Strudel: It hurts! My brains are starting to move!
Me: Where?
Strudel: (points to armpit) Here!
Me: WHUT.
Strudel has been banned off crayons for a few days as she colored all over the wall, fridge, table, and floor. I swear she just does it to make her sister have kittens. So last night our babysitter told me that she let her use crayons, and said that Strudel told her she was not banned. Apparently she began coloring and said a few minutes in, “Being banned off crayons sucks.”
Franny could barely form a grammatically correct sentence at almost three, poor little poodle. Franny was saying things like, “Her is a cat. MEOOOW.” Strudel asks about signs and writing on my shirt. Strudel is all new and Technicolor to me. They are SO different. Strudel is SO WEIRD.
HEY. How was your weekend? Did you wonder if I am dead? No such luck. Although I did have a few dreams where the IUD punctured my uterine wall as if I was riddled with scurvy. It seems to be taking okay, and the cramps have subsided.
I also had another dream which is one of the most absurd ones I’ve ever had. The girls were on the counter and Strudel pulled her pants down. I was worried she was going to fall so I grabbed her, and she fell over on top of me, and her butthole went right on my nose. Companion showed up and looked over the counter.
“I have poop on my nose, don’t I?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said.
Analyze that, chakra-pokers.
Also this weekend I had a dinner party. I made a giant, giant ham for the first time ever. I was never that interested in ham, but I am tired of cooking other things, and I wanted something springlike to eat. It came out of the oven and was like Wall of Ham. My tastes have really changed. Ten years ago I hated hams. Now I think I can eat donkey scrot. I dunno.
How it worked last time is that you can show up, listen to stories, and no one will hold you upside down and shake you. Or you can buy/bring a book, have it signed, or drop a little money in the hat. I will be out drinking after. NOM. Also, because I know you huffed too much glue, I will remind you when it gets closer. You should come, so I don’t have to stand on your lawn and read loudly at 3 a.m. That could get embarrassing for everyone involved.
OKAY UPDATE: EPIC FAIL! It is not free. See comments. For the admission price Companion says I should wear one of my cocktail dresses too. DAMMIT. Sorry, Shannon. I feel conflicted now because this is for a good cause, but expensive.
Hey! What did you get up to this afternoon? I had a doctor put in an IUD. I always wondered about what getting an IUD is like, so I thought I’d write about it.
First they made me pee in a cup, of course. You can’t do jack without peeing in a cup.
“Okay,” the nurse said, checking my blood pressure. “We did that to see if you are pregnant.”
“My blood pressure?” Hmm, are you guys Doing it Rong?
“No, the peeing.”
“WELL AM I?” Jeez, don’t leave a person on tenterhooks here.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s not done yet.”
“DANG!”
“Do you think you are?” she asked.
Sure I do. Does that make me spazzy that I assume I’m pregnant every month until proven innocent or whatever? I thought every fertile woman thought like this. No? Not so much?
Well, I wasn’t. The nurse said that they couldn’t put it in if I was.
Then they took me into a room that had big evil lights, that somehow reminded me of ED 3000.
There were mysterious bottles (iodine?) thrown under the sink.
Then I was asked to strip from the waist down, and the doctor scurried back and forth. She brought in another doctor, who was attending. I always love that look, the naked from the waist down look. At least she gave me a big cover, so I could have a fetching skirt.
I was asked to put my feet in the stirrups. The doctor said, “I won’t make you use the leg rests, because it reminds some women too much of childbirth.” Well, stirrups remind me of all the horrible experiences I’ve had at the gyno. Where is my consolation prize? Can I get some angels to come and gently hold my knees for me?
Interesting, to me, that some women cannot even put their legs in the leg rests after. Also I was like WTFBBQ women are still laboring on their backs??? She asked me how I did it, and I told her squatting and on my knees, because that’s how we peasants roll, and she said, “Oh yeah, I did it like that for someone once. You have to reverse everything in your head.”
Then the rootling started. MMMPH JESUS GOD. Uterus does not like to be rootled around in. Is not junkdrawer.
She pushed a plastic straw thingie up there to “get a measurement” of my uterus. I stared at the ceiling, labor breathing instantly kicking in, as my uterus spasmed. Apparently it is curved, so they really had to crank it around. I couldn’t get a picture, but I imagine it was something like this.
Then it was in, and I was done. It took maybe ten minutes. These were not short minutes, but if it lasts five years it will be worth it. And now I have a cool foreign object in my body. As a consolation prize, Liz sent me a song.
What they don’t tell you is that you may possibly bleed like fuck.
After I was done, I asked her if she would write me a prescription for Viagra. She said she’d check with the pharmacists, and it turns out that it is not approved for women for another 1-2 years, if at all. HELL to the NAW. When it comes out for women, it will probably be recolored PINK and named GENTLE BREEZE instead of “Behold My Rock Hard Clit” ASSHOLES. My words, you must mark them.
Chatz
me: I took a Viagra last night.
Kaijsa: You DID NOT.
me: Oh yers I did.
It was AWESOME
Kaijsa: You are CRAZY
me: Now I cannot rest until I get more.
Kaijsa: Your clit will grow into a tiny penis like Chyna’s.
me: NOOO that is an urban legend.
Kaijsa: BEWARE
me: LOL I am cackling
Kaijsa: No, you’ll just have blurred vision and heart problems.
me: Oh foo.
Hey. Sup. Haven’t seen you in a while. Oh, I guess I passed you this morning, naked, at the mirror. That was kind of awkward. I guess when I take you out and get you drunk like that, bring you home and have my way with you, and then expect you to leave without breakfast it makes sense that you’re kind of pissed. You don’t have to be a bitch about it, though. I already apologized for the rugburns and the dents in your foot. Whatever. You can be really stuck up about accidental shit like that.
This old argument got me to thinking–remember that time that I pierced your nose, and drank that delishish fotie of King Cobra, and you decided that the best retort was to rocket-vomit out of said freshly-pierced nose? Yes, I guess you showed me.
Or that time in high school I forged a field trip permission slip and let Cory Jaworski carve “Slayer” into my back and it got all infected and bloogy, so now what could have been a cool homemade tattoo looks like “Sawyer” and I don’t even know any Sawyers. DAMN, BODY. What the crap.
There was also that one time that I threw a snowball at a car that I (accidentally) packed a rock into and the driver swerved and said I made a hairline crack in his windshield. You could not run fast enough for me to get away from that fucking guy. How could I have known he was one of those classic cars freaks?
And now you have burdened me with children, who are running off so fast I can see their blur lines. I cannot keep up with them, in spite of the fact that their passage through you left me with cool silver racing stripes. Thanks a lot.
So I guess we’re mostly even. I could start being nice to you or like you or something, but then you will probably slap me with cancer or a goiter or something. It STILL hurts to sit on my vestigial tail stump. I resent this ass doughnut.
Today, I am making a note of today. This is a special day. Today is the day when my spawn turned on me.
I knew something was coming. Recently, as in the past few months, I noticed the tide had turned when Strudel’s speech became clearer. I “the jig is upped” Franny about this.
“Now you will have to be nice to your sister, because she can tell on you,” I told her.
Strudel was making such great leaps that Franny would be gone at her dad’s for two weeks and would come back and say, “WHOA, she sounds so different!” Strudel would jump from babytalk like “mi-mi” to full-on “mitten” in two weeks. Most recently Strudel is dropping the nickname “Ditter” for “sister” and is calling Franny by her real, long, and unwieldy name.
They are doing this thing now where they are clumping together with their heads tilted in, having these very quiet conversations as they build their Lego buses that stop when I get too close. I am an adult, a very tedious and bossy one, and am not in The Club. They also seem closer now that they are sharing a room together. There is greater empathy for each other when they get hurt or wake up scared in the middle of the night. A four-year gap seems to make less difference now that Strudel can talk a mile a minute as well.
So this weekend is the EVIL five-day holiday known as “midwinter mini-break” (what the fuck is that, I ask you?) and they had Friday through today off. Today was the day they became complete hivemind on me and began to use “we” when addressing me. I would ask them to do something and they would glance at each other.
“WE don’t want to clean up the crayons,” Franny explained. “WE want to go to the park.” She looked at her sister.
“WE don’t want to! NOOOOOOOO!” Strudel said.
“Oh hell no,” I said. Franny used to be mild and obedient, but now she has decided to turn her sister on me like a firehose.
Later, at the grocery store: “We’re hungry! FEEED USSS.”
What is this WE crap? Don’t you understand I am supposed to be pitting you against each other?
“Of course you’re my favorite, you’re my first child.”
“Of course YOU’RE my favorite, you’re the baby.”
Don’t you want to jockey to be the favorite daughter? Apparently not. It’s united front-ho around here, and I have a feeling they are enjoying their newly-formed lobby and the power that is coming with it.
Because they know. They know I am weak. They are smelling blood and flabbergastedness coming off my pores. WE? Really? It’s just strengthening my resolve to really go for that purse chihuahua after all.
Apparently Drama King and his new Bride were having a magnificent row in their apartment across the way, but I was napping and slept through it. Later she was witnessed stomping out of the apartment with her bags. Unknown when she will return. Naps are good.
Then later I was in front of the house when I heard a skittering. I thought it was just a cat, but it exploded out of the bushes and revealed itself to be a raccoon that was bigger than God. I hissed at it, since we go way back, but it ignored me. If I would have had my lassoo with me I could have had a ride and gotten my eight seconds of glory, but I had to watch it go past fast. I think trash night is an informal holiday for them on my street.
