Today at Hamburger Heaven...

...the girl asked if I'd like my order for dine-in or carryout, to which I responded "yes".  Realizing what I'd done, I then rambled an apology about how I'd been "editing video for 2 days straight at work which means I just stare at my computer screen and don't talk to anyone and so I've kinda, you know, forgotten how to talk to people".  

Yes, I told the unsuspecting cashier that I'd FORGOTTEN HOW TO TALK TO PEOPLE. Cause apparently, that's a skill you lose after 2 days with very little practice.

And this, friends, is why I shouldn't have a desk job.

Why Animals are Horrible Photography Subjects...

I tried to have a photoshoot with Baby the Cat to send to Holly in her absence.  You know, just to let her know we're doing fine.

Yeah. We're doing fine.


FAQ:


Who is Baby?
Baby is, in theory, Holly's parents' cat.  Holly has been cat sitting for around, oh, 5 years.  And sometimes I do it when Holly leaves town.

I thought you didn't like cats. What's up with that?
I don't like cats.  Baby and I have an unexplainable bond, which is clear from that picture.  She likes to dig her claws into my boob and then try to jump.  It's her love language.

Is your willingness to post pictures of yourself looking like this the reason you're still single?
Yes. Absolutely.

Do me a solid...

...and stop trying to have fun, light-hearted events themed to The Great Gatsby.

Do all you want themed to "Roaring Twenties".  I love a good flapper dress.

I'm not a fan of prohibition themed events, but if that's your cup of tea, FINE.

But for all that is holy, please don't tell me your party, baby shower or wedding is themed to The Great Gatsby.

Cause if it is, I feel suspiciously like I'm gonna spend the entire event dodging cars and asking people to kindly refrain from going near the pool.

IT'S NOT AN UPLIFTING STORY, GUYS. CUT IT OUT.

Tonight I Realized...

...that I'm turning into my mother. And grandmother. And every single woman in my family.

I'm coordinating a dinner that's being taken to a family who had a death in the family this weekend.  I have an entire storage tub full of food that was brought to me from various people tonight.  Like, it's full.

I'm still getting food from 2 more people tomorrow night, and going to Walmart to purchase for all the people who just gave me money.

I will have at least two full storage tubs of food, and probably more.

I just panicked and almost cooked something else, because I thought "WHAT IF IT'S NOT ENOUGH?"

These are normal-sized humans who are going to have food for, like, the next 3 months out of what we're taking them.

I guess it's my "love language", or whatever it is people talk about.  I'm pretty sure "food" isn't one of the love language categories, but it should be.

But, hey.  Now at least you know that if I invite you over for dinner, I must love you and stuff.

It's also possible that if I invite you for dinner, I've got food that's about to go bad.  But you can pretend like it's love...

Livin' on a Prayer

The other day at Taco Casa (I feel like a disproportionate number of my stories start with that phrase) I overheard the most brilliantly annoying, amusing & upsetting conversation. Two girls, about my age, are having lunch. One of the girls is pregnant...maybe barely enough that I would have been able to tell, but believe you me, I could tell from the conversation. It went along the lines of this:

“OMG and I'm SOOO excited. And I hope it's a girl because that will be SO. CUTE.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And if it's a girl I can dress her up in really cute outfits everyday and it will be SO. CUTE.”

“Absolutely.”

I was just listening to this new mom thinking, “Oh my God. She has NO CLUE. I mean, I'm not saying that I'm totally prepared to have kids because I'm pretty sure no one is actually prepared. But oh my God. She's in for the shock of her life”.

Now, I know I don't have children. However, I do have more experience with them than your average non-mom. Not only all my billions of children I've taught, but from my stint as nanny-extraordinaire to child-extraordinaire, Baby J.

I went back mentally to one particularly memorable day in the adventures of Bonnie & JoJo. (BTW, Anna, mom-extraordinaire to Baby J, has never heard this story because I couldn't bring myself to tell it. But it's time).

So, most days JoJo and I were BFF. Seriously. But we all have our days, and this was one of them.

We had opened the morning with our favorite song, “I CAN'T LIKE YOU TODAY, BONNIE. I CAN'T LIKE YOU!”.

She had already had at least 3 Martin Luther King peaceful protests, during which she lays flat on the floor motionless until I either a) give in, or b) threaten to stick my head in the oven if she doesn't stand up and cooperate.

And that day, of course, I had to go to the bank. Like, HAD TO GO. So, against my better judgment, I decide that we have to use the pre-nap window of opportunity and head out (Keep in mind, going anywhere from JoJo's house is an excursion. Believe me).

She might or might not have been wearing the shirt she slept in with elastic waist shorts. And I might or might not have told her to just run her fingers through her hair so we didn't have to brush it. And I'm positive I told her to just “grab some shoes and put them on in the car”. Like I said, we had a window of opportunity that we couldn't afford to miss.

So, we went to the bank. We went by the DQ, because me and Baby J keep it classy. And then we headed back.

From the backseat, I hear a tiny voice singing joyfully.

Pink...shoo yell...ashoo...Pinksh...oooyellash...ooo

Obviously, singing “I've Got the Joy Joy Joy Joy Down In My Heart” has PAID OFF. Because this child is now a musical genius. It should be obvious to all that she is doing a jazz-style scat solo in the backseat of my car. I'm watching a prodigy form.

Pink...shoo yell...ashoo...Pinksh...oooyellash...ooo!!!!!!

Then, it starts to click.

Hey, Jo, what are you singing?

Pink...shoo yell...ashoo...Pinksh...oooyellasho...ooo!!!!!!!!

No really, Josephine. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING???

Pink...Shoo...Yella...Shoo...Pink...Shoo...Yella...

Oh. My. God.

I turned to look, and there it was.

A Pink Shoe. And A Yellow Shoe. On her feet. After we had been in public. Twice.

So, that was what came to mind at the Taco Casa. Most days, JoJo was dressed perfectly. I french-braided that hair almost every day of my life for a couple of years (one of my lesser-known spiritual gifts...french-braiding on a moving target). It was SO. CUTE.

But some days, little pregnant girl, you're gonna be living on a pink shoe, a yellow shoe and a prayer.

Hope you're ready.