Friday, May 31, 2013

Dead Mom Walking

I have one minute.

One minute of peace left before I must wake up my kids to get them to school.

It is the second to last Friday of the school year here, and I'm done.  I want to go to the pool instead of school.  I wonder, if I promise to do educational things with the kids, would they let me check them out for the entire last week?  I mean, I'm already checked out, so let's spread the joy, right?

I have a feeling that wouldn't fly.  See, my daughter has a teacher that actually teaches up until the last bloody day of school.  I really like that, but sometimes, having the teacher that shows movies for the last 5 days of school would be better.  Better because I feel like at that point, I might actually be able to do a better job than them.  Otherwise, I fail at teaching.  My kids are constantly told that the moon is made of cheese and that the teachers are wrong.  I enjoy bring them into my imaginary world, even though I drag them there kicking and screaming sometimes.

My time is up, but the girl had swimming last night, so I'll grant a reprieve.  I'm doing it for them, giving them an extra 10 minutes to sleep.  Because I'm such a nice mom.

I think it's a fun parlor trick, having them tell others about the Swiss properties of the cheese moon. ...and most people think that the kids are being funny, not actually getting mad and defensive when they are told by a friend of mine that 'really, the moon is just a boring block of rock.'  It's a small part of my happiness, telling them the wrong things on purpose, but happiness is important, no?  Right now (they're up now) they think I have fed them little square dog biscuits for breakfast.  ...really it's craklin oat bran, but they don't need to know that.

But now I have to make lunch.  She might be getting a baggie full of taco filling.  That's what happens the last week of school, lunches are an after thought and I steal extra time in the morning.

Bring on summer before I collapse into a total mindless blob.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Primal Metaphysical Seething

I hate the PMS excuse.  It doesn't hold the weight that it should.  Like when you hear someone say 'I'm PMSing' you discretely roll your eyes.  The more important thing to do is bring your hands into prayer position, bow slightly, and back away slowly.  If you look this deadly being in the eye, notice the intense fire that burns, and pray to her like she is the goddess of fire.  Maybe she will let you pass.

 I think another renaming is needed.

Let's put it in list form, and the name should come naturally....

Right now I feel like stabbing someone.  And curling up into a little ball to cry.
Roid rage has nothing, but because there has got to be an accompanying surge in adrenaline, I should go to the gym and try to bench a box full of Prozac.
I need a mental health day.  You know, like people that have real jobs take when they want to burn the office down.  But I stay at home with my kids, so I guess it's time to pull out the marshmallows because this pile of twigs that we usually call a house is about to get torched.
And I need new shoes because the tread is down to the nubs and I plan on hiking a few mountains in them so when I slip and break my leg, I'm going to take them off and launch them into the woods as hard as this Prozac benching bitch can manage.  And when they beam a bear in the mellon and she gets pissed because the shoe then hit her cub so she comes to rip me apart... well lets just hope I'm having this same hormone surge so that I can tear her up and peel her fur off so I can wear it like a cape as I duct tape my broken leg back together and run out of the woods.  I'll eat her heart raw, then leash her cub and take it home as a new pet.
And that's not even a list, but I don't care because the pulsing in my veins wants someone to say it isn't a list so that I can scream for a reason.
But right now I don't need a reason to scream, when do you ever?!
My eyes are in fast forward and I feel like the walls are spinning like a teenager on x.
If you don't read this in fast forward, like E.E. Cumming writing about greasedlightning, the point is gone.

And that makes me sad.

So I'm going to go sit in my prison issue rocking chair and cry.

Its been one of those days.

Monday, May 6, 2013

My Defense Against Rabid Dogs

I'm going to do a double blind survey.

1. because I don't know you and honestly believe you don't exist. and
2. because I'll never see the results.

But here it is...

How many of you keep a knife in the car?

That's it.  Just one question.  And because I think it's mean to force blindness on people, I'll at least give you my answer.  I have at least 2 knives in my car.  And this is my reason...

This story scarred me for life.  I will never be trapped in a hot car with a rabid dog waiting for me and my child to get out in order for it to satisfy its intense desire to kill us.  Or if I ever am in that car, at least I can kick the dog's ass enough to get away.  So since I learned to drive, some sort of shank has always been within reach.  Thanks Stephen. related news, remember when Stephen King got hit by a car?  I heard that he then bought the car in order to exact his revenge on it.  See, when people have issues like that, they should write books to scare mothers into arming themselves.

My other reason for carrying a knife in the car is a newer one, and came from my loving husband.  

Now, I bet you're thinking that he asked me to carry a knife to defend against carjackers...or rabid dogs.  Nope.  Very wrong.  It's just in case I hit a deer.  ...and not to successfully cut through my seat belt in case the antler were to get lodged in the belt mechanism.  It would be to finish off the deer.

Yes, you read that right.  My husband would want me to slit the throat of Bambie.  In his defense, I have always said that if a deer damages my car by trying to cross the road without looking, the thing better be dead.  But finishing it off is a teensy bit different.

My husband is a hunter, and that roadkill is wasted meat if I just drove away.  I am not a hunter, so the only way Bambie would get from the road to the table is if said husband was around to save me from murdering a dead beast.

So really I carry a knife waiting for Cujo.  That puppy better find some other mother to mess with.  And in all seriousness,  why wouldn't you have a knife in your car?  What if you're trapped in the car, waiting for school to let out, and you have crackers and cheese that needs to be eaten?  What are you gonna do, just bite a hunk off?  No, you're going to go hungry and the cheese will go bad.  All because you have no knife.

Then Cujo is going to be attracted to the cheese smell and poof, you're dead.

So carry a knife, because anything can happen.

Friday, May 3, 2013

Bathtub Gin and Sucking Water From a Sock

Now that I said I would post about stuff that is interesting to talk about at parties, I have looked into the 'interesting' abyss, and that thing is deep.  And empty.  And just in time for 'Cinco de Drinko' a favorite party that is happening on the quatro of May... honestly, I don't think there needs to be a list of categorized information topics to pull out at a party entitled 'Cinco de Drinco.' I think the words, like liqueur, will flow freely.  But just in case you don't have friends that don't mind throwing a Cinco de Mayo party on the wrong day, here is my latest edition....

(Reading that paragraph, you are probably thinking I started the festivities a bit early.  I'm here to tell you that no, it's just the disjointed way my brain works.)

My first inclination for fun survival tips was to tell you how to not die of thirst.  But that's easy, drink water...
If, on the off chance you don't have water and are in the middle of nowhere without moving water around, there are some pretty easy things you can do.  They might taste gross though.

1. Use some cloth to absorb the dew on the grasses in the morning then wring the water into a cup or your mouth.  Unfortunately, sometimes this means using your shirt, which probably stinks.  And if you are really unfortunate, a sock.  I can't imagine something less appetizing then sucking the toe juice through a wet sock.  If you have do this, I really hope you are truly lost and close to death, because if you get yourself lost and are really only a mile from a fast food joint... well, then I guess you'd have a really good story.  And smelly breath.  And probably rotten teeth.

There's no number two.  Mostly because I'm distracted.  I'm thinking too much about Cinco de Drinco.

 So I looked up backyard stills.  Apparently they are not very difficult to make.  You need a can to boil some mash, a tight fitting lid with a tube coming out and a copper tube attached.  The tube collects the condensation, which is alcohol, and deposits it into your mouth.  I think there are a few other pieces, but that's what a still is, for the most part.

I feel a new hobbie coming on.  Maybe next year I'll host Cinco de Drinco...