Git me ma day-um bagul

1) Damn you Patriots. Damn you.

2) I needs me a t-shirt that says, “I Survived the Hannah Montana 3-D Movie”. For Girl-child’s birthday party this year, Sergei got tickets for her and 3 friends (and me, as chaperone) to see said movie in all its glory. Hundreds of screaming girls (and their frantic mothers) lined up in velvet ropes, throwing popcorn at each other, running back and forth to the bathroom and chanting overandover again, “Do we get free refills on frozen coke?” (The answer: No.) We stood in line 2 hours. The movie lasted 1.25 hours. The girls had a blast, but I needed a drink. (Sergei had one waiting for me when we got back to the house…and THAT’S why I married me a prince.) We predicted that the initial “one week only” run would be extended, owing to demand and Disney’s unending and bloody-fanged greed. And that’s exactly what happened…”keep it in theatres until it runs its course”. Yeah, or until you suck every tween girl’s piggy bank dry. I loath you, Disney Corporation. Pucker up and kiss my dimpled heiney.

3) I bought myself “Writers Market 2008” from Amazon. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do with it, other than leaf through it and dream. So far I am not inspired. The only idea that comes to mind for an article to write and sell involves bodily functions and the words “poopy poopy pants”. Nope, still not inspired.

4) Saturday night I dreamt I was sitting outside with the kids, when we saw two finned rockets drop from the sky. They descended closer and closer, and I pulled the kids close while deciding (panicking, actually) which way to run and hide, when the rockets lifted up and burst confetti out their nosecones. Then a parade came from the sky, parachutes carrying stunt people on snowmobiles, elephants and tigers and lions being dropped in my helicopter, Anthony Edwards coming toward us with a parachute in his hand, jumping up 4 inches, and try to dive off the curb…he landed with a gentle thud on the top of a truck coming up from the subway in front of us, smiled, and went on down the line to jump and land in front of another crowd. Penelope Ann Miller came by wearing a red dress, and she tried to scramble down a ladder into the sewers, but we yelled for her to Stop!, and she did, smiling, and moved on. Airplanes buzzed the crowd. Satellites left their orbits and swooped above us. Jets so silver against the sky they were almost invisible caught our eyes, then disappeared. I didn’t trust it. Since I was little I’ve had dreams that satellites and spaceships landed in my neighborhood, and there was always something ominous about it. Scary and foreboding. This parade of space junk meant something bad was happening, something veiled under the banner of “parade!”, and I kept my arms around the kids, looking for a place for us to hide.

5) Poopy Poopy Pants.