Natural Blonde

Me: I really doubt that truck stop has the worlds best pancakes.

M: I don't like pancakes.

Me: Me either. I like waffles WAY BETTER.

M: But not just waffles, TROJAN WAFFLES.

Me: Um.. I think you might mean BELGIUM WAFFLES.

M: what's the difference?

Me: The Trojan ones are ribbed for her pleasure.

M: They....EW. GOD MOM, you're SO GROSS.

Bet I'll get some interesting Google Searches from THIS one.

M is very joiny. She signs up for EVERYTHING. Which would be fine except she can't drive and *I* wind up driving her all over town. (That's a lie. Usually I make her ask other people for rides because I have things to do).

This year, after many years of begging I finally consented to let her work as a cast member at the local Rennaissance Faire. And by local? I mean AN HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES AWAY EACH WAY.

Anyway, the Faire entertainment director holds cast workshops on Wednesday night (a scant 45 minutes away). They're a good way to bond with the other cast members and we usually go.

Except this week, I was pretty sure I had maggots eating my brain (or that I was turning into a zombie. Could go either way.) and so I just dropped her off and holed up for the two hours they did dancing and singing and whatever else it is they do fully costumed on the play ground of a school.

As we're driving home M cheerfully announced

" I learned how to FLUFF!"*

Um. What. The. Fuck.

I assume that some of you are thinking something wholly innocent** and if that's the case I urge you to click here . Unless you're at work. Or around children who can read. Or don't like porn.

If you don't like porn what the fuck are you doing HERE though?



(* she meant arranging your lady lumps so they're properly supported and presented in your corset. But that's far less interesting. So I'm not telling that part of the story)

(**I know, right? Who doesn't know what fluffing is? Some people are so repressed. I bet they still wear white underwear, too!)

(PS. Sorry about the soda you just spit onto your key board)

(PPS. No, I'm not.)

Straight to Hell

M: MOM.* Why do that Mormons have a statue of Mowgli on top the thingie on their temples?

Me: Because they're telling Jesus "You!I wanna be like you-oo-oo I wanna talk like you Walk like you, too! You'll see it's true! Someone like me can learn to be Like someone like me Can learn to be Like someone like you Can learn to be Like someone like me!"

(*aside - M starts EVERY sentence she says to me with MOM. Not a question, not an alert that she means to speak to me, just a single word demand. MOM.)

What are you trying to say?

(in the middle of cleaning out the garage I discover I must run to Wal-Mart, I run inside to get my purse)

Me: Want to go with me?

M: Where are you going?

Me: Wal-Mart

M: Are you going dressed like that?

(looks down at baggy jeans and oversized Seahawks teeshirt)

Me: Yes.

M: Then no way.

Worst. Kid. Ever.

(after noticing a particularly disheveled and unattractive woman dropping her children off at school)

Me: You're so lucky to have a pretty Mom.

M: I'm ADOPTED?

Me: I hate you.

M: I know.

Smack Down

My child, for some reason, LOVES WWE. Loves. I suspect that it has less to do with the actual wrestling and more to do with the boys. Men. Whatever. With the spandex and the sequins and the pulled punches and the oiled abs.

And because I am THE BEST MOM EVER, I bought her and her bestie tickets. Not good tickets, but tickets none the less.

M and Tobi decided that we should all wear "Wrestling Costumes". Right. So here's what they picked out for me.



Thats a red vinyl dress, fishnet tights and knee high leather boots. AHAHAHAH. No. I wore jeans and a...wait for it...black tee shirt! Shocking, right?

I bundle up the chickens and we head down town where I pay TWENTY FREAKING DOLLARS for parking. To be fair, we were about 100 yards from the entrance, but still. $20 is a little over the top.

We got there an hour early and joined this line



It was totally sold out. Over 70,000 people were willing to shell out $30, stand in 100* heat and then suspend disbelief for a few hours.

Their sign says "Chuck Norris For President" on one side and "Ahoy, My Hardys" on the other. Because apparently we like someone called Jeff Hardy. I was also told we like someone called Finlay and we LOVE the Undertaker.

OMG! Jeff Hardy! OMG!

I'll save you a blow by slippery, oiled, blow by blow by no, really I'm totally going to hit you for reals this time blow review of the show because you can watch it yourself on Friday night if you give a shit. Which I don't.

What I do want to say is that at the very end, when half the audience thinking that the Jeff Hardy/(someotherdudeIdon'tremember) smack down was the grand finale had left, the lights stayed low. The girls started asking if we should leave, but I told them to sit tight, the house lights weren't up so it wasn't over. Sure enough the Undertaker comes out and puts the hurt on someone. Following his 3 minute show the Degeneration X guys came out and did a half hour Raw style show.

The crowd was MENTAL with the screaming. OMFG the screaming.

As the lights start to raise, the six remaining fighters start working the crowd. High fiving kids and posing for pictures. And then, the most awesome random act of kindness happened. HHH (who I'm sure you've heard of, since even *I* have heard of him) takes the hand of a 20-something man and leads him up onto the ring. The kid is going CRAZY, doing the DX thrust and as the camera zooms in on him I realize that this young man has Downs. Of all the people, of all the kids, and pretty girls and despite the fact that it was completely not necessary or expected, this star took the time to give this young man the experience of his life.

As the cameras go dark and the lights come on there on the big screen, bigger than life was the happiest kid on earth.

And that was the moment I became a fan of WWE.

They Grow Up SO Fast

M is at my parents house for the summer. And while I would normally be jealous, it's just as hot there as it is here, so HA HA.

Now that she's a little older in addition to the regular summer activities of camp and camping and walking to the community pool, she's spent a lot of time with my sisters. Going to the aquarium or kayaking on Lake Union or just hanging out with the grown ups.

Yesterday, KL & L took her to the Experience Music Project to see the Muppet exhibit. M was OVER THE MOON excited and called me about six times in the preceding days. Hell, she called me twice from the museum itself. Just to tell me she was there.

Then, I get this picture by text from my sister



You can't really see her, but that's M in the green hat. Flirting with a boy. Which of course my sister thought was hilarious. Because M? Has got no game. And also? Is a little clueless, because right after this picture was taken she got hit on by a girl but didn't realize it.

Dumification

M: "Aren't Dodo's like the national bird of Canada or something?"

Me: "uh, no."

M: "Oh. That's right. Canada's flag has a leaf so they don't have a national bird"

Me: SIGH.

Bad Whitey

OMG, y'all. I am going to Color Blind-We shall overcome-One Love hell. Which is different from Mormon hell, Mom hell, wife hell and all of the other deservedly hot after worlds no doubt holding a place for me.

M has two best friends. They are both named Casey*. One Casey is of Hispanic/Caucasian descent and the other is African American. Because the kids are all out of school M and I have some version of the following conversation about once a day

M:Cn I go 2 Csy hse?

Me: Did you do your chores?

M: uh, letz say yes

Me: Then you can.

Me: Wait. Which Casey?

M: Casey Goodman

Me: Is that Black Casey or Mexican Casey?

SEE? See what I did just there? I broke every rule we ever learned at those yearly diversity assemblies where there were skits about how we are all the same on the inside.

But on the other hand, what the hell else am I supposed to do? Call one brunette Casey? Because they're both brunettes. Or maybe Skinny Casey? Because let's be honest, that makes the other one Fat Casey and that's really not any better. Also unacceptable is Smart Casey and Pretty Casey, because they are both great students and pretty girls.

So what am I supposed to do?

Help me out here, peeps. Is it really that bad to call one Black Casey and the other Mexican Casey? I mean, it's not like they don't KNOW they are either black or Mexican. And it's not like I mean it in a disparaging way, more like I would say "Red Haired Casey" or "Boy Casey" were one a ginger kid and the other a man.

Assuage my middle class suburban white guilt here!

*they are not really named Casey.

Public service announcements

Go win some super bling from Miss Lorrie Veasey

Be a cool kid like Ruby, Lorrie, Sheila, Eric and me and give Emma your lunch money!

Go to El Pollo Loco today for free chicken!

Don't send your children to public school.

M: One: I don't know what you're even talking about, second; you said I could and two, wait, one, two, THIRD; dang. I forgot what we were talking about. STOP LAUGHING AT ME.

Rum Pa Pum Pum

I have noticed an interesting trend. When I talk about sin I get FAR more traffic then when I entreat you to help an adorable little moppet raise money for charity. Have you people no souls?

I thought not.

Let's talk about sin again then.

Hop back into the Way Back Machine to a time in the mid eighties, when cool girls did their hair like this

(that's me on the left)

It was a time, when I lived in the Wild, Wild West and my most dreaded chore was having to Walk the Dinosaur. It was a time when I had yet to experience Losing My Religion.

Each summer, I would load up with my church youth group and travel to the wilds of Camp Lyle McLeod to experience the (trauma) of Girls Camp. There is a song that goes in parts 'Girls camp, is the very worst place in the world! The worst place for every living girl! The best place for losing all your curl'. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's NOT how it goes, but that's how we sang it because Girls Camp was a desolate waste land free of curling irons and Aqua Net where you had to wear a ONE PIECE bathing suit! even though you were like, TOTALLY working on your tan.

But it was a right of passage that simply couldn't be avoided. You went and you liked it, or, if you were like me, you packed your sleeping bags stuff stack with things like plastic wrap, icy hot and rubber snakes so that those around you were exactly, perfectly aware of your standing on being drug off to the middle of nowhere where you were subjected to things like DIRT and BUGS and NO BOYS and WASHING YOUR HAIR IN THE LAKE. It was hell, I tell you.

Now, don't get the impression that I didn't like "camp". I loved camp. I loved the part of camp that was being away from your mother and staying up late and walking to the mess hall and canoeing, all the things I knew from the summer camp that was my reward for not actually killing my sisters during the school year. Girls Camp on the other hand meant having my mother mere feet away, going to bed at dark, cooking our own food and having to walk three miles around the lake to the swimming dock. Not so delightful. Especially the year that Rachel first came to camp.

Rachel was a very, very sheltered child. She'd literally never spent a single night away from home. And because my mother was assistant camp director that year it was decided that I should be "buddied" with Rachel to "show her the ropes". So Rachel was assigned to my cabin, to my bunk bed, to my KP rotation, to my "duties" rotation, to my rec rotation. Basically she was up my ass and seriously cramping my sneaking-off-to-meet-the-boy scouts-from-the-next-camp action. And that was totally unacceptable. Rachel, clearly, needed to be punished.

Rachel, it was learned the first night, was terrified of the dark. I, on the other hand, am a ninja-like nymph of the night. At about 1am, Rachel began to whimper. Tell me a story or something she begged and so I complied.

"Well, you know how we like, totally passed the prison?" I began (we had) "Like, ten years ago, a guy like escaped from the prison and he was supposed to like, meet his ride on the highway and stuff? And their signal was he was going to croak like a frog, only he got lost and wound up down by the lake"

Our lake? She whispered

"Yeah, so anyway, these girls were here for Camp? I think they were from 9th ward? And they snuck out to like go to the boys side? Only, when they were walking along the lake they came across the escaped murder? And he like, TOTALLY freaked and killed them? And then threw their bodies into the lake?"

Then what happened? she moaned

"Well, the counselors heard the girls screaming? And one of them caught the guy, only as he tried to run away he like tripped? And broke his neck. And they say that his spirit still haunts these woods and croaks like a frog looking for his ride."

It does? she was totally buying all of this

"Yeah, and on the anniversary of the girls death, you can see their flash lights shining up from the lake looking for revenge"

At this point, she starts to wail and the counselor comes running to see whats the matter. All Rachel could sniffle out was that she was scared of the frogs, so Tina brought over her stereo but OF COURSE Rachel couldn't listen to "secular" music and the only other music to be found was a recording of the "Little Drummer Boy" back to back on both sides of the tape. Which played ALL DAMN NIGHT.

That, of course, made me even MORE annoyed. So the next night I snuck around until I'd stolen 3 flashlights, then crept into the mess tent and lifted a box of Ziploc bags. Quietly, I slipped into the lake and one by one splashed the flashlights into the lake where the frogs where the loudest.

When all of the adults were asleep and the little drummer boy was on his 8th march through the night, I whispered for Rachel to follow me. Quietly we crept down the path, Rachel trailing, whimpering behind me.

The closer we got to the lake the louder the frogs got until we pressed through the last of the bushes and there, floating just below the surface were the ghost lights.

Naturally Rachel started screaming her head off, took of running and whacked her head onto a low hanging tree branch. Counselors descended on us from all directions, hushing and soothing Rachel as I snuck off into the shrubs and crept back to my bunk. Where I "sleepily" awoke as Rachel was ushered back to bed, moaning about the frogs. The rest of camp, she never left the counselors side and the next year she opted not to return.

I was free to once again sneak off to steal Hershey bars and make out with pimply boys.

The only reason I'm not already in hell is because I'm helping Emma. You should be too!

Proof M needs a helmet

I'm pretty sure M is smoking something she shouldn't be. Or possibly I shouldn't have deprived her of so much oxygen when she was a small child.

On the other hand, that child is damn entertaining.

A brief selection of the What the Fuck she subjected me to yesterday includes;

Regarding "Jacob" from Twilight: Rawr! That there is a sexy man-beast!

In the produce aisle: Wait. I thought CHIVES was a rash?

About Matt on American Idol : Is that thing on his head a whaddagyacallit dot like Indian Girls wear? I thought they were red. Maybe that's why it's not working and he keeps picking crappy songs?

After being told not to eat ALL the ice cream: I already spit in it, so that makes it mine and I might as well just eat it.

Reading the People Magazine cover: Mel Gibson is a MAN?

Well YOU sound like a blonde

M: is that guy from Aqua German?

Me: no, I think he's Swedish

M: oh, well he has a really deep voice, so I figured he had to be German.

We call them "republicans"

M: I suburnt the roof of my head.

Me: Some people call that their scalp.

M: Some people have a sadly stiffled sense imagination.

I hate him for inventing Global Warming.

M: Don't tell my friends but I kind of want to see the Hannah Montana movie.

Me: Ok, but I'm still going to blog it.

M: Could I stop you?

Me: nope.

M: I hate Al Gore for inventing the internet.

Nobody wants to be a junkie when they grow up

M: guess what were going to do for our school play?

Me: suck?

M: Probably, but also we're going to sing the freecreditreport.com song and dress up as what we want to be when we grow up! (Sings original version of the jingle) guess what I'm dressing up as?

Me: a hooker?

M: god, that's so 2006.

Me: So, what, then?

M: A Powerball winner!

Me: Can I have five million dollars?

M: No. Get a job.

Why My Child Needs Therapy

(I wave a piece of paper tauntingly in front of M)

M: What's that?
Me: What, this?
M: Yeah, what did you think I meant?
Me: Cat sex
M: What?
Me: CAT SEX, Bow chica MEOW MEOW
M: OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO ODD
Me: Oh yeah?
M: Yeah, and you know something else?
Me: Cat sex
M: Stop it!
Me: CAT SEX CAT SEX CAT SEX
M (woefully): Why do I even talk to you?
Me (cheerfully): Beats me!

Color Blind Generation

(scene: M hops in the car after school)

M: Uh, don't be mad, but my teacher is probably going to call you tonight

Me: What did you do now?

M: It wasn't MY fault!

Me: No, of course not. Why would I possibly think that?

M: I know, right?

Me: Spill it. You're expelled right?

M: Not yet, but well, Mr. G? You know my physic's teacher? He was like "you guys are too loud" and then he looked right at me and Not-Erin and we weren't even talking and then, like a few minutes later he turns back around and tells me I have to move and I said "It's because I'm black, isn't it?"

But Do You Get Dental With That?

Honestly, I think I should take a break from blogging. My malaise is just too stultifying. But just when I think I'm going to pack it in, to leave y'all a love note to say I'll be gone for a while and to keep the home fires burning, I have a conversation like this;

Me: Did you write your career day paper?

M: Yeah

Me: Well what did you say you're going to be?

M: A Vampire Pirate Ninja

Me: Of course, silly me.

It's scary cuz it's TRUE

Me: No, you can't go with me and Friend to the movies.

M: Why not?

Me: because you're a child? We talk about grown up stuff. You talk about sparkly vampires. You wouldn't have fun because we have NOTHING in common.

M: Sure we do

Me: like what?

M: We all believe that clowns are evil and that if you turn your back on them, they'll wrap you in a cotton candy cocoon and suck your blood out with a bendy straw.

Me: good point, but you still can't come.