times…ELEVEN. So really, who’s sicker? Anyhow, got the car in the shop, Enterprise Picked Me Up (late), and since they leased out the cheap compact car I had reserved, they gave me the only thing on the lot…a Chevy Impala…for the same rate (plus 10% off for having a car in the shop). Now this car, this Impala…well…it’s luxurious. I spent five whole minutes at the Enterprise lot just figuring out how to move the seat forward and turn the lights on. The seats are plush (with movable lumbar support!), every function is motorized, and it doesn’t smell like 10 years worth of kid snacks and barf. I picked the kids up from school and on the way home, they begged me to turn on the radio (because my car’s radio is merely a very expensive dashboard paperweight). We cranked UP the jams, baby, and riding down the street with good shocks and velvety interior, OK Go’s “Here it Goes Again” (aka, the Treadmill song) came on, and Girl-child squealed, “I feel like I’m someone famous!” I asked, “Why? Because you’re in a nice car with the music turned up real loud?” “YEAH!” she yelled back and resumed car-seat dancing. It’s a nice car. I’m taking notes as to what I like about it (and don’t like) for when we actually bite the bullet and start making monthly payments on some other vehicle that will last me ten years. But I’m still counting the minutes when the garage calls, when they tell me how nicely my old car is running, when I pick my car up, stained and reeking and still half-broken because I’m too cheap, and rest safe, like a mom who knows all her kids are home safe. I’m just sentimental that way.

With sweet understaaaaaandin’….

As I reached for the alarm button this morning, in the empty stage of my mind, a song was swelling, until finally, as I sat up to find pajama top and bottoms, the lyrics were not only forefront in my cobwebby brain, but on the tip of my tongue….

“Suddenly Seymour
is standing beside you
You don’t need no makeup
Don’t need to pretend
Suddenly Seymour
Is here to provide you
With sweet understanding
Seymour’s your friend.”

I love that movie. (Oh gawd, I just imdb’d it…it’s 20 years old…!)

Every time I go to the dentist, I have a flashback to Bill Murray meeting Steve Martin (as Dr. Orin Scrivello…D.D.S.)…“I think I need a root canal. I definitely need a long, slow root canal.”

Didja ever see the original Roger Corman black & white version, with Jack Nicholson? Wacky. No catchy musical numbers. That I recall.

What if Jack Nicholson had made ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ as a musical? They could have called it “Cuckoo!” (with the exclamation point), singing songs like “My Heart Belongs to Nurse Ratched”, and “I’m N-N-N-N-ot Crazy”.

“The Tall Guy” is a funny little movie with Emma Thompson, Rowan Atkinson, and Jeff Goldblum, wherein the latter stars in a West-End musical based on the life of John Merrick, the Elephant Man. The musical is called, of course, “Elephant!” (with the exclamation point). Unfortunately, I’ve taken to creating fantastical musical numbers in my head when faced with horrendous real-life news stories. “Tsunami!” “Columbine!” “Amish!” It’s a coping mechanism, to be sure, as I just can’t deal with terrible real-life drama. I’m sure there’s a special kind of hell for folks like me.


So, let's see…Little Shop of Horrors...Jack Nicholson...big-budget Broadway musicals named after disasters...that, dear bloggers, is where my head is at today. Where's yours?

Mammograms! Git yer fresh hot Mammograms here!

I am not, nor have I ever been, “perky”.
That is, perky in the boob-u-lar sense.

I’m telling you this by way of introduction to my attitude to mammograms.

I like them.
I really do.

I’ve never had to worry about perkiness making for a painful experience.
I have the soft voluptuousness that allows for a lift, flop, and gentle manipulating by the inevitable cold tech fingers.

I tried to commit the machine to memory this morning, to give y’all a play-by-play, but really, there’s nothing like the machine…oh, maybe, something like the x-ray machine in your dentist office morphed with HAL from “2001”, mated with one of those robotic arm-thingys they show on the Discovery Channel, and topped off with two square plates that magically compress…and have booby lines where the outer edge of one’s breasteses should be.

I love the techs. We always chat energetically. They’re always nice, animated, concerned, female, and very nonplussed.

I must admit to a bit of…a tiny teeny bit of…fear, afterward, when they have the films and have to check them over to make sure they got a good picture. I worry unnecessarily, of course, as they’re only looking for film quality and not some gigantic mass that screams, “Oh Dear God!”. That comes later. That gets confirmed by a cute little postcard. Or, as I’m told, a serious phone call.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and for all you ladies out there, and for all the gents who love you, make sure you take good care of those little puppies up there. Get those mammograms, do your monthly self-check, don’t ignore any suspicious activity in the general breastal area.

I found out a few weeks ago that a fellow mom-friend of mine has breast cancer. She is having a mastectomy next week, and reconstructive surgery at the same time. They hope all the cancer is isolated in that breast. But they can’t be sure. Her daughter is good friends with my daughter. The mom is my age. Talk about fear…well, jeebus. They feel fortunate they caught it at this stage.

Fortunate.
I can’t even imagine.

As I was leaving the Breast Lab this morning, the tech handed me a decorative pink bag with swag inside…a booby pen, some mints, a metallic pink bow pin, other assorted goodies to celebrate Breast Cancer Awareness Month. She also pointed me to the table where I could enter a drawing to win Free Prizes, so of course, I did.

The goodie bag was nice. But it was totally unnecessary.

My nubbins LONG to be squished every year. Just…just in case….

Poetry Friday…Wish

Well, it’s Poetry Friday. It’s been a hellova week here…multiple doctor visits and statewide assessment tests, soccersoccertaekwondodance, field trips and luncheons, the unending slew of work projects, the itch for Thanksgiving, celebrating the Deeeetroit Tigers, and now…a sick child. (Sergei reports her temp is 101, and we’ll tag-team it today, with me working in the morning, him working in the afternoon…thank you jeebus for flexible work schedules.)

I wish I could entertain you with top hat and tap shoes, cane twirling about my sleek tuxedo-ed body, “Tea for Two” and then some jazzy and unexpected dance…Martha Graham mixed with Gene Kelly and a bit of P-Funk…but that ain’t gonna happen.

I wish I could come up with some incredible thought-provoking Poetry Friday Word, something that would hit you in the solar plexus and all the tightly-held words inside you would spill out for me to read this weekend, when I’m fighting off the inevitable cold I’ll catch from my sick child. But no Words are coming.

I wish I had more time…the time I’ve made, the time now opened up by going to work early to leave early, that time is eaten up by errands and projects, which was the point, but I wish there was time to…walk through campus with the kids, picking up scarlet-and-gold autumn leaves, with v-formation geese crossing the pink sky overhead…sit for an entire afternoon on the comfy couch at the bookstore café, sipping lattes and reading banned books…bake something delicious and labor-intensive, and give it to my girlfriend who’s feeling lonely…take the kids and the husband to the movies, and spend the day bouncing from theatre to theatre, watching and eating and laughing, collapsing at the end of the night high on Diet Coke and Junior Mints.

I wish for a lot of things.

I’m happy for what I have, don’t think I take that for granted.

But as long as we’re humans, the one thing we do together, as a species, is wish. Sometimes that’s all we have.

Sounds like the Poetry Friday Word is WISH, doesn’t it?

Have a good weekend, y'all!

Well butter my butt 'n call me a biscuit

1) It's snowing. SNOWING. Goddammitgoddammit. Winter...I. Am. Not. Ready. I still wear shorts and strappy tank tops around the house, though, I don't care if it's 31 degrees outside, inside it's summer, dammit.

2) I went to the dentist this morning. Now, all you dentists out there, I'm sure you're wonderful people. I have nothing against you personally. I do, however, take issue with the breeding stock that bore me with such icky teeth. My parents both had dentures by the time they were 30. They did, thankfully, instill teeth-brushing in us kids, and that I do. Flossing, OTOH, sucks. It's like, well, it's like making your bed. No one sees it but you, and you just end up doing it again anyway, and I'd much rather use that two minutes of flossing time as sleep time. See, that's what I tell myself, and why every dentist visit my gums bleed like tha dickens. Today, yes, they bled, and I waited with anguish for the dental tech to say, "The dentist will be in shortly", 'cause that means he gets to harrass me about my flossing and don't I need another crown so he can get that new outboard motor he really wants, and it's time for the 'deep scaling', which is a pleasant way of saying, "we're gonna shove these sharp metal sticks under your gums and scrape around in there til you can't remember your own name". BUT. After the dental tech cleaned my teeth, she said the magic wonderful words, "The dentist is out this morning...I saw no cavities...we'll see you in a few months!" I could have hugged her. Didn't. But could have.

3) Ah kids…Girl-child woke up around 2:30 a.m. with a cough-rattle in her throat. Sergei woke up first and attended to her, medicated her, but she didn’t want to go back to sleep. Then I got up with her and was putting her back in bed when I made her clear her throat, hard, as it sounded like she was breathing through chunks of jello. She made a motorcycle revving sound, coughed, and spit a beautiful wad of phlegm into my waiting hand. And on her pjs. And on her thumb. After cleaning up, we snuggled in her bed for about an hour, until about 4 a.m. and since I had to get up at 5 a.m., I crawled painfully into my own bed. But she slept. Ah.

4) Poetry Friday Word is a-comin’…stay tuned.

I want this night in your ear

1) I woke up singing “Physical (You’re So)” in a strange amalgamation of Adam Ant and Nine Inch Nails…this is NOT conducive to work, by any stretch.

2) Driving to work this morning, very dark, at a crossroads I happened to look right to see what traffic might hit me in the event my brain freaked out and told me the light was green when in actuality it was red. (Doesn’t everyone freak out like that? Like when you’re driving across a bridge and you suddenly realize, oh my god!, if I turn the wheel slightly to the right, I could Kill Us All! Dontcha?) There was no one on the crossroad…I thought…until I saw one small light in the grassy field near the road’s shoulder. My first thought was, of course, ALIENS! They’ve finally landed! Then I thought, Oh, so THAT’S where they bury the dead bodies ‘round these parts. Then the light jiggled a bit, and I quickly thought…two-college-kids-boinking-in-the-field-oh-no-it’s-a-motorcycle. And it was. Motorcycle. Although their very well could be boinking in that field simultaneously. Which made me think…y’know, if you’re gonna ride a motorcycle in the dark like that, on what amounts to a deserted country road, you really should be made to wear some sort of lighted cage around you, something that makes you look like a car, but sexier. A roll-bar sort of event that attaches to the frame of the bike, with multicolored lights that flicker in brilliant patterns and gyrate and perhaps make some sort of bird-whistle sound, so everyone knows you’re coming, especially sleep-deprived early risers who think you’re an alien.

3) I didn’t want to do it. I really didn’t. In fact, I SCOFFED when I saw other people doing it. But there I was. Standing in front of the rack. Picking out snowflake and wreath charms and beadwork to start making Christmas presents. It’s frikkin’ early OCTOBER. What the hell is my problem? That’s a purely rhetorical question…I LOVELOVELOVE the holidays. I love the tingly feeling in my belly when I think of making a huge Thanksgiving dinner and at least 4 desserts. My head gets all dizzy when I think about presents, and how my head nearly explodes when I see The Perfect Gift for someone and buy it, right now, without justifying it. I squeal when I see blue and white decorations. The menorahs come out, and the dreidel at school parties, and gelt. I love that my kids celebrate Kwanzaa by making beautiful placemats and having a special lunch. Chinese New Year, the red decorations and the sweets. I’m so thankful I live in a city where we celebrate everything. I’m thankful for craft stores and the internet and multiculturalism and a community of family. Schmaltzy, yes, but don’t you feel the same way, even a little?

4) One of my on-line tech newsletters this morning said hackers posted a fake notice on Google’s blog…in Blogger. The article doesn’t mention how it was done. So now I’m wondering…uh…Blogger? Could ya at least make sure no one hacks into my blog, and if they do, can they at least post something funny?

My own sign says, I’m sorry, I’m smokin’….

1) I woke up this morning with the taste of Mike Doughty in my mouth. I don’t remember the actual dream, just his face asking me a question and waiting for the answer.

2) I watched, “Thank You for Smoking” last night, and have yet another Floater Fantasy Boyfriend in the wings with Aaron Eckhart.

3) Had a great birthday, lots of presents and love, got to sleep in AND got to see the Deee-troit Tigers beat the crap outta the Yankees and advance in the playoffs. Awesome-est awesome. (Derek Jeter, y’know I think you’re hot and all, but all’s fair in love and baseball.)

4) I feel perfectly okay being the bitchy old woman bitch, which comes with age and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude. I yelled at the pharmacists at the grocery store last week when they ignored me at the counter to take all the drive-up customers. Yelled at them with my pink-eyed 9-year old son beside me, who was hungry and frustrated. YELLED. Got service. Have a nasty letter formulating in my head, all about Customer Service and future purchases. I will bitch again. Oh yes. I will.

5) My current girl-crush is on Amy Sedaris. Sergei bought me her book, “I Like You”, for my birthday, and while I haven’t had time to read much yet, I can tell already that at least half a dozen of it’s pages will be stuck together with drool at her fantabulousness. I want to cover her in icing and sprinkle her up with jimmies. Mmmm…jimmies….

6) Speaking of girl crushes, can I give a shout-out to girlfriends in general? I mean, the girl-girlfriends? My good friend Lynn invited me out to dinner for our birthdays (hers was a few weeks ago), and this morning my good work-girlfriend Amy gave me the best-smelling hug (and the promise of ‘some little thing’ she forgot at home), AND my goodgood friend Lisa brought me flowers…FLOWERS!...in a pot!...with a mylar Happy Birthday balloon…AND the birthday card we’ve been trading back and forth for a few years now, wherein two dogs say, “We’re a couple of hot bitches!” Damn how I love that!

7) Jeebus Gawd, is there NOTHING I can eat? Lettuce and beef are two of my staple foods…. Fack….

8) Too much, doctah...had my surgical consult last Friday for my lousy tear duct, and I really wish doctors wouldn't tell me SO much. I mean, I know they have to for liability and such, but really, when I'm sitting there swooning and trying not to pass out because of the details, there's no sense going on. Just tell me I'm having surgery, tell me I'll heal in 5 days, and that I need to learn to sneeze out my mouth, and I'll be good.

I don’t want to go on the cart…I think I’ll go for a walk…I’m getting better!...I feel happy…I feel happy…OOF!

Between a work schedule that’s sucking the very lifeforce out of me, a daughter sick with fever/stomachache, and a son with pink eye, I haven’t been much of a blogger these last few days. When I do find those magic moments at home when the kids are in bed and the dishes done and the cat puke lovingly disposed of, instead of signing on to Blogger and writing some pithy little declaration, I fall asleep on the couch…or standing up…or on the toilet.

I also have a vague recollection that tomorrow’s my birthday.

In the immortal words of OK Go, “Do what you want” with Poetry Friday today. I have a surgery consult this morning for my stupid eye, and then I have to bust more than a few heads here at work so we don’t traverse into the dark ages of Marketing. But I’ll be ‘round to y’alls places soon enough. Hopefully without this pit of despair for a stomach.

As Thick As Peanut Butter

1) The fog rolled in this morning, and it’s not fog like in scary movies but more like fog on a day when you sleep in, and here I am at work trying to prop my eyelids up with paper clips and dumping packets of dry coffee down my throat. I’m enjoying it, actually.

2) A storm rolled in last night and we were all awakened at 2:55 a.m. with a loud BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM, and it was really like that only LONGER, with the thunderstick BOOM hanging on and on in the air for so long I thought something exploded outside, or an earthquake hit and buildings were tumbling down. I instinctively reached for my pjs beside the bed and started putting them on, as not two seconds later, Girl-child whined, “Mooooooomma!” As I went to calm her down, Boy-child came out of his room shaking, so I cuddled them both up on her bed and rubbed their rumpled heads and blanket-warmed bodies and cooed and rocked and consoled. As much as I love uninterrupted sleep, I love even more making the kids feel safe.

3) New Fantasy Boyfriend, officially…. I had to dump Brendan Shanahan (traitor to the Detroit Red Wings) and have had a tough time deciding on a replacement. As I watched Studio 60 last night, I decided, well, enough is enough, time to get off the pot, and choose Bradley Whitford as a replacement. I was going to put him in floater position, but Kirk Herbstreit is there for college football season and really, I’ve lusted after Bradley for years now. The official Fantasy Boyfriend list is rounded out by Dave Matthews, Mike Doughty, and Colin Firth. Two musicians, two actors, one sportscaster. Fair enough.

4) I can’t even process the school shootings that have happened recently. I can’t even link to them. It pisses me off to no end, and I don’t understand why these guys, these shooters, don’t just turn the guns on themselves first instead of killing and maiming innocents. I’m still not convinced of heaven and hell, but I know in my heart there’s a deep, dark, painful place waiting for these guys, and I hope to go there and stomp the shit outta them.

5) Sergei got us both memberships at the gym not far from Local University. It’s well-stocked with obsessive college boys pumping iron and too-cute college girls working on their abs and asses. I tell ya, if I must go to the gym, this is the place I wanna be! (Sergei, if you read this today, I’m going there directly after work today. Yes, I’ll pick the kids up from school. And yes, I promise not to ogle the sweaty college boys. Too much.)

6) Daniel Radcliffe as you’ve never seen him. I’m strangely turned on and repulsed at the same time. Ricky Gervais may have to rotate into Floater Boyfriend position after college bowl games....