Spring Break, My Ass
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.
Hey, who doesn’t love needles. What’s that you say? This one serves no purpose whatsoever? Oh hell, shoot me up anyway — just for fun. And while we’re at it, how ’bout we hold down some screaming kids and shoot them with it, too. You know, just for kicks.
* * *
“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.
I think my children’s fevers were so high that they actually believed they looked like this. Also they may have believed they were flying and that the sofa cushions were talking to them.
* * *
“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:
Actually, I hear it’s made of ground up Loch Ness Monster testicles,
which is why it’s so hard to find.
* * *
“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.
Come on out, little flowers. It’s OK, it’s Spring Break. So it must be spring… That’s it. Lookin’ good. BAM! Take that. It’s STILL WINTER, SUCKERS.
Happy Spring Break!
* * *
Other Tidbits
- 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.
- Many thanks to SkinnyScoop, which just announced its Top 25 Humor Blogs and included the Blink on the list. Nifty!
- 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?
Sisterhood
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.
Down on the Farm
March 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Until I figure out what the hell I’m doing with this blog, allow me to share with you some images from my spring break on a farm.
First, what I did within five seconds of getting into my room at the QUIETEST farmhouse ever in the history of time: I spazzed out. Specifically, I went to close the door with my hip, unknowingly catching my belt loop on the door-lock, thereby yanking myself backward just when I thought I was going forward and flipping myself over, flinging my purse all over the floor, and somehow catching myself on my hands just *outside* the doorway, where the luggage guy was still standing.
Then it was time to Lysol the remote, phone, and faucets, as is my custom.
I also did what I always do when in the presence of a new bed:
Then I checked out the selection of toiletries. I was delighted to find this:
STIMULANT — which apparently can be absorbed through the skin.
I thought about changing into the robe in the closet. It looked fluffy and white and full of promise for an afternoon lounging on a chaise or at a spa or by a pool or with Alec Baldwin and a magnum of champagne at noon on a Wednesday. And *probably* it was well laundered in boiling hot water with hotel bleach. But unfortunately, the imagination train had already left the station, so I couldn’t think of anything but this: What if the person in this room before me tried the robe on? Naked? And wore it just long enough to change bandaids on that pesky weeping sore; administer to himself/herself a Sally Hansen bikini wax; give a quick hug to the child laid out on the loveseat with a trashcan because the vomiting just won’t stop; and ultimately decide that it would really be better to go ahead and get dressed. AND THEN they took it off and hung it right back in the closet, nice and neat… so that when housekeeping came, they’d see that the robe appeared unworn and just leave it there. So I didn’t put it on. But I glanced at it with mixed feelings many times during my stay.
Here are some of the animals I hung out with:
hot chicks
allergy monster
can you hear the lambs, clarice?
pile of puppies
This is the movie scene I re-enacted with extra dramatic flair when my husband got back from his day fly-fishing:
But I also mixed in scenes from other Brad Pitt movies, including when he gets killed by a bear at the end of Legends of the Fall and the first time he tastes peanut butter on a spoon in Meet Joe Black — just to keep things fresh and unexpected, but still kind of cohesive, what with the 1990s Brad Pitt references. A mash-up of sorts, if you will. I didn’t include “WHAT’S IN THE BOX?” from the end of Se7en, because I didn’t want to go that dark.
Anyway. That’s what we did.
