Things that make people think of me: Day 30!

During the month of NaBloPoMo friends often send me things that remind them of me. For example, Amy sent me this fascinating factoid about the blue whale's vagina. I already knew how men act when they've got a cold. I was married for 30 years.

Credit: Nerds with Vaginas

Another thoughtful friend, Tricia, sent me this ..... I'm struggling for an adjective .... bear with ..... unusual designer pendant, which can be found on the Yves Saint Lauren website. No, your eyes do not deceive you. It is exactly what it looks like: a brass penis pendant.

I'm not sure if the choice of material is ironic. I've heard of brass balls, but a brass penis is new to me. Also, if I were to wear a disembodied penis around my neck or hanging from my ears I certainly wouldn't be proud to wear one that looks .... well, flaccid is the term that comes to mind. It kind of looks like something might drip out of it.

But it's Yves Saint Laurent, a trend setter if ever there was one. And apparently it's sold out, so darn it! I guess I won't be putting it on my Christmas list. Although at $795 I doubt anybody would wrap up that penis and put it under my tree anyway. Seems like that could be a euphemism for something, but I have no idea what. The "penis dangle earrings" are more affordable at $345.

I looked around the website at some of the other jewelry and purses. I'm pretty sure I've seen that leopard bucket bag at Goodwill and it didn't cost $1500. Who buys this shit? A set of four tires for my van don't cost as much as a little brass dick on a chain costs on that site.

Moving on.

I can thank Jay for sending me some excerpts from novels that I can never unsee. Apparently Literary Review gives out an award for the worst erotic writing each year. Go read the article, if you dare. I'll wait. Don't read it aloud. Someone might hear you and think you're actually ..... just read to yourself. Skim. Don't go too deep.

This year's winners were all men. No surprise there, and I'm not going to explain why. See the end of this post for a hint as to why. I was surprised though to see James Frey (any wonder his name rhymes with "lie"?) and Haruki Murakami listed as winners. I mean, these guys actually make a living writing shit like this? And go on book tours? It's not fair.

Elvira was so inspired by this sentence, she had to illustrate it: In his mind he pictured her neck, her long neck, her swan’s neck, her Alice in Wonderland neck coiling like a serpent, like a serpent, coiling down on him.

Why are you reading this blog post when you can be paying to read these guys? 

I'll end both this post and the month of November with the last thing my daughter Elvira sent me from the easy chair three feet away. It's possible not all men will find it funny. We did though. Thanks for reading this month. I have more to say in the coming days and I'll be posting my Christmas list, so don't go away!

Quiet times: Day 27

I'm not going to say life is chaotic around my house, but it can be a challenge to find a few quiet minutes.

For example, the other day I thought I'd lie down on the couch for half an hour or so and read my novel. (Not a novel I wrote, or course, but a novel Meg Wolitzer wrote titled The Wife, which was made into a movie that stars Glenn Close, which could make me hate Meg Wolitzer if she weren't such a clever and engaging writer. Also she probably writes instead of taking naps. sigh.) I digress.

Coraline was engaged in her own rest period upstairs and Elvira was out, so the room was quiet. My eyes started to close -- pretty much like they are now -- and I decided a 15-minute nap was in order. I set my alarm for 15 minutes and settled in, already starting to drift off. I just love a good power nap, don't you?

I was sound asleep for about five minutes before Elvira came home. Her footsteps on the porch woke me up. She banged her way into the house and threw a big plastic bag down on the floor. Of course the 3 dogs got up and started barking and milling around, clicking their toenails. I kept my eyes closed. She went into the kitchen and graciously unloaded the dishwasher, which necessitated some banging around of dishes, pans, and cupboards. Finally she went outside to smoke a cigarette. I dozed back off. She came back in, slammed the door and went upstairs. To her room above the front parlor. Above my fucking head. She walked around for a while. Coraline came in and did a few cartwheels or jumped off the bed a few times. I don't know. I covered my head in case plaster should start falling.

Finally it was quiet up there and the dogs settled down. I drifted .... From the fire station up the street came a firetruck, sirens blasting, racing past on the street half a block away. I listened to it fade into the distance and drifted off again ..... only to startle awake when my text notification went off ... three times. Damn it. I risked a glance at my phone. The texts could wait. I only had 5 minutes left now. I closed my eyes again and fell asleep, desperate now for just a few minutes. I had to get up when my alarm went off to get ready to go out. This was my only chance to satisfy my nap urge.

I was there. I was almost there when my phone started to ring. I picked it up .... a fucking telemarketer. Assholes. I hit dismiss and resolutely closed my eyes again. Twenty seconds later I was slipping into a dream when the notification for a voicemail went off and jolted me awake yet again. It's not bad enough they call, but they leave partial messages that tell me to press 1 to talk to a representative. Dumb assholes. I didn't let that stop me.

I forced myself back to sleep .... for all of 30 seconds and that's when my alarm went off. Naptime was over.

No sleep deprivation here. Nope. No way.

Another example. Tonight after dinner I told Coraline we needed to do our meditation before she went to bed. We try to do it every afternoon or evening because it noticeably helps her focus better at school. We only sit still for 6 minutes, but I'd like to work up to 10. Ten peaceful, empty-minded minutes to sit in silence. We invited Elvira to sit with us, but she decided to meditate on a cigarette outside. Out she went with the dogs.

Coraline got into position criss-cross applesauce in an easy chair. I sat on the couch, took off my slippers and grounded my feet on the floor. We took 3 big deep breaths together and then I pressed start on the timer on my meditation app. Gooooonnnnnnngggggggg. The gong gonged and I tried to clear all thoughts from my head. Once the gong had faded, the only sounds were the clock ticking, some muted traffic noise, and my own tinnitus. Ahhh.

But what is that? A high-pitched tone intruded. High high C, if I wasn't mistaken. Steady and insistent. Surely that wasn't coming from inside my head? No. I'm not supposed to be thinking. Let that thought go. The sound persisted. Faint. Steady. About half a step below a dog whistle.

I heard the side-porch door open. Oh for fuck's sake. Surely she hadn't smoked that cigarette that fast.

"I know you're meditating and I don't want to interrupt," Elvira contradicted, "but can you hear that sound? It sounds like an alarm going off."

Sigh. I turned off the meditation app and slipped into my slippers. "I'll come check."

"I don't think it's the next door neighbors," she said. "They seem to be just watching TV or something." I was outside by now, the pitch much louder now. "I don't think it's the purple house. Theirs didn't sound like that the time I accidentally set it off."

I walked through the falling snow to the back of the house. The sound was urgently annoying, like a super loud malfunctioning florescent light. It was definitely louder in the back, but I still couldn't pinpoint the location ....

And then it just stopped. At first I wasn't sure it had really stopped, but it did. Fine. Whatever it was I wasn't going to figure it out tonight.

Back inside, Coraline and I got back into position, and Elvira settled into another chair. I reset the timer. Goooonnnnngggggg. Eyes closed, I once again attempted to clear my mind. 

Crow, my standard poodle, started lapping his tongue in and out of his mouth, making a loud licking sound. I fucking hate that sound. Notice your annoyance and let that thought go, I thought, although I wasn't supposed to be thinking. He gave a few more laps and then settled down. Good.

Growl. Growl. Kohl. Elvira's border collie. Growling because Crow was in the room. It's constant. The growling whenever we all settle into one room. He hates Crow. Growl growl. I fucking hate that sound. But I tried to see my annoyance in my quiet fucking mind and let it go on by. Clearing my mind. An intense itch erupted next to my nose. I don't think you're supposed to scratch, I thought. You're supposed to just notice it and .... I scratched. I couldn't stand it. Clearing my mind now.

Growl. Growl.The furnace came on, reminding me of the $200 service call I'd paid for earlier in the day. You'd better fucking heat this house, I thought. Ooops. Letting go. Growl. Growl.

Either my mind started to clear or I started to doze off. I'm not sure, but Growl. Growl. I felt a soft plop on the couch next to me and a loud purr started. Gandalf. I sat still. Growl. Growl. I tried so hard to let my thoughts just slip out of my mind. I focused on breathing through my nose. I felt a small paw pushing at my leg. Growl. Growl. Push push. He bumped his head against my wrist. Growl. Growl. Push. Push.

Finally he settled down alongside my leg with his head on my arm. Growl. Growl. His purr was loud, but not distracting. Deep breath. Growl. Purrrrrr. I'm getting there. Growl. Growl. Gandalf suddenly decided he needed to lick his butt. He furiously licked licked licked licked licked. Growl. Growl. Lick. Lick.

Will that fucking furnace never shut off, I thought as a hot flash started burning its way out of me and my entire body flushed with a layer of sweat. I want to whip my scarf off so at least my neck will cool off, but I already scratched my nose so NO. Growl. Growl. Oh. My. God. I'm noticing that my body feels like it's engulfed in flames under my skin and I'm letting that thought go. Growl. Growl. Breathing. Emptying my mind. In. Out. Growl. Growl. In. Out.

Goooonnnnnnggggggg. 

Meditation over. Growl .... Growl. Sigh.

In which I won't be getting a cat: Day 23

This is the cat I won't be getting.
(Photo credit: stolen from Catster)

Elvira: What are you going to name the cat you get after I move out?
Me: I'm not going to get a cat.
Elvira: Yes, you will. You'll get a fancy Maine coon or something like that, and you'll name it some obnoxious name like Hemingway.
Me: I wouldn't get a Main coon. They probably shed too much. I've always loved the American shorthair. That's the only kind I would want .... not that I'm getting one. Also I'm not a big Papa Hemingway fan. I'd probably name it Atwood. Atwood is a good name for a cat. Or Margaret. Either one would work.
Elvira: Margaret is a great name for a cat. You should name the cat you will definitely get Margaret. Oh wait though! I know! I know! You can name it Margaret Catwood. It's perfect.
Me: Clever girl! That is the best name for my cat ever. Margaret Catwood it is. I'm not getting a cat, but if I were to get a cat, her name would absolutely be Margaret Catwood.

I do not intend to get a cat, sweet readers, but if I did, I would not do stupid shit like this to Margaret Catwood.



And I would not make jokes about grabbing her by the short hairs either. She would be dignified and I would respect that. And in return, she would make sure her hairs did not fall out on my furniture and clothes. Also she would scoop her own litter. And she would know in advance not to get on my counters. Is it becoming more clear why I should not get a cat?

Did you miss me?

I would apologize for not writing here for a while, but May was a rough month. You probably remember that May is National Masturbation Month, because I wrote about that last year. I just find it exhausting. Don't you? Cramps in my hands. Wrist strain. I'm glad it only comes once a year. (No pun intended.)

School is almost out, so I'll be writing here every day in June. On my honor, I will try .... 

I have a lot to say. I hope some of it will be amusing, even clever. Some of what I write this month might piss a few people off. I'm unpacking the need to please everybody, so I'm not going to worry about that. As Anne Lamott said, "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." Yes, indeedy. Preach it, Anne.

Life has been a little crazy this past month. Teaching teenagers is always a story a minute. Whether it's a student getting a blow job in the stairwell  or .... well, what the fuck tops that? 

Elvira, Coraline and I made an unplanned trip to Iowa last weekend for the funeral of my mom's husband of 30 years. He was only 63, and, although he was being treated for colon cancer, nobody expected him to die. It was the first time all of Mom's kids have been together in over 15 years. Bittersweet in more ways that I can write about here. On that trip, I humiliated myself worse than I can even remember. I will probably tell that story, because I deserve it. I won't tell the heart-breaking parts of the trip, even though I know many of you would relate.

I am not at all surprised I spent Memorial Day weekend -- the dreaded Memorial Day weekend -- in Iowa for a funeral. I wish I could get over the morbid anticipation of this weekend every year, but apparently my dread is entirely rational.

And yet, taking a road trip with my girls was delightful, and I treasure the time we spent together. No, really. Driving 2000 miles with a 2-year-old isn't as hard as it would seem, especially with a Steven King book on CD playing on the stereo.

My son Drake is home this weekend with his handy-penis. (More on Drake's penis later, because it deserves a post of its own.) He's helped me with several projects, and we went to a birthday party last night.

My hero.

While he was off at an amusement park today, I took his black lab/boxer mix Duke for a walk. I always feel safe with Duke, because only a lunatic would fuck with him. Turns out there's a canine lunatic in our neighborhood, and he attacked us. It was terrifying, and hours later I'm still kind of shaky. And Duke is my hero, because he slipped his collar and took care of business just enough for us to get away. I've learned since that several other people, including some children, have been attacked by that dog. I don't know what would have happened if Duke hadn't been with me .... or if Coraline had been with me instead. My imagination needs to focus on something else though .... like how I'm going to take a baseball bat with me on my next walk.

I have some other drama bubbling along in my life like acid in a Vincent Price movie, and I'll be ranting about that after I file the police report. Nothing more I can say until then.

As I write tonight, Drake and one of his high school friends are downstairs in the living room catching up, maybe eating a pizza. I find comfort in their manly presence after the scare I had earlier with the dog. I have a stack of poems and short stories to grade by tomorrow, but I'm going to try working in the morning instead of staying up until 4:00 am. Can't hurt to experiment.

What have you been up to?

Mean Girls

A couple of weeks ago I took my daughter Elvira and my 2-year-old granddaughter Coraline to our local science museum to spend a snowy afternoon. It was Coraline's first time there, but Elvira and I were far more excited about going than she was. We were sure we knew what she'd like best -- the live animals -- because that's what we like best.

Turns out the science museum has a Cassano's pizza play area, with a kitchen with Cheeto-orange strings of felt for cheese, little tables to serve the fake pizza, and even a delivery truck. We had to walk right by it on our way to the animal area. Once Coraline saw that truck, she couldn't even enjoy the otters and the skunk and the bats. We finally gave up and took her back out to the giant Cassano's advertisement. (Don't even get me started on the educational value of making fake pizza with felt cheese instead of making real pizza together in a real kitchen. I will rant so hard.)

When we go to the truck, another little girl who was probably 4 had already claimed the driver's seat. She motioned for Coraline to climb up beside her, and even helped her up, but she was obviously in charge of the steering wheel and pedals. She directed Coraline to move one gear shift up and down, but Coraline was happy just to sit there swinging her legs and watching the other girl frantically manipulating the machinery.

It was sweet, the two of them playing in the pizza delivery truck. Boring, compared to real live animals, but sweet.

Until the other girl -- I'll call her Mean Girl -- decided Coraline was no longer welcome in her truck, and started pushing her off the seat. I was on alert, ready to intervene, but Coraline didn't seem to mind. She allowed the pushes and crawled down from the truck. I hoped she was ready to move on anyway. 

Once Coraline was on the floor though, she decided she really needed to deliver more pizza. She had just started to climb up when Mean Girl leaned over, glared at her and said, "Stay down. I. will. cut. you."

Her words took a few seconds to register. I turned to Elvira, and I'm sure she had the same puzzled expression on her face that I did. "Did she say what I thought she said?" Elvira asked.

"I think so," I said. "She said, 'I will cut you.'"

"That's what I thought." We raised our eyebrows at each other. I have no doubt anyone observing would know we were mother and daughter.

I glanced over at Mean Girl's mother, who was sitting at a little table staring at her phone. I had not seen her even look at Mean Girl the entire time we'd been there.

"I don't think we should allow her to threaten Coraline like that," Elvira said. "What are we allowed to do?"

"I think we should just ...."

As I was answering, Coraline's head had popped up over the seat, and Mean Girl leaned over right into her face, bared her teeth as far as they would go, and let out a long, fierce, rather terrifying for a 4-year-old, series of growls and snaps of her teeth. She included Elvira and me in her rabid glare. I flashed back to The Exorcist and felt a chill crawl down my spine.

I grabbed Coraline's hand and tugged her back beside me. She seemed puzzled, but not upset.

Elvira hissed in my ear, "What the fuck? How old does somebody else's kid have to be before I can get in her face and tell she's being a little fucking bitch, and she'd better back the fuck off my kid? Can I do it now?"

I glanced over at Mean Girl's mom again, but she still had her face in her phone. I guess reading her Facebook feed trumped paying attention to her vicious little demon daughter.

"Seems like any time she threatens to cut your child, she's old enough for an intervention, "I said. "You do it though. I'm afraid of her. She probably has a pizza cutter, and she seems to know how to use it."

Mean Girl was back to violently steering the pizza delivery truck, perfectly mimicking real pizza delivery drivers. I could imagine her delivering her pizza with the felt strips of garish orange cheese, and threatening to cut the customers if they didn't give her a tip. She glanced over at us and glared, but apparently we weren't close enough to warrant growling or cutting.

"Hey, Coraline," I said. "Let's go find something else to do for a little while. We can come back to the truck later, when that mean girl isn't here."

Coraline protested, and so did Elvira. "No, really. Do we have to put up with that shit? That was fucking insane. She needs to stop that shit before she gets any older."

"How the hell do you think you'd get through to her? She's a 4-year-old who threatens to cut other kids! And her mom is totally ignoring her. Let's just go and come back later."

We started to walk away, with Coraline still complaining that she wasn't done playing on the truck. As we passed the mother I said -- because I'm never passive aggressive, "Sorry, sweetie. That little girl is a monster, so you can't play on the truck until she leaves. You're not allowed to play with monsters."

The mother didn't look up. Lots of mothers didn't look up from their phones that day. Some even had notepads that they didn't look up from as their kids entertained themselves and threatened to cut strangers.

Disney should make a movie about that.

I told my junior class of creative writers about the incident. They were appalled. Loudly appalled.

One of the girls said, "She was dark skinned, wasn't she?" A couple of the other kids chimed in, "Of course she was."

"No," I said. "She wasn't. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and pink boots with sequins on them and a Disney princess t-shirt."

"What?" They shouted. "I was sure she was black." They were almost as surprised by her whiteness as they were by the threat to cut Coraline. (About half of the kids in that class are black, by the way. All of them who were listening assumed Mean Girl was black.)

I wasn't surprised that they asked the question. I wish I were, but I wasn't. I hadn't told them her race because I didn't want them to think I thought it was relevant.

It was relevant though. How did you picture Mean Girl?

Watch your back, Coraline!

Snippet: Play us a tune, Handypenis

(Note: The following snippet probably won't make sense unless you're familiar with the handypenises in my life. Click the link to catch up.)

Recently my daughter Elvira was over here with her fiance Rock Dad and their daughter Coraline. Elvira and I were in the kitchen sneaking chocolate, so Coraline wouldn't ask for any. Rock Dad was playing my piano, which had just been delivered from my old house the week before.

He called in from the parlor, "Hey, Mommers, you know that low F key that was sticking? I fixed it!"

"I thought you and Drake (my son) tried to fix it at Thanksgiving and couldn't figure out what was wrong," I replied.

"We did, and we couldn't. But I fixed it just now." He played a scale.

I rolled my eyes at Elvira and said softly, "He probably fixed it with his penis. It always comes down to the penis. I guess two isn't better than one when it comes to penises."

I called to Rock Dad, "So, what was wrong with the key? How did you fix it?"

"I don't know what was wrong with it," he said. "I just stuck it in really hard, and now it works."

Handypenis to the rescue .... again.

(I regret I was unable to thank Rock Dad due the uncontrollable laughter in the kitchen.)

Snippet from the junior high lunch room

(Photo credit: historicnashville.wordpress.com)

As if my life didn't resemble a junior high lunch room enough already .....

The other day Elvira, Coraline and I went to Kroger. Coraline fell asleep in the van, so when we got here to my house, Elvira and I unloaded the groceries, and then Elvira sat outside on the porch with the van slider open so Coraline could finish her nap.

In the meantime, my neighbor's mid-20's brother, who lives with her off and on, was chasing her 7-year-old son Nathan down the street and terrorizing him, much to his delight. The uncle is a friendly guy, always says hi, but he's been in some trouble recently according to his sister. Got involved with a bad woman ... trouble with the police .... I'm not sure what his story is. But he's always friendly with me, so I don't care.

Sometime later Coraline had awakened from her nap, and we were all in the kitchen eating baba ganoush on Nut Thins and caramel-filled dark Bliss chocolates when the doorbell rang. Elvira was closest so she answered it.

It was Nathan. He hadn't expected Elvira to answer the door. He stammered mightily, "Hey .... um .... um .... would you tell .... ummm .... umm ...." He peeked his head in the door looking for me.

"My mom?" Elvira said helpfully, hoping to move the conversation along. She didn't trust me with the chocolate.

"Ummm .... yeah .... her .... Would you .... ummm .... tell her my uncle has a big crush on her daughter?" And then he ran off the porch and back to his own house.

Elvira and I shared a good laugh over that one. Mostly about how cute Nathan was in the pajama pants he always wears and how flustered he was to come face to face with his uncle's crush. We decided Rock Dad didn't need to feel threatened.

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang again. Elvira shrugged and motioned that it was my turn. Her mouth was too full of chocolate to talk.

I walked to the door and sure enough, there was Nathan on the porch in his pajama pants. I opened the door and smiled at him.

"Do you know my uncle has a big crush on your daughter?" he said.

"Yes, that's what I heard," I said. He took off running. "Nathan," I called after him, "she has a boyfriend." He nodded, but didn't look at me. "And a baby." He nodded again and ran on home.

I went back to the kitchen and told Elvira I hoped that situation didn't get more awkward than it already was. I said, "This feels like junior high. And really! Can Nathan's uncle spell 'out of his league'?"

"It's spelled E-l-v-i-r-a," she said. And we both laughed and reached for more chocolate.

Texts with Elvira: issue 47

Tonight, a couple of snippets from texts between me and my daughter, Elvira, followed by a question I really want the answer to.

Snippet #1

Elvira: Oh shit, Mommers. I still have your debit card.

Me: You can give it to me tomorrow.

Elvira: Oh good. So I have time to buy some ridiculous shit on ebay.

Me: Please don't. Unless you want me to move in with you.

Elvira: I dunno .... You cook, clean, and provide childcare ... Mmmk. You can bunk with Coraline.

Me: I'll want my own bedroom.

Elvira:  I guess you can have a pallet in the basement.

Me: Nope. I'm still holding out the hope that I will get laid someday.

Elvira: Jeez, Mom. Way to be needy.

Me: I've been practicing....

Snippet #2

Me: [11:19 pm] Oh god. I'm craving butter popcorn so much. Would it be so awful if I ate some buttered popcorn?

Elvira: I don't care what you eat. Just don't bitch about it later.

Me: Oh, shut up.

Oh. My. God. When did my daughter become my mother?

November 3: Is that Cookie Monster in your .... diaper?

I was changing Coraline's diaper on the couch the other day. I took off her wet diaper, wrapped it up, and grabbed a clean one from her diaper bag. I started to put it on her, and that's when I noticed somebody peeking out of the top of it. Peeking out of the top of her little diaper. What the fuck?

This is the actual diaper.

My daughter Elvira was in the kitchen emptying my pantry into her mouth. I yelled, "Elvira, why is Cookie Monster peeking out of Coraline's diaper?"

"I unno," she mumbled through that last of the Lay's potato chips. "Eeee usss duhh kiiii eeee biiii."

"Are you talking with your mouth full?" I'm the mom. I'm required to give certain lines on cue. Soon I would accuse her of trying to put somebody's eye out. Wait for it. "Did you leave any chips? Because those are for band practice."

"Don't worry. There's still wine," she shouted back. "That's all you guys really need anyway."

I couldn't argue with that.

"If you've swallowed that entire bag of chips, could you please tell me why Cookie Monster is creeping  out of Coraline's diaper."

"I don't know. It's just the way they come. Rock Dad's mom bought them." I considered her answer. Free diapers are free diapers, and diapers are expensive. But no. This was clearly wrong.

"And you didn't question the obvious pedophilia factor here?" I grabbed the diaper bag and started digging. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Burt and Ernie too? And some generic purple monkey? What does it say that these characters are peeking out of Coraline's diaper? Who thinks of this shit?"

"Mommers, it's not a big deal. Coraline doesn't know who they are, and she can't see them anyway."

"So they're characters from a children's TV show, but they're peeking out of her diaper for the entertainment of adults? I am not amused by this. Do you know I write about Cookie Monster on my blog? And cookies?" I could hear her opening another package out there. "Stay out of my Dove dark chocolates. That's the last bag I'm ever going to buy, and I have to make them last."

"Uh huh. How many times have you said that? You'll buy more tomorrow. Besides you've still got chocolate chips in the freezer." I heard the sound of foil crinkling as she walked through the dining room. I can't believe I gave that child life, and I won't even start the story of the stitches. 

She threw herself down on the couch and tucked the Doves next to her where I couldn't reach them. "Give me a Dove," I said. "I might as well eat some or I won't get any of my own chocolates."

She tossed a handful of chocolates at me. "Jesus Christ, Elvira! Are you trying to put somebody's eye out?" I deflected the chocolates from Coraline's little face, saving her from a lifetime of living with a glass eye.

Elvira didn't apologize. I'm never going to buy another bag of Dove dark chocolates, but when I do, I'm going to hide them better.

"I'm serious about these diapers. They're creepy. They're wrong. They're ..... disturbing is what they are." 

"Mommers, I'm serious too. Put her diaper on her before she pees on you." Throughout most of the conversation, Coraline had been sitting on my lap chewing on her Go Dog Go board book.

"She won't pee on me. She never pees on me." I kissed one of her little feet. Oh my god. Don't you just love baby feet? I could eat them up.

"You have a pair of Cookie Monster boxers. I don't think you're in a position to criticize my diaper choices," Elvira said.

"That's just the point! My friend Sunrise bought those for me because I write about cookies and Cookie Monster as a euphemism for you-know-whats. When I wear Cookie Monster on my crotch, he's a happy, hungry coochie munchin' Cookie Monster. When he's peeking out of a diaper, he's a trench-coat-wearing, furry, blue child molester."

"He's not really in there you know. You do know that, don't you? I'm not kidding. She's going to pee on you."

"I can't do it. I just can't get over the fact that he's hiding in there. At least the Cookie Monster on my shorts isn't hiding .... He isn't peeking out like a cookie-munching pervert. You can see his entire face."

I popped a chocolate into my mouth just as I felt something warm and wet cover my lap and spread down the legs of my jeans. I tried not to react.

"She just peed on you, didn't she."

"No, she did not."

"Yes, she did. Your jeans are wet."

"No, they aren't."

"Will you please put her diaper on her now?"

I lay Coraline down on the couch again as the pee started to cool on my jeans. I unfolded the offensive Cookie Monster diaper, slid it under her butt, and folded the tabs over. I tried not to make eye contact with the blue perv who was peeking out from just under her belly button. I shuddered ..... but that might have been because my wet legs were getting cold.

And then I went upstairs to change my jeans. When I came back down in a pair of yoga pants that were far more comfortable anyway, we finished the bag of Doves and didn't talk about the diapers any more.

And yet, I'm happy to report I haven't seen a single Cookie Monster or a Burt or an Ernie or even a generic purple monkey peeking out of Coraline's diaper since. Whether she wanted to or not, Elvira must have agreed with me. I win.

But there are other babies out there with perverted Sesame Street characters peering up out of their diapers. What the fuck is up with some of the shit they make for babies these days? Would you want Cookie Monster peeking out of your underwear? ....... Wait. Nevermind. Don't answer that.

 

Story Slam: The Unspeakable Revisited

The view from my front porch today

This past week marked an anniversary of sorts. One that reminds me how much in my life and my family's lives has changed in the past three years. It's astonishing, really. So much so that some people who know me now, probably wouldn't recognize me then. But I'm not writing about those changes tonight. I promised a friend and reader, AutoD, that I'd write about the story slam I competed in tonight.

The topic was March [Fucking] Madness: True Stories of Anger. Anybody who's read here knows I have some stories about anger, just like any card-carrying ginger does. So I'd like to brag that I won this one, but I didn't. A guy who told a funny story about buying outdated coffee won.

I have excuses. 1) I've been sick since that bike ride I wrote about last Tuesday, and I've been half-assing my way through all of my social engagements for almost a week now. I've done close to everything I normally do -- another bike ride Wednesday (on the river path this time), a couple of nights of karaoke (didn't sing), a couple of great parties, and a few late-night hours of hot sexting (don't try to fucking tell me you've never done it) -- but all of it happened at quarter speed -- at least for me. Today I finally ran out of fuel and didn't even make it to church to sing. I didn't have much to give to my 10 minutes at the story slam either.

2) It was a different audience tonight. The audience last month would have loved some teary pathos. This crowd was younger and wanted to laugh. My story made several people cry, but I didn't have comedy in me, even if the story could have supported it. And it couldn't.

And 3) I probably won't win every time. Damn it.

In spite of my lackluster delivery and misjudgment of the audience, it's a worthwhile story about going to the funeral of one of Elvira's friends who had committed suicide. But I won't repeat it, because I already told it here three years ago. You can read the first part, "Musings on the Unspeakable," and the followup, "And Now a Rant After the Unspeakable," by clicking the hot links. I hope you'll read them in memory of a girl who made a permanent decision about a temporary problem.

Even though I didn't win, I was glad Elvira and Coraline were there in the audience. They reminded me that in spite of the many changes we've celebrated and endured over the past three years, we're still sharing our lives together and that's what counts. Hug your kids today.
 

Snippets from Elvira

Today I offer you a few snippets from my Facebook message box, courtesy of my daughter Elvira.

1. In case you were wondering, it's not a good idea to try to exfoliate your face with duct tape. It didn't work. I thought it would but it just gave me a lingering burning sensation.

2. I've been reading Coraline the original Grimm fairy tales…They're really not as fucked up as people make them out to be. Poe is waaaaay worse.*

3. Lol, at work they won't let me pick up ice buckets. Really? I guess they don't understand that it's way more strain on those muscles for me to poop than lift something. Especially since the doctor put me on extra iron. Sorry I'm telling you about poop.

4. I gotta learn how to do that. We could turn your parlor into a fortune telling studio and  have a mother/daughter thing. I have the look for a fortune teller. I could wear a lot of sparkly scarves and earrings .... I'll throw bones on a table and speak in an accent. And wear blind looking contacts. It'll be fucking awesome…We could advertise. We could put a sweet looking sign outside your house! I'll paint it! THIS IS THE BEST IDEA EVER!**

5. I'm excited to do things like go to the zoo and walk around the woods. Things that aren't that exciting to me anymore will probably be way more exciting with a little kid who's never seen or done all that stuff. And I hear that children say unintentionally offensive things in public. I'm excited for that too.***

6. I'd rather chance arsenic than yoga.

P.S. Elvira doesn't know I'm doing this. If she gets upset, I'll just remind her about those stitches I had to get when she was born. Works every time.

* In my defense, I read Poe to Elvira when she was six, not when she was four months old.

** In response to my recent tarot posts.

*** Oh, do I have stories about that! And one of them is about the color of poop.

Alt Uses for Breast Milk

Some recent text conversations with my daughter, Elvira,* about breast milk.

Elvira: I'm afraid Baby Girl has pink eye.

Me: Is her eye irritated and glossy? Pink eye will make her eyeball glossy.

Elvira: It's pretty red. I can't tell if it's glossy. What should I do?

Me: Doctors usually don't treat pink eye any more. It goes away in its own in time, but it's highly contagious. Let's keep an eye on it.

Me: Hee.

Next day...

Me: How's Baby Girl's eye today?

Elvira: It's fine. I put some breast milk in it.

Me: You put breast milk in her eye? Really?

Daughter: It's supposed to have healing properties.

Me: But in her eye?

Elvira: Just a little bit. It worked.

Me: I never would have considered putting breast milk in your eye.

A few days later, from the commissary....

Me: I'm picking up some Desitin to keep at home. Do you need any?

Elvira: I don't need it. I use breast milk.

Me:  It's for diaper rash.

Elvira: I know. I use breast milk.

Me: You put breast milk on her butt? 

Elvira: It has healing properties. She had a little diaper rash so I squirted some breast milk on it and it went away immediately.

Me: I never would have considered putting breast milk on your butt.

Today....

Elvira: Breast milk cures razorburn. LOL

Me: I want some!

Elvira: OK.

Me: W00t!

Elvira and me, we don't need no fucking Silk'n SensEpil. We've got breast milk.

* She chose her own name. It fits.