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The Moran Elf Project 2012: Watch it, Bucko.

 The little rat bastard is BACK.  Billy Bob Joe…Merry Christmas; come trash my house.

Let’s face it.  He is creepy, snarky and get’s into all my shit.  But he is very loved, intensely anticipated and he is filled with the stuff that makes Moran little-people-memories. So let’s see what the little North pole Juvie has in store for my clan.  Bring it, Elf!

Welcome, Trouble.

Dec 1: Welcome, Trouble.

Those pretzels were for lunches.  Not a good start.  I may send him out to the Jewel to get new snacks ’cause we are not made of money around here, Elf.  Wasteful troll.

Dec 2: State is not for Suckers.  Go Lulu.

Dec 2: State is not for Suckers. Go Lulu.

I was SO pissed off he punched holes in the Cuties with little toothpicks.  Those things are pricey.  I may juice HIM.

Thanks, Billy Bob Joe, for the Mammories.

Thanks, Billy Bob Joe, for the Mammories.

I will make him finish that whole glass.  And if he comes back from his little “check-in visit” from the North Pole tonight and that Oberweiss is not fully consumed, then it will still be waiting for him to finish in the morning.  And the day after that.  And the day after THAT.

Cause Mommy Dearest doesn’t screw around.

pirate1 pirate2 pirate3

Bitch Pirate Barbie strikes again.

apples1I think someone is officially DTF.

fishies

Here fishy, fishy, fishy…..

copy

elfbutt

Too much egg nog at the office party, ya little brat?

jar

Jar-head, busted.

repel 3 repel1 repel2

“Creepy Elf boyfriend, I am falling and I can’t get up!”

“I’LL SAVE YOU!”

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I’m Fine, I’m Fine, No Really, I’m Fine.

This is exciting.  I am an empty day nester!  I cried on and off for the first 2 days and now…I am good.  Cracker, Bambi and Alpha are all nestled into their classrooms and I can rest easy.  Cause like I literally have to rest.  I went to my rheumy yeterday and he actually diagnosed me with exhaustion.  It’s making me twitch.  Full truth, people.  It’s made my RA bad and now my muscles have been effected.  And I have had an eye twitch for 2 weeks.  I am NOT winking at you.  It didn’t help that after singing last night, I couldn’t get to sleep until 2am.  I have a million projects and things to do…a house to scrub…but for today, I need to get rid of this twitch.

And so, for those close friends and family that have been worried about me, I am fine.  I am going to go rest.  But not before I share with you todays Heatherevent:

This all started with my dear friend “Sid”.  I call her that because she has undiagnosed OCD.  I am pretty sure I came up with that name after too much Pinot Grigio, while she was scrubbing my floor on her hands and knees.  She is incredibly thoughtful and she picked up some cream for me at the store the other day when I was feeling ill.  (BTW – “Sid” started this whole nickname thing with calling me “Rah”, making fun of my awful auto-immune crippling disease know as Rheumatoid Arthritis.  Love that bitch because laughter is the best med I take.)  I had this really bad, crazy week where I found myself not being able to have a freaking cup of coffee.  I was starting to get a little obsessed with the absence of it.  And I only drink decaf, which makes the whole scenario a lot more embarrassing.

 First, I was out of coffee, then I was out of cream, then I tried skim and it tasted like poop, then I thought I would drive to Starbucks then I was too sick to drive to Starbucks.  Then my sweet dear friend “Volly” from next door came over and bought me some coffee.  Then I was still out of cream so it just sat there. Then “Sid” eventually came over at some point and brought me 2 small creams, instructing me to put one in the freezer and pull it out the day before you need it.  Her mom always did that, she said and I can verify that her mom knows everything.

HELLO “Sid”, who do you think you are dealing with?  It’s “Rah”.  Like I would ever be organized to plan ahead.

Today, I made a gorgeous pot of coffee and I couldn’t WAIT to enjoy some quiet time on my stoop after the bus left…and I go into the kitchen make THE perfect cup of coffee and I am freaking out of cream.

Now, I know what I am going to do next.  And it’s going to suck because it’s not going to work out well for me at all.   But I do it anyway, because I lie to myself that I am an optimist.  I go into the freezer and I pull out the frozen cream.   Frozen, rock hard, frozen, frozen.  I mean like, take-a-day-to-thaw-a-turkey-frozen.  I dropped it on the counter THUNK and stared at it for a minute or two.  I now have time for this, you know.  I decided  to go get a teeeeeennnyyy weeeeeennny little kid’s knife.  I shoved that little knife in there and I scraped and scraped little tiny shards of frozen cream into my coffee cup.  Plop.  Plop. Plop.  Stir it up….and voila!  Outcome?

I’m going back to bed.

 

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Book #1. Purchase Fail.

For those of you DROOLING and KEENING and WAILING in anticipation for the start of my “1oo Most influential Books Evah” reading/blog project:

Houston, we can’t obtain the first book.  Nice start, idiot.

I ordered “MiddleMarch.”  I really did.  Last Monday from Amazon.com…I promise you, I am not bullshitting.  I waited and I waited and I waited…

-meanwhile-

Volly got her copy from the library sometime around Tuesday or Wednesday, which I should have done, but I owe them money.  (TOTAL EMBARRASSMENT.)

Volly informed me that the book has 801 pages.  SSSHHHWWWWHHHAAAAAAAAAA??????

Innocent enough from the front.

Side View…DOH.

Yesterday, while I was drunk at the Cubbie game, I received this email on my phone from Amazon:

Due to a lack of availability, we will not be able to obtain the following item(s) from your order:

  George Eliot “Middlemarch (Collins Classics)”

We’ve canceled the item(s) and apologize for the inconvenience. If you see a charge for the canceled item, we will refund you within 1-2 business days.”

Suckage.

Then I get a text from Volly and she says, “I finished the book!  Loved it!  (801 freaking pages and she started like 2 days ago.)  Can’t wait for you to read it!  No pressure!  LOL

NO pressure? Shit, man, I still need to GET the friggin’ book.   She’s a rockstar.  That is all.

Oh Man…now I am going to have to push through my hangover and head over to the library with my head down and my checkbook open.

Library Fine Shame.

Next time you hear from me, sometime in Spring or summer of 2013, I will have my first damn book report.  Peace out, bitches.

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Heatherevent: A Definition.

 Heatherevent [spelled phonetically, in case you are truly the biggest idiot on the planet: HEH-THER-EE-VENT]: an annoying and stupid occurrence or event that happens to me on a daily basis.

The Goofball in Question.

Here are some past Heatherevent posts from Facebook.  Stupid random shit happens to me.  It’s a wonder that I make it through the day.

 “Today’s Heathervent: I just walked into the laundry room to change out the clothes and an entire industrial strength ginormous jug of detergent was thrown off the washer during the rinse cycle, shattering the top and emptying the entire contents of new bottle onto whole floor of room. Cocktail, please.”

Could Have Been Worse.

“Heathervent of the day: not only were [Thor] and I stupid enough to be the only people to go out to movie and dinner in a snowstorm last night for my birthday; I insisted on wearing high heeled-boots.  Eventually, I slipped two times coming into house and busted finger. Nice.”

Disclaimer. This is not me. I am totally hotter.

“Medieval Heatherevent: what NOT to do when you have a massive horse allergy – forget to move inhaler to new purse and then completely have huge asthma attack in enclosed space with fog and horses running around. Otherwise you may end up outside missing the whole show with about six really cute fireman and paramedics giving you a neb treatment in the parking lot. *sigh*”

“Beach Heatherevent: Great day at the beach with my cousin [Apricot] and friend [Volly].  See that line from the cooler??? You know how hard is is to drag a cooler with wheels on sand? [Alpha] was pulling it and getting a workout so I tried to help him pull. He grabbed a chair I was carrying off of my arm and when it whipped around, he whacked me right on my face…then two seconds later, [Apricot] bent down to help me and whacked me right across the head. True live stooges action. In other news, [Apricot] just took a day full of gorgeous beach pictures with no memory card. Livin’ la vida loca, bitches!”

Image

“The Heatherevent of the day already happened and it’s a doozy. This was back when the guys and I were performing in NYC.   You know the hair iron that TSA stole at the Dullas airport and I practically launched a nationwide Facebook smear campaign because of the erroneous theft? [PianoMan] and [BassMan], remember how I berated every poor employee we ran into at the airport, warning them to not steal ANOTHER $200 hair iron from me? [Nana Toad], remember when I cried and said that nice guys finished last and called the hotel 100 times to check if they found it? Well, looky looky, check out cookie: I just found it. In the side pocket of the garment bag that I just took to NY. It was sitting in there for 7 months. I suck.”

THOSE AREN’T PILLOWS!

“Coffee Heatherevent: I spilled my Starbucks DOWN the front of my dress walking into work tonight. TWICE. Like, right down through the boob canal. I smell like a grande decaf americano. And roses, thanktoyouverymuch. But I don’t think you should buy below above shirt for $85. (REEDONKULOUS) Instead, I will happily sell you my cute baby doll dress for $8.50.   People are suckers. “

Sadly, there are a million more Heatherevents occurring by the second.  Already this morning, [Thor] had to wake me up because I had both my phone charger and ear phones wrapped around my neck like a fetus.  Weeeeee!

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One-Armed Wrapping Doesn’t Have To Be Lonely…

I apologize the for low quality of this photo. Perhaps you will forgive me, since I only have ONE WORKING ARM.

I blame Love’s frozen yogurt.  You chilly,swirly bastard.

I was with Cracker yesterday, just leaving an appointment and I saw a sign that had this retro international symbol of awesomeness…

"Open to the public!"

I totally slammed on the breaks and did a U-ey…man, I used to love that stuff!  Where has it been??? The whole Frozen Yogurt Movement!!  It used to be all over the place…wasn’t it?  Am I crazy?  I mean, I think the last time I had one, I was wearing a Bosom Buddies t-shirt.  I kept on telling Cracker it was ice cream, hoping that it wasn’t going to taste like crap.

It was inside of a workout facility for seniors and they were trying to promote the “healthy” vibe in there.   When we walked out, some old lady actually asked Cracker if she just finished working out.  Cracker giggled adorably and said “no”.  And the lady said, in all seriousness, “then you don’t deserve to have that”.  I seriously, seriously almost bitch-slapped her.  Seriously.

So, you remember, you can twist that all up together…two flavors…remember that????  So I got a french vanilla, just for nostalgia-sake, and some sugar free/fat free pepermint.  Holiday party in.my.tummy, ya’ll!

HELLO, SELF, you idiot.  I am allergic to anything NOT PURE.  There is nothing that is pure in a sugar free/fat free yogurt.  Like, what IS IT?  And it kinda tasted like peppermint baby vomit.  But I ate it in defiance.  The whole freaking thing.  I could hear Cracker in the back seat, going “ew” a couple of times, but I think she ate it in defiance, too.  In defiance of what, I am not certain, but has a tenancy to run a little surly.

It took about 30 minutes before I started to feel “THE TWINGE” in my left shoulder.  It can be any joint.  My immune system likes to change it up and leave me guessing.  “THE TWINGE” is quickly followed by the voice in my head saying “Uh oh.  ‘THE TWINGE.’  I will be virtually lame within an hour.”  By the time we finished errands and I am rushing home to teach a lesson, I could barely steer.  On goes the sling.  I really need to bling that thing up.

After dinner, I realize that I have to get my nieces’ gifts in the mail, wrapped, so they can be delivered in time for Christmas.  I annually SUCK at all things having anything to do with Christmas deadlines, but  “As God is my witness…not this year!” she says, holding up a radish to the skies…

Look, she only has one arm, too.

Now, I had my arm in a sling, not because it’s frozen, but because if I move it a cillimeter of a millimeter of an eigth of an inch, shooting daggers of pain whip up my arm, through my shoulder and stab my brain.  So, I just try not to move it.

Thor sweetly offered to help, but he was busy helping Alpha finish the project at the last minute that he had TWO WEEKS TO DO BUT DON’T GET ME STARTED.  Cracker was off somewhere having her Barbie’s kiss and hug ’cause that’s her newest thing and Bambi is running around the house like the quadruped Turkish tribe who walks on all fours.  We are strange, yo.

So I had to wrap all these presents.   Bambi eventually returned to Bipedalism and offered to help.  She actually got really excited and put on Christmas music.  She said, with kind of a maniacal and over-caffeinated look in her eyes, “This is great, you guys, I feel like an only child!!!”  *Sigh*  I love her.

And I was thinking while we were doing it, every crease, every fold, every piece of tape thrown on there and the bow, Lord of the RINGS, the bow…all of it was literally made very slowly, painfully and with a helluva lot of love.  And in the end, with all three of us together, Thor and I agreed on one thing:  a nice wrapping job, done well and with care, is definitely part of the present 😉

And I will NOT be accepting Love’s frozen yogurt gift certs this year, thankyouverymuch.

(And you can only imagine how long it took me to type up this post with only 4 fingers from my right hand.  Love, people; that’s love.)

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Because Everyone Else’s Elf Jumped Off the Shelf…

Meet Billy Bob Joe, the Moran Elf.

Rambunctious, sassy, creative, good in the kitchen, at times aloof and always the first to draw out a giggle, Billy Bob Joe delights our family every morning with another witty hiding place.  Here are some highlights so far in the Moran 2011 Christmas holiday season….

Hurry! Time for WGN Morning News!

Elf jazz. Dig it.

Who Stole the Cookie From the Cookie Jar?

Elves get THIRSTY.

Elfmlette Anyone?

MadElfLibs

Prince Ken's Utter Devastation...

Come ON dude, what a mess!

Oh, Billy Bob Joe, key parties are soooo 1973.

Movie Night!

Baby, It's cold Inside the fridge, ya freak.

The Games Elves and Barbies Play When The Cat's Away...

Unfortunately, you can't see that Prince Ken has safari hot shorts halfway up his thighs.

Is it WRONG?

The Elf Jar: Dude, that's gotta hurt.

Thank You Billy Bob Joe for all the daily giggles and excitement…

More Elf mischief coming soon…Happy Holidays….

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Falsies at a Children’s Dance Rehearsal…

Mine were not this long.

…don’t really work.

At least that is what I was thinking when all the other moms were talking to me this morning at the tech rehearsal for Cracker’s holiday dance show tonight.  They pretended not to notice that I looked like a washed-out 60 year old hooker on a 4 day bender.  I found that rather gallant of them.  Especially because I think the falsies were a little crooked.  I still had some of my makeup on from last night.  I am just glad they actually stayed on my eyes.  Once, I woke up with one of them stuck to my cheek.  At first I thought it was my old cat Emma licking me on the face, but then I realized I didn’t have a cat anymore.   *Blink*Blink*

I had a TON of makeup on last night for my show. We ended up staying at my moms after a last minute detour on the way home from Cabaret Club to the Redhead Piano bar.  That place is aces.  So it was a late, late night, I mean morning.  We just crashed when we got home, knowing we would have to wake up in 4 hours to head back home for the rehearsal. I usually take everything off and wash my face, etc, but sometimes, I am just too drunk.  There, I said it.  Just kidding, sometimes I’m too tired. Sometimes, I just don’t care.  Sometimes, I rip those falsies off after a gig and leave them on the kitchen counter.  I disgust even myself.

But let me ask you, where does the makeup GO?  I think I heard that it gets absorbed in the skin.  Ew!  Is that true?  I mean, if that’s true, don’t you think we have to be more careful about what it’s made of and what we are actualy putting in our bodies? (This, coming from the woman who just put an Egg McMuffin, of which she is allergic to, in her body.  Have you SEEN the FB viral McDonald’s chicken video?   I shutter.)  I am thinking that if you are going to be putting makeup on your face that is going to eventually oooozzzeee into your pores, you might at well make it fun.  Aha!  Let’s start a new makeup line!  Like pomegranate-infused vodka foundation or Skinny Girl Cosmo eyeshadow.

I love this stuff. Let's make an eyeliner out of it.

I think I have also heard somewhere that some crazy party renegades actually put vodka in their eyes to get a buzz.  Whoa, dude. That’s extreme.  I like my cocktail on the rocks with a swizzle stick and not mixed with my falsies and a touch of  mascara.

Hey, it just occurred to me. You do know that when I say falsies, I mean fake eyelashes and not boobs, right?  I did not go to Crackers dance rehearsal this morning with fake boobies on my eyes.  Just wanted to make sure you got that.

So, I was saying that I had all this makeup on for my show that I did last night.  The show that we did for my husband.  And 4 family members.  And one guy who looked at his watch and mumbled every 16 seconds.  Did I mention this?  Oh, you guys, this weekend at the Cabaret Club.  Rock bottom, ya’ll.  Really strange.  Really surreal.  Really humbling, annoying and eye-opening.  Did I mention expensive?  I think the cherry on top was having to pay $750 out of my own pocket to cancel one night and do the show for my mom the next night.  That’s ok.  It was just the entire Santa money for my kids this year.  Hey, maybe Alpha, Bambi and Cracker would be okay to find under the tree Cabaret Club cocktail napkins, a semi-opened mint from the bottom of my purse and olives on a toothpick.  Cause that’s all I got left.  We will figure something out,we always do.  I married my hero and together we will save the day.  Or rob a bank.  Ironically next week I will be doing the same show for hundreds of people who will love the hell out of it.  I don’t know. Life is a total goof job.

Whatever.  You know, I needed this.  It was like a really expensive wake-up call. I really think that I am ready to move on from performing and concentrate more on the things I love…my family, my friends, my home, teaching, cleaning my pantry, not being a cripple…really put focus on the important things in life.  Like the most precious moments:  watching Cracker tonight as she tap, tap, taps like a beautiful dancing happy smiling penguin right into my heart.  That right there, folks, is what it’s all about.

Tap, tap, tap…Tap, tap, tap…Tap, tap, tap…

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Twas The Crappiest Day of Christmas.

Yesterday, I think I definitely had one of the more crappy days of the year.  But HEAR YE!  HEAR YE!  A Decree!   I hereby announceth that instead of being all moany and poorme, poorme, life suckity sucks about it, I am going to put a happy lens on the camera…a little fun twist, tinted green and red for the holidays….without further ado, here is the account of my very, merry shitty day yesterday, complete with jazz hands:

1.) Woke up with out the use of my right elbow. The pain was unbearable.  And I loved every minute of it.  Everyone should have an auto immune disease that attacks your joints.  Rheumatoid Arthritis for the house, bartender!

2.)Off to the dentist: OH EM GEE!!! It was so freakin’ fun! The excitement was high from the beginning as I was almost completely out of gas and there is not one mother trucking gas station 50 miles from where I live in Siberia. So I had a veritable BALL driving in the car with the heater off, on a 14 degree day, singing one of my favorite holiday ditties, “Please Santa, Get Me to the Dentist Soon Because I Will Die in the Cold If My Car Breaks Down on Fairfield Rd.” La! La! La!

When I arrived, it was all sunshine and roses, as every dental appointment usually is…I had to wait 30 minutes extra, but that’s ok because I didn’t really have any agenda for the day.

Once I finally got in the chair, the dental hygienist zapped my root nerves with the Invisilign thingy two times! I loved it so much, that she did it again. What a Christmas treat. It was so funny that I cried and I got a charlie horse in my toes from flexing for 60 straight minutes. I was totally bummed that there was an appointment after me because I REALLY wanted to have it done all over again…. *sigh * now, I have to wait 6 more months.

I really had to hurry home and get Cracker off the bus, but before that, I got to sing my “Christmas Santa Don’t Let me Die” song all the way on fumes to the closest gas station, praying that I could still make it home in time to get #3 off of the bus. BTW, the Shell station rocked.  I even got some gasoline on my brand new gloves! Luckily, I will be able to smell that for weeks and weeks.  Who needs perfume?  And isn’t it so awesome when it costs $70 to fill up your car? I love that.

3.) One of the most rewarding parts of my day was dressing up in Alpha’s Lacrosse jersey and going to to mall to stand at a gift wrapping booth to get donations, only to get treated like shit from every third person who walks by…the whole environment was oozing with Christmas spirit.  Who knew that no one would want to be nice and smile?  I was so excited when I finally wrapped one present.  ONE.  Huh.  Well, at least I bought a new outfit for the show, with the last of my cash in my account.  I think it makes me look really superfat, so life is awesome.

4.)  Oops, I forgot to eat today.  Hee Hee!!

5.) So I am really pumped because I get on the highway from the mall to head downtown and I am hoping, well, begging really, to be in Friday traffic for about 4 hours, but I was so bummed, ya’all!  I was only stuck in the car with no food or water and a dead cell phone for only 2.5 stinking hours.  Lame.

6.)  I get to the venue, which I will call, Cabaret Club, to find out I have only a reservation for 2 and need to cancel for the first time EVER.  WHAT????? WOOT!!!  WOOT!! WOOT!!  Hee Haw and Merry Christmas, I must be dreaming!  All this hard work really didn’t pay off, thank you Jesus.  Who would have thought, that the same show last year, which was a massive failure because it sold out  in less than a week, only to annoyingly add a repeat performance?  Glad THAT didn’t happen again this year!  Phew!  For me, ya’ll, the best part was that I still have to pay everyone.  That’s right, I had to PAY money to NOT do my show.  Schwing!

7.)  I felt like I won the lotto when I went to feed my meter after tech and found a parking ticket on my car for $75.  Just wake me from the dream.

8.)  I know I wasn’t going to be negative but the only really horrible thing that happened is that some girl found my discarded credit card near my car…she actually had the nerve to go home and Google my name, find out that I was, um, “performing” at Cabaret Club that night and called to say she was coming to bring it to me.  What a horrible person.  Karma is a bitch, lady.

OK…Truth?  For reals?   The best part of my night was the support of my pals,  BassMan, PianoMan and DrummerSub, my lighting/sound buddy TechFro, all the staff at Cabaret Club and Credit Card Angel.  And what really pulled me out of the muck was listening to some lovely music made my some really special pals.  Thank you.

Let’s do this again, bitches!  Tonight, take 2.  Heidey Ho and Merrrrryyyyy Christmassssss!!!!

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BAN THE CLAW

THE CLAW

THE CLAW

Do you see this thing? This evil tool from the game room of the pits of hell?

It’s the claw game.  Most of you have seen one.  It’s the gargantuan crack-like monster lurking in the corner of dusty and dirty game rooms in mid-rate family restaurants across the land.

And Bambi is addicted.

I mean it, I am not sugar-coating it.  Where did I go wrong?  Why can’t she be drawn to the mint bowl like Alpha or the lollypop stash like Cracker?  But Bambi aims higher.  Oh, and let me say also that Bambi is a doll.  A gorgeous, sweet, funny, lovable sweetheart and I love her more than anything.  But she turns…Every time we encounter the crappy animal stuffed beast, she spots  it, right at the moment when we walk in.  If she doesn’t find one right away, her eyes bulge with her mission, eyeballs ever searching, jutting, tearing apart the layout with tiger-like prowess.  She makes her mark and she starts to jiggle, jostle around and sweat.  And she spots her Shangri-La.  She is instantly transformed, she is Gollum.  THE CLAW THE CLAW, THE MIGHTY CLAW.  From the second we sit down, she starts the “claw whine” and I know how badly it will end.  It will end with her crying all the way home.  But let me fill in the middle.

She starting the please game.  “PPLLLEEEASSSEEEEEEEE. “

“Honey, you can’t play that game, we go through this every time.”

“But Mommy, just ONE TIME.”

“No, sweetie, no one ever wins.”

(This is when, conveniently, the little brat from the next door table returned with her gloating father, carrying a cheap ass, Korean-stuffed, lower-quality-than-carnival-crap teddy bear.)

DAYUM

“MOMMMMMMMMM-“

“Just- Honey, can we order first?”

Movie in my head:  I walk over the table, grab the satanic prize  from the little brat and then I smack the dad in the face repeatedly while yelling at him for not being a team player.

If parents across the world would just say NO, then the owners of these establishments would remove them for non-use.  But we get suckered in.  Because we are hungry and we want the cheeseburger and draft beer and we can’t have them until they stop begging and we give them a fucking quarter.

We try to avoid this.  Mike and I do a “claw check”  when looking for a place to eat, much like the old “kid friendly-non smoking” peek in from days of yore.  He double parks and I run in.  If there is a claw, we move onto the next Applebees-barnabys-Hackneys-TGIF’s-crap place that we are looking to dine at…

Santa even had the elves construct a real claw game for HOME.  She plays with it non-stop, while I crouch in the corner and whack my head repeatedly with a wooden spoon to the beat of the circus song that plays over and over and over and over and over an

This should sate her, we gave her the crack pipe.  We let her use it in the comfort of our home.  Surely, she need not go out to get a buzz.  But crack kills, kids, crack kills.

We had an incident the day after Christmas.  Damn, I let my guard down ONE MINUTE.  We were heading to meet family at Buffalo Wild Wings.  It was my cousin Coconut’s birthday and we were all coming together to celebrate.

THERE WAS THE CLAW.  Stop staring at me, you big red greedy whore. You thief, you stealer of little tykes’ hopes and dreams.  Starter of addictive personalities.  DON’T EVEN LOOK AT IT.

What could we do?  We couldn’t leave, this was not our gig.  I could have said, “a table please, very far away from the claw”,  and an older motherly hostess would, with a twinkle in her eye, lightly chuckle while winking and lean in to whisper, “I completely understand, let’s see what we can do”.  And she would put us in the farthest corner from the devil box.  Alas, we didn’t have Aunt Bea, but this young waitress at the prime of her life with her tight sports jersey and her perky, non-breastfed boobs and she would not get it.  She will know soon enough when she starts to breed, but this time,  the slutbag she seats us right smack dab in front of it.  Not directly near it, but riiiiggghhhttt where Bambi can stare at it.

Who am I kidding?  She would have found it.  All the kids were walking around, scoping out the video situation.  Planning and strategically toying with our money in their quick little minds.

I was at the women’s table with the mommies and the offspring.  “A round of chicken tenders, chocolate milk back, for everyone!  And three beers for us, please.”  Cracker was getting a cold and was not recovered from her 5 minute nap in the car.  She whipped off her shoes and hunkered down into doublefisting both her and Bambi’s chocolate milk.  Seven minutes after that, the caffeine kicked in, her legs started to pump and spin like the Road runner, and for the next hour, I chased her while she did laps and half tripped every nubile, perky breasted waitress in the joint.  My beer was neglected.  I needed one of those hats with the beer holders and the straws – Spongebob recently owned one of those.  So J.

And everytime she came back, she went to me first.  Ol Battleaxe Betty who tells it like it is.  “No one ever wins, sweetie.  They make them that way.  Yo-”  (And piping in from the party of 8 in the corner) “I got one Daddy!  I got one!”

Bambi claws at me, “SHHHEEEE GOOOOTTTT ONNNNEEEEEE, MOMMMMYYY PLLEEASSEEEEEE”

“Go talk to your father.”

And Mike who is sitting at the guy table, shoving habanera teriaki wings in his mouth with one hand, and alternating drinking his beer and playing computer poker with the other.  He licks his fingers clean and gives her money.  And the  nightmare continues.

Mike gave the lil nugget almost THIRTY dollars in the span of an hour and half.  Are you fucking kidding me?  AND, it was in 4 quarter increments.  Do you know how many times that means she went back to him to ask for more?  And he gave them to her?

Oh, but by no means was she alone in all this.  She had a partner in crime.  My cousin, Felt and his wife, Teeth, have two adorable little boys, Heisman and Wrestler Fan.  Heisman and my very sweet Alpha were happily content at the end of the table, wolfing down smily face fries and taking turns with the Nintendo DS.  Apricot’s little guy, Star Wars kid, who is like a 4th child to me, brought a little buddy along with him so all the boys were content in their mini-man-dom.  Cracker continued to run laps while gnawing on a chicken tender, which leaves us with the dynamic duo, Bambi and Wrestler Fan.

Those kids were nothing, if not diligent.  At one point, Wrestler Fan, I think was amazed at her determination and put all his efforts into grabbing one for Bambi.  And we all rejoiced!  Our champion!  Our knight!  Victorious!  Slaying the dragon and bringing Guenevere the riches of the world!  Now she can shut it, sit down and eat her mac and cheese.  But it wasn’t the one she wanted.  She wanted the MONKEY. And there were tears.  She flung the unwanted stuffed alligator at Cracker, who screeched with glee and whipped it at the couple behind us.  Bambi was finally cut off.  “You are CUT OFF.”  She remained pouting at her seat, in claw rehab.  There she moped, moaned, keened and wailed until I finally chugged my Blue Moon and declared to Mike, “Wipe your wing-stained mouth, help me grab Cracker and let’s hit it.  I can’t stand it anymore.”  And we dragged Bambi to the car, and she cried the whole way home.

The next morning, my cousin and Coconut’s wife Apricot called me, trying to entice me with bloody mary’s and HBO mockumentary marathons.  As tempting as it was, I was in my own different little rehab, so I had to decline.  But before we ended our chat, she added, “So, wow, Bambi really is addicted to the Claw.  You weren’t kidding.”

Thus,we move on..we start anew, we remain vigilant in our quest for non-claw dining and we strive to encourage home use.

And the bright side is that, although she is tiny enough to do it, she has not been one of the Chuck E Cheese idiots that have tried to climb inside.  Dumb, Bambi ain’t.  😉

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And Now For Something Completely Serious…Part 2

The mom of Voxx came on the second day.

She came in like a bat out of hell.  A large woman with the poodle perm and a cane like her daughter’s,  the old gal had a mission: to tell Voxx and anyone else who would listen the exact dollar amount of all their delinquent bills and how much money they do not have in their bank account.  Voxx and Ethan Frome owe over $600 to Nicor.  That’s a lot of gas.  And they are really really late.  But they only have $64 dollars and some change in their bank account.  And not one iota of this is something that I should know.

Our very sweet and patient Phillipino nurse, Bandaid, came in announced Movie Tuesday!  She let us pick a DVD and she ordered us some popcorn from food services.  The mom of Voxx pulled up a chair and the two us enjoyed a little Meg Ryan/Kevin Kline French Kiss, while Voxx shaked with the DT’s.  I actually really enjoyed her company.  She was my second favorite visitor.

The only problem was she just couldn’t stop talking about Voxx and Frome’s financial situation.  I was actually starting to sweat and get he DT’s myself.  I was withering and writhing to hear about someone else’s uncomfortable and unfortunate financial troubles.  And when mother of Voxx insisted on calling Comcast right from the room, I decided to go try to take a shower .  All my trials, Lord, will soon be over.

The shower?  Not successful.  I washed my hair with what felt like nail polish remover and was I really clean?  I mean REALLY?  Was I? I felt like as I was standing in there, little amoebas of germ nasty sprung from the walls of the institutionalized shower and stuck onto my flesh.

But it was fun in there compared to pity payment party in bed area two.

Mother of Voxx left and the damn woman took with her Voxx’s hand lotion.  Shit.  I heard about that for the next 7 hours.  She told me about 9-10 times.  She told Bandaid.  She told One of the many annoyed and perplexed doctors who rotated in and out of our room.  She told the food service lady.  She called a lot of people on the cell phone, too.  In the end, I gave her my lotion.  I think she threw it at her closet later on but that’s okay, she can go ahead and keep it.  I’ll get more.

On Day three, I woke with a migrane.  I have no idea why.  Hm.

I have never have one like that before.  I even rated it a sad face number 10 and I have NEVER picked that one in my life.  Every flicker of light was a BBQ skewer in my cornea.  Every sound was a swinging bat over my head.  It even hurt to move.  So, it was so frickin awesome when Voxx’s Kenyan Physical therapist came in the room for her workout session.   BECAUSE HE TALKED LIKE THIS AT ALMOST SCREAM LEVEL AT ALL TIMES IN A VERY THICK KENYAN ACCENT AND APPARENTLY HE ALSO THOUGHT MAYBE VOXX WAS NOT JUST A DRUG ADDICT BUT COMPLETLY 100% FUCKING DEAF.  FOR ONE HOUR. Who was the one whimpering now?  Me. I did.  I whimpered for 60 minutes.

Again, *sigh*

This was about the point that I realized that this is not really happening.  Like scenes like thisare made for movies or books, just so fucking ridongulous that they are a cliche.

A cliché is a phrase that is so overused that it has lost its meaning.

My existance in that room was a true dead metaphor.  I was worse off than when I got there, but I needed to leave now more than ever.

Here came the groan. I heard her stretch and moan in pain for the curtain.  She ripped it back and then I had to look at her sagging tits again hanging out the sides of her hospital gown and she thrusted a pencil at me with a menu that had a piece of macaroni and cheese on it.  “Write your address on the back.”

THINK MAN, THINK.

WhatnameshouldigiveherwhatnumbercanImakeupcanIgiveherafalseemailaddressbut shewillknowshewillknowandsheknowswhoiambecausethedrsmadeabigdealoutofmebeingaperformer

andwhensheheardthatshefreakedoutandtalkedandtalkedandralkedaboutcomingtoseemeeperformand

whatnumbershouldigiveherifilieshewillstalkmeandcometoashowandkillmeafterwards

I gave her my name.  I gave her my address and my phone number.  I even gave her my email address.  The good one.  Because I had nothing left.

I am home now.  Every time the phone rings, I do a Voxx check.  She hasn’t called. Which…is sad.

And I really hope she is okay.

But I really, really, really need to start taking vitamins so I NEVER end up in the hospital again.

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