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Archive for November, 2002

|| November 18, 2002 || 9:39 am || Comments (1) ||

It’s going to be necessary to drive like a complete and utter maniac today.

I can feel it.

|| November 17, 2002 || 10:20 pm || Comments (2) ||

I’ve been put on notice that if I don’t have some semblance of a voice tomorrow that I am going to the doctor and my wishes on the matter will be null and void.

Apparantly Maxim woke in the middle of the night to hear me making some Gawd-awful noise and upon asking me what was wrong, I informed him that the walls of my throat were literally sticking together and I thought I might very well asphyxiate soon if not delivered a glass of water post-haste. After some time I breathed normally once again and went back to my dreams of kicking PTA mothers in the shins with my favorite Doc Martens.

I don’t remember any of this, but apparently it scared the holy bejeebus outta my loving spouse (he’s just scared that he’ll be stuck here on Earth alone with the kids and no one to play The Heavy), thus the declaration. Maxim doesn’t make sweeping declarations often (I would balk, then I would hit him with a skillet), so when he does I’m rather inclined to sit up and take notice.

SO….if you’re a praying-type people, or a cross-your-fingers-and-wish-good-things-type people, then lay it on me. Even if you’re a burn-things-and-howl-at-the-moon-to-achieve-desired-results people. Anything. Anything at all. I’m sick of being sick. The dark circles under my eyes and the lethargy gotsta GO. I can’t live like this.

But it’d be GREAT to not have to go to the doctor, ya get me?

|| November 16, 2002 || 7:42 pm || Comments (7) ||

I was gonna tell you guys a good story, something that happened in front of my kids’ middle school as I was checking Sam and Scout out for a doctor’s appointment yesterday afternoon. It involved a woman in a gold mini-van and her getting in my car, without the mighty Superior consent, and me with neck tendons bulging as I scream-whispered at her (yep, still no voice to be found…it’s in the Bahamas somewhere, cavorting near naked and wallowing in tequila, I suppose…) because I know how fond you people are of my littleFalling Downmoments.

But I can’t do it. I simply cannot, not today.

You see, last week I tossed the idea of a ‘kindness day’ about in mine cranium. A ‘kindness day’ would consist of me going about, smiling at everyone I saw, going out of my way to do little favors for the rest of humanity. I make it a point to help people where I can on a daily basis, because that’s the way momma raised me and because lovely karma pays back in spades. And sometimes, just sometimes, you get the air that you absolutely made someone’s day. That is ohsocool.

Today kismet is with me. The great engine of Cosmos Fuckingtm has settled down into a soothing hum in the background. Things simply clicked, starting with my planting my feet on the bedroom carpet and scooching them around in the half-dark, searching for the Magic Fuzzy Slippers.

“Good morning,” I whisper-croaked at my young jammy-clad, cartoon-watching wee ones as I kissed their warm, cinnamony-smelling heads. “I’ll have biscuits and eggs ready in twenty.”

“No need, mommy,” said Scout, “I already fixed breakfast for me and the boys; I made eggs and cinnamon toast.” It was strange, I felt like I had been complimented: “Great shoes!” or “My, your eyes are beautiful.” or “Girl, you throw a kick-ass party!” I kissed her extra, smoochsmoochsmooch all over her chubby bisque cheeks, which she strains against, but smiles widely in spite of herself. As I dole out allowance, I give her an extra dollar. “You are rad, and greatly appreciated in my universe, kid.” I whisper in her ear.

Kindness Day was off and running.

At the post office I encountered the usual Saturday line with all the usual motley, hating-being-in-that-line crowd. As I took my place, ninth back, I noticed a stocky middle-aged man repeatedly shoving the same handful of change into the stamp machine. The stamp machine apparently is no fan of the Saturday post office, either, and didn’t appear to cooperate beyond spitting the man’s change back at him.

“Pffft,” the man said, “Doan wanna stand it that line for one little ole stamp.” I dug around in my wallet for the half-sheet of stamps I had.

“How many you need?” I asked him, and he, suddenly red-faced, gifted me with a sheepish grin. “One,” he said as he gave the letter a little wave. I peeled off a stamp from the backing and offered it to him on an outstretched index finger, whereupon he tried to give me two quarters. I said no, he said yes, we did the little dance a couple times before I gently lay my hand across his farm-roughened one containing the change.

“My mother always says to not deprive a giver of gifting you with something,” and his pretty blue eyes softened beneath the John Deere cap. He must’ve thanked me five times between the mail slot and the door. Just a stamp, mister. Glad to help you. I really am.

The woman in front of me needed two stamps, and I forked them over, made her put her money away as well, and said, “I hope you have a great Saturday, sweetie!” She assured me that she would, as I was saving her fifteen minutes that she could really, really use.

All day has been like this, little gestures, kind words, smiling in traffic where I would usually shout and make ugly faces and SLAM. MY. PALMS. ON. STEERINGWHEEEEL. Big, spontaneous smiles all around, for everybody! You need a smile, mister? How ’bout you, ma’am? I got one for ya, right here. It’s free! I require nothing as recompense. I just hope I made your day a little better.

I know mine was wonderful.

|| November 15, 2002 || 11:59 pm || Comments (4) ||

“…haaballa hemla, Weendows ExPee!”

Matt and Tara are such cute little slow-bus kids, aren’t they?? I just want to hug them to pieces.

|| November 15, 2002 || 10:48 pm || Comments (0) ||


|| November 15, 2002 || 10:07 pm || Comments (4) ||

My pal ChristoCarto is on my doody list. That fucker. April Love told me today that he zoomed on down to Mobile to shoot a movie last week. Some indie thing about circus freaks, I don’t fuckin’ know…I’m sure she’ll wander through here and refresh us all on the title of the thing; it started with an emm, I’m almost SURE of it.

Anyway, that fucker ChristoCarto calls Ms. April Love and says, “*sigh* Henry Thomas dropped out of the project, and he was replaced by Norman Reedus.

“I know that name, I think, April Love, but where do I know it from??” And of course, April Love about has ten ducks, because she is one half of the two people in all of Hellafuckingbammy (the other half, of course, being your lovely hostess) who know who the oh-so-delectable Mithter Reeduth is.

BOONDOCK SAINTS, you silly bastard!” she cried in utter horror and disbelief, because of all people I-am-film-guru-hear-me-bygolly-roarrrr ChristoCarto should be aware of the movie that satisfies my requirements for foul-mouthedness, cheeky Catholic boys, family loyalty, rampant violence, and unlaced boots. DAMNIT ALL TO HELL.

In short, My Boyfried Norman (Murrrrrphhyyyyy McMaaaaannnuuuuusss, I loooooove yoooouuu!) is a scant six hours away, and here I sit with no voice (STILL) and, worst of all, responsibilities that demand my attention, obliterating to eensy particles even the mere notion that I kidnap Sistah April Love and roadtrip on down to Mobile in her I’m-not-a-freak-I-just-play-one-in-real-life insanely red Volksy Bug. Cosmos Fuckingtm at its’ finest, my brothers and sisters….at its’ finest.

|| November 15, 2002 || 9:28 pm || Comments (0) ||

Happy Bunny&copyJBK has the perfect blend of All-American smile and bold snarkitude. He should be my official mascot, but I’m sure I can’t afford the licensing fees.