Well, well, what a weekend. Frannie is in a mega-dither because of the goings-on at her father’s house. Are you ready for some hot gossip about people you don’t know and could care less about? I thought so. Remember, this is through the awesomely bizarre filter of a five-year-old, so actual mileage may vary.

So, as I mentioned, That Poor Woman (Franny’s pseudo-stepmother, who is a living-in-sin slut like me) had her baby. Apparently, it was forcibly extracted through a scheduled c-section, because TPW’s vagina is “too tiny.” I think this is code for “I don’t want my hoo-hoo stretched out, and my doctor would like the insurance money,” but, hey, I’m not always right. TPW should worry less about the size of her vagina and more about the size of her bank account, in my excruciatingly humble opinion, because that seems to be the main factor of attractiveness for some people.

(Meaningful pause.)

Frannie said that the whole thing was “just gross” and that TPW’s brother snapped photos of the vivisection. Frannie was “abandoned” at her grandparents’ house for four days, during which time she was taken (forcibly and under protest) to get her bangs cut, which she has been growing out for about three months. So she’s pretty pissed at her grandpa right now for undoing her work, and is also pissed that her favorite barrettes don’t really work right now that she’s trimmed. TPW was in the hospital for those four days and now that her dad is home “he has forgotten about me.” *cue dolorous violining of five-year-old melodrama*

Okay, so I’m being flippant here, because I think it can’t be that bad, but it does suck to go from being daddy’s superspecial princess to the dog’s breakfast. She’s drawing weird lines, too. She seems to be aligning herself with her sister Strudel, because “we were both in your tummy.” Maybe she’s not too little to be seeing her father for the sperm donor that he is.

There were also some more blood-and-guts tales about her dad falling down the stairs with the new baby, TPW’s horrible breast infections and intestinal problems. It’s a car wreck, I tells ya. I know way too much about life in Bumbling Idiocyport.

Franny’s conclusion to the whole gory story: “I’m glad I came out of your vagina, Mom.” What a thing to be glad about. That’s my girl.

The PS on this story is that Franny also came over talking about her “new teacher” and “new school” for next year. Of course she couldn’t remember any pertinent names, so I had to email SeaFed, who was all, “Oh, doi, the letter came a few days ago.” I’m not going to lie to you here: it’s making me a little bananas that Senor Incompetento is listed as the primary contact for Franny’s foray into public school next year. He told me he listed me on the forms, too, so I should “probably contact Seattle Public Schools so I can get the mailings too.” He just took this project upon himself a few months ago. I was feeling, like, “eh, it’s public school, so it doesn’t matter where she gets in.” (Yes, I know I have a Bad Attitude, so you don’t need to email me about this.

The thing about incompetent people is that they never concede defeat. They just take a project and run with it and fuck it up. I suspect that someone’s been working on his self-esteem again, which is never a good thing. People in his life encourage him, and then he all thinks he should like, have more children or drive a car be let out of the house or something. Ridiculous.

The good news is that she got into an alternative program that I was pulling for that won’t be too different than MonsterSorry (tm Badger or Squid?). And it’s in our general part of town. So yay.

In Other News

Obligatory Easter Egg Photo:

We had fun dying eggs but realized at the last minute that we only had four drops of red left, and decided to use it for purple. So the eggs look a little color-schemey, but that’s purely due to carelessness on my part. We had French press coffee no one felt like drinking, so the coffee came into play too, and made the eggs look pretty. Red is for suckers.

We also went to the Bunny Bounce at the Zoo, which was quite the fiasco. I think Franny had fun, but I’m not sure. The egg “hunt” there consisted of zoo workers dumping giant trash bags of plastic eggs all of the lawn and sort of kicking them to spread them out. Franny and two of her friends “hunted” about two dozen of the suckers and the field was stripped of thousands of eggs in seven minutes.

To entertain us while we queued up, there were preteens and young teenagers standing on hay bales next to a giant sound system. The oldest one attempted to banter with the crowd of three-to-five year olds, who weren’t having any of it. She then warbled her way through a song, the sound of which may have induced internal bleeding in some members of the crowd. The preteens danced sexily on the hay bales, accompanying the “singer.” As usual, I was not wearing my glasses, so I didn’t see exactly how young they were until one came close and I saw she couldn’t be older than twelve. I don’t think I knew how to hip-grind like that when I was that age.

Apparently, I was spotted by another loc, Jope, who chose not to say hello to me, possibly because my family and I were heckling the oldest teen girl, who has a great career ahead of her if Ashlee Simpson is any indication of things.

Finally, Strudel developed some sort of nefarious eye goo and had to be seen by a doctor today. It’s some variety of conjunctivitis, probably, and we got eye drops in case it’s bacterial. I hope there’s enough in the bottle for the whole family, because none of us can stop kissing that kid.

And then we wonder why she gets an eye infection.