Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Nah, not the Pink song, but something similar. The trixie type straight out of Lincoln Park. I was happy post Cub hard fought victory over the Milwaukee Brewers. Widening our lead in the division, cutting our magic number to 4. It was a grand and glorious evening in Wrigleyville. Perfect ballgame weather. So, we went to meet up with some friends at Bernie's. They were fortunate to have scored a table. We had a few beers with them and I headed to the ladies room. I use "ladies" loosely because rarely is there a "lady" in the bathroom of a bar right across from Wrigley Field post Cubs night game. Or any game for that matter.Score! No line! It's my lucky day. I did notice the two, heavily painted, super low cut top wearing bimbos at the mirror, but whatever. Nothing was gonna ruin my evening! I do my business, flush, and exit the stall. They are still camped out in front of the mirror. Spread out before them made a Sephora look like a second rate purveyor of nothing but Wet and Wild cosmetics. I kinda look at them and look at the sink. I can't get to the sink. They are blocking the w I say "excuse me, please." Nada. Again, slightly louder, I say "excuse me, please." I get the eyeroll. Once more I try and they don't move. So, mentally, I say aw fuck it and move in. I reach for the sink which triggers the hurricane force turbo hand dryer on the wall. Under the hurricane force turbo hand dryer sat the Trixie's beer. Directly under the nozzle. Now, you don't have to be a science major to realize what is going to happen when a concentrated column of high speed air that is about the diameter of, oh say, a beer cup hits a full cup of beer. It sort of resembled Old Faithful. A column of beer shot into the air. In my happy state I didn't quite figure out that I had caused this, or actually, what it was at first. I was thoroughly soaked. Drenched in beer. But, so were the Trixies. And, they were out a beer, so it was worth it. There were, of course, some vulgarities flung at me. At which point, I pointed out if they had been kind and responsible bathroom participants it would never had occured.And, I went back to our table, thoroughly drenched and slipped on my clean, dry sweatshirt and wiggled out of my jersey and tank top and no longer reeked of beer. They, however, had to spend the rest of the night smelling like a brewery.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I got off my fat ass today!!!!I was feeling horrid after some crappy lunch choices. Left me with next to no points for the night. I hauled the stroller out of the basement storage area, shrieked in girlie horror over the multitude of centipedes milling about in the storage area
Monday, September 8, 2008
What? Yeah, you heard me...there is a CRAYON in my KATE SPADE! An orange one, to be specific. Crayon that is. The Kate Spade is pink. The crayon orange. Or sort of orange. It is streaked with various other colors from being tossed in the giant box of crayons. The wrapper, dingy and peeling, only half hanging on. And, when I spotted it there, I cried. It's been an emotional week with my daughter starting kindergarten in her cute lil' Catholic school girl jumper. My son, starting preK. Mr. Independent now. I'm so proud, but also so heart broken. They both have their "own" things now. Things I'm not a part of. Even though I'm a room mom for both classes, it is still theirs, not mine. I'm a moon orbiting their planet. A sidebar. Something there. Not the main event, just an accessory. It's what I wished for, but I also dreaded. It's a shift in the dynamic that I knew would happen, but wasn't prepared for. Our school had a fire drill this week. The preK class practiced it the day before which resulted in a lot of tears, fears, and general chaos. I offered, the next morning, to come back for the drill and our teacher took me up on it. I figure it something I should do as a room mom and something that I'm blessed to have the ability to do because I don't work. I'm happy to help out in that way. So, I returned to the school. Rang the buzzer. Explained myself. Signed in. Talked to the principal whom was thrilled to see me (he'd assisted with the previous day's practice!) and I headed to my son's classroom. He took one look at me and told me to go home. He didn't need me there. I chewed on the inside of my cheek hoping the pain would keep me from crying and entertained myself with some other children in the class. A few I knew, a few I didn't. We lined up the kids for the drill before the alarm went off (to avoid the noise) and started the march across the street to the gym. I had two wonderful little boys assisting me in finding the gym since I didn't "know" where I was going. My son, well, he wanted nothing to do with me, despite his fear the previous day, of the drill. He was buddied up with another friend whose Mom had asked me to smooch on if necessary. I didn't have the heart to tell her later, neither one of them needed us. After it was over, I helped usher the kids back across the street and my son stood at the top of the stairs and told me that I could go home now. It was over. And, so I did. Tail between my legs. Bruised Mommy ego weighing heavily upon me. In addition to his disregard for me, my daughter had spotted me during the fire drill as she marched by, hands clasped behind her back. She whispered to me, "I'm fine. I have my friends." I headed home in a funk. Feeling somewhat rejected, sad, and generally useless. I loaded up the dishwasher. Threw a load in the laundry. Turned on the tv to some sort of garbage. Fired up the laptop to pay bills, catch up on email, do some school stuff. I grabbed my purse and fished around, blindly, for my wallet. My hand came across something small and round and unfamiliar to my fumblings in my purse. I pulled it out. That dingy, stubby, worn orange crayon. And I smiled. I think, from now on, there will always be a crayon in my Kate Spade. That crayon, to be exact.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
I played tennis sans knee brace today! And, I lived to tell about it. And, AND, so did my knee. Oh, I'm sore. But, I'm not hitting the leftover painkillers from the broken rib '08 debacle, nor am I having to ice or slather myself with Mineral Ice! I feel the need to keep checking over my shoulder for the Four Horsemen, but Hey! It's a step in the right direction. Just last week, I was having to even sleep with it immobilized. Woo hoo!Yesterday, my son and I walked to the school to pick up my daughter. She early releases on Wednesday and we thought, okay I thought, we could beat the rain. Whelp, I was wrong. It didn't full out rain, but we did get misted on. Ever since the random, torrential downpour during the Cubs game, DS has been a wee bit terrified of the rain. Oh, he'll take a shower, but rain. Egads the rain!!! We made it through though, hauled butt, but made it. And because of a phone call right before our depart from home time, I had to haul ass to the school. So, I did about three miles, in flip flops, at a break neck pace (well, for nursing a bad knee and wearing flip flops!) pushing a stroller containing one 40 pound kid with the other 40 pounder intermittently riding the trailer board. Oh, and we stopped on got groceries!So, in lieu of that, I think I may try some intervals tomorrow to see how it holds up. I'm not due back on court until Tuesday, so I'll have some recovery time. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Cubs sucked. Plain and simple. S-U-C-K-E-D. That I can deal with. They've done that before. However, we had the worst company ever in the crowd around us. Four young "men" the row below us. Two were Sux fans. And typical Sux fans at that. I had a better time at the White Sox v. Cubs when the real fans came to Wrigley. These were "that" fan. You know the one, the ones that simply go to a game to cheer for the other team. Add to that, they were ripped and dropping the f bomb like mad. With a boatload of kids in the stands. Nice. And then came the cigarettes. There were, at least, six people bitching at them at any given point in time. God forbid it a was a woman as she was called the ol' C U N*ext T*uesday kinda gal. Add to that, the guys behind us not just talking politics, but YELLING politics. And, their points? Well, whatever one they attempted to make in their drunken idiocy, they then countered with their next breath. What a day.So this is the one of the "dudes" in front of us running his mouth. NON STOP. Non stop. I wanted to punch him. His buddy yelled at a 7 year old for not eating cotton candy. Who does that? Oh yeah, Southside trash. That's who does that. What you can't see here is the impressive jailhouse ink (*snort*) all over his forearms or his stoned out of his mind eyes sporting swollen drunk lids. You can, however, see his stylish black calf socks. (callling Boiler's dad, circa '84 on the riding John Deere mower and the jumbo Radio Shack AM/FM headphones!) And, AND, the hat..."Skin Industries" complete with a lil' trucker mud flap stripper logo on the back. It just doesn't get much classier than that. And, here he is trying not to pass out, uh, I mean take a nap...Back off ladies. I hate to disappoint but he was wearing a wedding ring. MrB thinks it was a stripper at the local pasty club and, well, I think he is probably right.