March 6, 2013 § 17 Comments
Some things need to be renamed around here, dammit.
For example: This week is our Spring Break, meaning my children don’t have school. Thus far, the term is a bit of a misnomer, as it’s neither spring (first week of March? really?) nor a break (because both kids have spent the week sick with the flu).
Let’s just call things what they are, shall we?
* * *
“The Flu Shot” –> Needle Full Of Fairy Snot
Oh yes, we got the shots. Back in October. A hell of a lot of good it did us. One child started complaining of aches the first day of the break; the other followed within 36 hours. After calling around, we discovered that a few of their friends were down and out as well. So basically it’s just like that movie Contagion, except sorely lacking in Matt Damon appearances. And if you’re not going to get to grab onto Matt Damon with one clammy hand and rasp, “Save me,” what’s the point in having a horrible virus? So, science nerds at the CDC or wherever, listen up: Either make me a vaccination that actually keeps the flu away, or bring me Matt Damon. You know what? Fuck the vaccine. Just bring me Matt Damon.
* * *
“Fever” –> Crimson-Faced Raving Delusions
When the nurse on the phone asked, “Does he have a temperature?” my son was actually standing in our kitchen, red as a bell pepper, ripping his clothes off and screaming, “SOMEBODY HELP ME! I’M ON FIRE!” Yeah, he’s got a temperature. It’s approximately one-hundred-and-three-point-crazy. This is more than “fever” – this is full-body hallucinations. I could melt ice cubes on my kid’s face. Hell, I could cook s’mores over my kid’s face.
And yet I didn’t. Because I’m a great parent.
* * *
“Tamiflu” –> Rare Golden Butterfly Wing Serum
It took calling around to 12 pharmacies to get our hands on the virus-curbing drug. (Ultimately, the only place that had the elusive elixir was the Wal-Mart by the highway, where all sorts of interesting transactions go on in the parking lot, and I’m not talking about recipe swaps, youknowwhatimean.) Let me just tell you, when a doctor says my baby needs medicine and no one can seem to get my baby the medicine, this is how I handle it:
* * *
“Spring Break” –> Winter’s Final Fuck-You
Nature flipped us a middle finger a few days ago. Let me explain: We live in the South. My children almost never see snow. They were supposed to spend this week visiting their grandparents who live further north, where there’s lots of the exotic white stuff. So when the kids got Ebola and their travel plans got scrapped, so, too, did their chance at seeing snow just once before spring. Except: On Sunday, while they were both passed out blind with fevers, we had a freak cold front that brought… yep. Snow. Not much. Not enough to stick. But lots of pretty white flakes whirling outside our windows. And the kids didn’t see a bit of it, because it only happened while they were sick as dogs. And because Old Man Winter is an asshole.
Happy Spring Break!
* * *
- I decided to post a spring break update this week, because I realized it’s been one year since I Miss You When I Blink was born, and the very first post this time last year was a spring break recap. To all you goofballs who have stuck around to read this silliness over the past year, thank you.
- On a non-humorous-but-kind-of-interesting note, I don’t know if you saw this article in the Wall Street Journal last weekend: The Tyranny of the Queen Bee. Personally, I’ve almost always had fantastic experiences working with fellow women. But I’ve heard lots of stories about queen-bee types and have encountered a few myself. Dr. Peggy Drexler, the author of the article, writes: “Something is clearly amiss in the professional sisterhood.” That reminded me of a poem I wrote, which was published last month by The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. (It’s also part of a neat project my writing partner, JD, and I are working on. Stay tuned for more about it later this spring — we’re excited to tell you more when the time comes.) Anyway, here’s the poem – anyone ever had an experience like this?
It’s dawning on me now that we are not
Thelma and Louise, Laverne and Shirley,
Cagney and Lacey, or Oprah and Gayle,
We don’t sing “R-E-S-P-E-C-T,”
Or “Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves,”
Or even “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar,”
We don’t “stick it to the man” together,
Or hammer away at the glass ceiling,
Or break down the walls of the old boys club,
Because there is no solidarity,
No sacred girl code or “hos before bros.”
We’re the only two females on this team,
And in front of everyone it was you
Who sent me out of the room for coffee.
August 13, 2012 § 8 Comments
I’m supposed to tell a fact or story about myself. It’s part of a game. I’ll explain later, but first, here’s the fact/story:
One time, when I was 2, I sneaked up behind a secret service agent on a plane and rubbed banana pudding into his hair. Another time, when I was 16, I plowed a car into a bus in broad daylight for no reason other than that I had (have?) bad spatial awareness. I was not arrested or ticketed either time.
I’m pretty sure the reason I got off the hook when I was 16 is that I made the cops laugh (all six of them, who were required to show up because the bus was a city vehicle) by asking if they were going to cuff me. I really wanted to know; but I think they thought I was flirting. And if they did think I was flirting, then they definitely thought I was an idiot. So, forgoing the ticket was probably a pity thing.
When I was 2, the agent didn’t take me into custody, I suppose, because then he’d have to explain that he’d been taken by surprise by a toddler. I don’t remember anything about this incident; all I know is how the story has been told to me. So, just a guess, but I think we must have made some sort of a silent agreement with our eyes like this:
Agent: I’m going to wipe off this pudding, laugh like I think it’s cute, then turn around. When I turn back around, you’ll be gone, and we’ll never speak of it again.
2-Year-Old Me: I’ll kick your seat, and you’ll like it, Sugar.
Or maybe he didn’t arrest me because he just knew better than to mess with a 2-year-old with pudding hands. I can’t really say.
* * *
So here’s why I just told that little story: Some readers have been sweet enough to tag the Blink with a few “awards,” and one of the conditions of accepting such niceness is that in saying thanks, you also tell something about yourself. (It’s supposed to be a list of facts or answers to a bunch of questions, but I’m hoping a story counts.) So now you know something about me: I am wily and can escape the law.
Many thanks to these folks. I don’t know them, but I have poked around their websites. They lead very interesting lives.
Stacey at More Than Words advocates on behalf of her non-verbal child with great strength and patience and reaches out to parents of similarly challenged children. Wow.
Joy of One Joyous Heart seems to be a genuinely thoughtful person who enjoys writing down wise things and sharing them with others.
Anyway. I’m flattered and grateful. Thanks so much for reading. To keep the love going, check out the links on the sidebar for a few sites that make me chuckle —> Some of those are written by friends of mine. They’re funny people. I would give any of them a humor award.
UPDATE 9/14/12 — More sweetness from the Internet. I have to say thanks:
Loved this post by Unabashed Apparel and totally agree with them that humor is something to be treasured in all forms. Thank you!
August 6, 2012 § 6 Comments
Remember a couple weeks ago when we were talking about crazy keywords people type into search engines? You know, the windex enema guy?
Several friends got in touch afterward and mentioned that their own sites had also been visited by some bizarre searches. For example: “slightly inappropriate campfire.” (What kind of situation leads a person to search for that? Too many very inappropriate campfires, but not enough willingness to scale back to just-plain-appropriate campfire behavior? Like, “I want to do something crazy with these marshmallows on a stick, but not too crazy.”)
Anyway. Just for kicks, I decided to collect some of the best ones and put them up on a little tumblr so we could laugh together. If you happen to be the administrator of a website or blog and would like in on the fun, check out the instructions and submit your searches. A few will be featured every week until this gets boring.
It’s called Search Party – check it out if you like.
July 16, 2012 § 5 Comments
May 24, 2012 § 6 Comments
Pay attention: You’re about to find out how to get into a super-secret underground club.
If I ever open one, that is.
Yesterday, new visitors to the Blink found their way here in a variety of ways. Some clicked over from a post that was syndicated on BlogHer. (Hi, new friends.) One guy probably just sneezed on his keyboard and a random combination of keystrokes got him here. And some searched for other things but were, strangely, led here by Google.
The top three search terms that led to this site yesterday were:
- “Avett Brothers songs to say I miss you”
- “Plastic pool funny”
- “Sexy people”
It’s probably safe to say that searchers #1 and #2 found at least something they liked here. Searcher #3, my apologies – this is almost certainly not what you were after. (Unless it was? In which case: thank you.)
So anyway – one day, when I open an underground club, it will have a great bar and fabulous live music and a killer burger and 800 kinds of beer and some of those huge three-foot-tall bottles of champagne but not just for display because we WILL DRINK THOSE SUCKERS and a nail salon and lots of barstools and twinkly lights and votive candles that make everyone look awesome… AND the super-secret passwords to get in will be:
Avett Brothers Plastic Pool Sexy People
(All of which things, coincidentally, we will have at our opening party. North Carolina friends, one of you sweet-talk the Avetts into coming; I’ll bring the pool; and the lighting will turn us all into sexy people.)
You have to get it right, though. If you come to the door and say Smothers Brothers Plastic Teeth Sexy Bullfrogs, all bets are off. No dice, imposters.
So, be practicing.
May 16, 2012 § 4 Comments
Hey, nerds. You know how you have a nerd king?
Like, if you’re an Apple nerd, your nerd king was Steve Jobs. If you’re a cello nerd, your nerd king is Yo Yo Ma. If you’re a Star Wars nerd, it’s Harrison Ford (or Billy Dee Williams — look, I don’t want to start a nerd war). If you’re a unicorn nerd, it’s… whoever the king of unicorns is. It’s late and I’m running out of nerds, but you get the idea.
Tonight I met the woman who is arguably the queen of the internet humor nerds — Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess.
April 23, 2012 § 2 Comments
I told my mom that I was running out of age-appropriate books for my 9-year-old, a voracious reader, and she said, “Just let him read anything he can get his hands on. That’s what I did with you.”
Me: But I ended up reading Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon when I was 9.
Me: [looking on bright side] Then again, I turned out like this.
Mom: You would have turned out like this anyway. There was nothing we could have done.
And that is how “like this” can mean two different things.
Also, that’s the awkward segue into expressing my gratitude to those who have liked this column and shared it with friends. (I swear I’m not going to make a habit out of blogging about blogging. Because if there’s one thing that’s a waste of internet space,* it’s this: “Today I blogged. Here’s how I feel about blogging this blog. It’s like, I’m blogging, and here’s the blog, and now I’m going to step away and not blog, but then I’m back! Blogging again! Blog! Blogging like a mofo!” )
Whether you’re one of my 7 friends in real life or you stumbled upon it when we had that brief moment with the porn or the earrings a couple weeks back or you’re one of those Irish people who somehow found it at the very beginning, thank you for all the times you’ve taken a moment to “like” this.
It gives me a rash to come out and ask for anyone to share the Blink or follow it on Facebook or Twitter. If anyone “likes” a post, I want it to be because you actually like it. So it tickles me to pieces that so many folks are re-posting and sharing this stuff voluntarily. You’re all hired as promotional agents. (But it’s an internship, so it doesn’t pay.)
As the Blink’s agents, you should know that you’re doing a great job. I keep getting emails forwarded from friends-of-friends with stories about how someone had a horrible day or week or year, but then they read something here and it perked them up. I’m not going to quote them verbatim, because some of them are really specific – and some of these people, I’m telling you, if I was going through the shit they’re going through, I don’t think I could laugh at all. So, there. You’re making people happy when you share this stuff. I hope you’re proud of yourselves, young ladies and gentlemen.
Anyway. Just wanted to say thanks. Carry on.
(* PS: If there’s something that’s not a waste of internet space, it’s when Marcel says she desperately wants a nickname but can’t ask for it, about 1:35 into this. I really get that.)