Tonight is the end-of-the-year school picnic and do you even have to ask? Hells yes I am dreading the CRAP out of it. Awkward conversation with people I usually avoid? YEAH SIGN ME UP. But Strudel is singing and this is Franny’s last hurrah at the school, so I feel obligated.
Strudel has been positively Satanic lately. A couple of nights ago her father, who I am getting along very well with since I know you are wondering and who shall be henceforth referred to as P., ahem, put her to bed without reading to her since she was being crazy naughty. She was quite distraught and stood at the top of her stairs screaming down.
Eventually she climbed into bed, and all was well until about 2 a.m. when she woke up and began emitting an ear-piercing scream until I came in to see what the ruckus was.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“I am still mad because Dad didn’t read to me!”
“What, you woke up and were so furious you had to scream? It is the middle of the night.”
She looked at me with Bambi eyes and a quivery lip. I actually understand waking up furious.
“All right, want to get into bed with me?” She nodded.
The next morning she was still sleeping when I left and I told P. what was going on. He talked to her later after I left.
“It is not nice for you to scream in the middle of the night like that and wake your mother up,” he said. “You should apologize to your mother when you see her tonight.”
“Well, you did not read to me,” she said. “So you should apologize to Mom for making me scream.”
OH SNAP. I got the evil twin.
Strudel is singing tonight for a moving on ceremony before the picnic. Will post video later. Also, on Friday I wrote about Literal Video and forgot to tell you. I am still getting back into this filthy habit.
Three things I am all about today:
Also sitting in my office in the dark with my hood up and listening to Chet Baker. EEEEMMOOOO
Nothing new here, just thought you should know what is on repeat. Have a good night. Ruby is getting me drunk at the picnic. I am unashamed. I will relate the inappropriate things I say later.
UPDATE! 8:24 p.m. A fun time was had by no one.
Strudel did not sing, and refused to stand with the other children, so there are no pictures.
Sample dialogue:
“SJ! I haven’t seen you in forever! You look–”
“Drunk?”
“I was going to say ‘great,’ but okay!”
I’m not a parent, but I always assume the worst thing about parenting is the other parents. My favorite Snoop Dogg thing from somewhat recently was when he was on Martha Stewart and I quote, “I ain’t ever made mashed potatoes with no machine before.”
Last hurrah? Is Franny changing schools?
I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed your wisdom. ^.^
Doooood youngest graduated from eighth grade hell last night and I was looking at all the batches that I had to pretend to not want to punch in the no no place for the last million or so years and having myself a wee chuckle because I need not be fake nice to them ever again! Except for next year because we access the same high school oops! Okay for the SUMMER then. Sorry too much celebratory wine with my real peeps last night after the (not) festivities.
that little one is quick on the draw. i was all silence and pouting and then later [read: 10 yrs] fake apologies and giving the finger to turned backs. honesty is so much better. keep raisin’ em right.
‘bitches ain’t shit’ made this bitch’s day. spanks.
Who says that “drunk” and “great” aren’t synonyms?
There are ancient cassette tapes my mom owns that have a recording of my nasty little neighbor girl frenemy singing an Xmas song, because, at age 3 or 4, I flat refused to perform for adults, ever.
I outgrew it. So will she.
Also, I almost got into some trouble playing Goldie-Lookin’ Chain on my radio show (British, but not the kind of Brit music promised on the tin, thus naughty as it broke format) until I squeaked out of it by citing the late hour and closeness of the date to April Fool’s. Now when I bother to DJ these days, I pretty much get away with murder, as I come in when I say I will…and because I actually know about music that came out before Pearl Jam did.