Rooftop Yodeling | Posted by Jannie on 9 October 2008 @ 9:01 PM
An excerpt of my entry in the contest for the FSM t-shirt yesterday…
“Now that the Great Oracle Squib has indeed put into play the contest of wit and strength, if a blood descendant of Esther’s [namely me] does not end up with said Most High Garment, all colors we currently enjoy will fade to medium-ish brown and everyone will start playing Zamphar’s Greatest Slidewhistle Hits on loudspeakers on all known corners of Earth. (On Sundays the playlist will switch to “Loud Crying Babies on Airplanes, ” alternated by “Nails On Chalkboards I Have Loved,” and “Wild Hogs On Helium.” One third of Earth’s people will go crazy and jump off high buildings. One third will sit glued to re-runs of “Fishin’ With Bud & Betsy.” The final third will take up bowling.”
The Pea | Posted by Jannie on 8 October 2008 @ 1:17 PM
(As usual, clicking on photo maximizes cuteness.)
She started Kung Fu over a year ago, goes twice a week and really likes it, which is a good thing for her because her dad and I told her she can’t quit until she’s 18 or earns her first black belt.
Are we a mean old mom and dad or do we kick general ass in our Kung Fu plan for Kelly?
Mysteries | Posted by Jannie on @ 3:11 AM
Okay, so it wasn’t the flu I had Monday, as I told most everybody. I was hung over. From 2 1/2 glasses of wine. First glass went down so great, why not another? And one more big splash ’cause we’re having a blast with our new BFFs.
I can’t drink any more. (But can’t drink any less, ha, ha.)
No but seriously, I’m not 24 anymore. I guess my body can’t handle it, now that it’s such a temple of semi-fitness.
Here’s how Monday had to be re-arranged because of my hang-over…
1. Summoned miracle strength to get The Child breakfast, pack her lunch, find her a matching outfit from a still-unfolded laundry pile, brush her hair into a ponytail, and get the booster seat out of my car for Jim to take her in his car.
2. He drove her to school and she missed the first hour. (She and I usually leave home at 7:40, Jim an hour later.)
3. I almost vomited, wished I had. I almost passed out on the toilet.
4. I revived from #3, thank fuck.
5. I slept 4 hours.
6. Woke with a pounding headache, but a cup of coffee took care of that.
7. I drank water.
8. I drank enriched Soymilk.
9. I arranged for another mom to pick The Child up, plus a two-hour playdate at the other child’s house after, and have them drop mine back home. Nice friends!
10. Felt well enough to recline in bed with computer and post that Nee Von Vandervester thing.
11. Went back to sleep until The Child came home.
12. We missed her Kung Fu class. (I caused her to miss it.)
13. And I missed my run that morning.
14. Plus, I missed the Halloween Carnival committee update meeting that morning.
15. And I didn’t work on my musical at all.
A whole day wasted. Over 2 1/2 glasses of wine! Never again.
I don’t really drink much (except for Sunday night, Lord fuck.) I love a margarita now and then. Love a white Russian. A cold bottled beer or two on a hot day. I can have a glass of wine with dinner a few times a week, or not, and leave it at that. But due to our family’s upset Monday because of me being slightly alcohol poisoned, I can imagine how a real alcoholic would wreak havoc like that practically every day and how utterly terribly sad it must be for those families. For the kids.
I’d suck at being an drunk because I’ve got ‘way too much going on in my life.
Rooftop Yodeling | Posted by Jannie on 6 October 2008 @ 5:56 PM
Above is a direct descendant of the cat who was spared on Esther Von Vandervester’s 16th birthday. And below is my latest entry in Squib’s great big blue shirt competition. What do YOU think happens next to Esther?
“At breakfast on the day of my great-grandmother, Esther Von Vandervester’s sixteenth birthday she flounced to the table dressed in navy silk to find a gilt-wrapped package to the left of her croissant plate — a bit marmalade-smudged on the ribbon but largely untouched by the uglinesses that her life of ease and privilege had theretofore sheltered her from.
As her milky-white hands reached to untie the ribbon, her 81-year-old dad choked on some bacon, keeled back onto a very surprised cat and died.
The cat escaped injury.
It wasn’t until a week after the funeral that Esther recalled the gift but it was nowhere to be found. No one remembered having seen it, not even the bossy chef who didn’t miss much in the household.
Esther suspected the butler — she was pretty sure she’d seen him stealing eggs from the coop the autumn before. So she went through his dresser drawers that afternoon while he was out at his knitting club. And lo! She found said still- wrapped package under his copies of Nottingham Knits, next to his undies and Chinese fans.
In her room a minute later, with door locked, she tore the wrapping off to reveal an obviously ancient book. Cotton Dyeing Today.
“How strange,” she mused, just before angry raps rained on her bedroom door…”
Poetry | Posted by Jannie on 5 October 2008 @ 11:28 PM
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My eye is too big.
Paul hasn’t e-mailed.
Neither has Leonard Cohen.
Or Kurt Vonnegut Junior.
