What I Did on My Summer Vacation, Part Deux

Besides that whole alien abduction thing that I was telling you about the other day, there were a couple of other “little incidents” I survived this summer. We have so much to talk about in the next few weeks, don’t we?

Let’s start with what will forever be referred to as The River Tubing Incident, where my fuzzy, blue body was thrashed madly against the rocks by rapidly moving river water that was as cold as the Jack Daniel's snowcone I was longing for that hot afternoon. I could probably have avoided the tubing incident if Mr. Blognut had been quiet and not distracted me while I carefully negotiated the jagged rocks and snake-y looking river creatures who looked as though they meant to eat me, so we’ll just make this all his fault, ‘k?

So there I was, on our third or fourth trip down the river, being the good wife that I am and listening intently to whatever it was Mr. Blognut was talking about, (What WAS he talking about?), when suddenly my tube went skidding up the side of a rock at least as big as the Rock of Gibraltor, and tumbled me out into the nipple-chilling river water that I had already decided was way too dirty for a blognut to actually swim in because, hello?, I could totally see bacteria floating in it with my naked googly eyes.

In my moment of sheer terror, (not from falling down the face of the Rock of Gibraltor and virtually shattering my left nipple in the icy, cold waters below, but from the knowledge that I was drowning in river bacteria that would probably give me Ebola IF I lived), I tried to remember what the Tennessee river tubing dude had said to me earlier in the day by way of his safety lecture.

Mayam, this here is a dangerous river and I ain’t gonna tell ya’ that people don’t sometimes git hurt toobin’, but ya’ can hep yerself greatly if yer remimber to relax, point yerself downstream, and keep yer nose ‘n toes out of the water.

What. The. Fuck?

Relax? Keep my nose and toes out of the water? Did he have any idea the amount of danger this would bring my round, blue behind? Because it would appear to be the only thing left in the water banging against the rocks at that point, except for my shattered left nipple which I could clearly see floating downstream some five feet ahead of me.

In my mind, I was screaming, Shut up River Dude! You relax! I’m going to thrash about helplessly and try to swim against the current and we’ll just see who knows what’s going on here! Besides, I have a nipple to catch!

Yeah, that might not have worked out that well.

I eventually did manage to relax, but only because I passed out from a combination of exhaustion, traumatic injury, and shock. River Dude turned out to be right though, because the moment I finally relaxed, I floated to the surface and lived to tell the tale.

I'm still waiting for Ebola to set in.

I am OUTRAGED!

Well, I am. All I did was take a little blogging vacation for, like, a week squared and suddenly everyone in blogland decided to write blog posts behind my back. I thought we had a deal that when I take a break, EVERYONE ELSE, (yeah, I'm talking to you), was supposed to take a break, too. Is it too much to ask that when I return to the bloggy universe I don't have something like 3,938 posts to read if I want to know what happened in my absence?

And, if you must know, I had a perfectly good reason to be gone so long. I was, um... er... abducted by aliens. It's true, I tell you. They've always coveted my rich, blue fur and googly eyes. Everyone does. (Don't think I didn't see you looking at me.)

Also, I have to admit that I was truly touched by the two hundreds of bloggers who sent me emails or left me comments wondering if I was still alive. In addition to that, I even had an email from someone who said they were unfollowing me because my unexplained absence showed lack of commitment to blogging. Heh. Really? I understand and everything, but when did I ever say I was committed? And, surely, if I said that, I was talking about the kind of committed that involves paper slippers and a hug-yourself jacket. But, hey, I'm sorry if I let anyone down during my alien incarceration.

Anyway, I'm back now, safe and sound, and likely to blog some sort of ridiculousness from time to time, but I'm not committing or anything. I'm just saying it's likely.

By the way, I really did miss you, and I really did read some of your 3,938 posts while I was on the alien mothership. However, it would be very helpful to me if you, (yes, YOU), would just send me an email or leave me a comment with a brief summary of everything that's happened to you while I was away. I'll try not to let myself get sucked into space ever again if you'll promise to forgive me.

I Want My Cake and My Ice Cream Too

Forgive me for the random bitching, but why should today be different from any other? Also? I promised to be either charming or quiet today in real life, so I have to use my blog as an outlet or I will very likely explode because blognuts are not meant to contain their complaints.

Grab a chair and hang onto your hooters! Complaints? I haz a big one.

I’ve been taking a lot of long walks because I’m doing the Susan G. Komen 3-Day event in August. Just for shits and giggles, I decided to hop onto the Weight Watcher’s website and see how many activity points I would get for these long walks if I were the point-counting sort of person… which I’m not… because DAMN, those things depress me.

Here I was thinking that I was working my fuzzy, blue behind off on these long walks only to find out that I burn off, like, nothing. You’d think that a six or eight-mile walk would at least earn you enough points to negate a nice piece of cake, wouldn’t you? Or a Pop-Tart? Or even a handful of Peanut Butter M&Ms?

You know what I get to eat after an eight-mile walk if I’m not already vomiting from dehydration? An apple. Who in the hell wants to eat an apple?

So… who do I see to get that whole points calculating thing tweaked a bit? ‘Cause if you ask me, we need to adjust the math so more people are encouraged to participate in all this healthy exercise crap with the promise of a reward worth having at the end of the day.

Why? Because I want a mint-chocolate chip hot fudge sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top. (The cherry is just for pretty. I don’t eat those things because they taste like cough syrup.)

And if I can’t have my way, I have another plan. I am going to eat as much as I can humanly hold, gain 100 lbs, and then go have my stomach stapled or something.

Choices

I found myself on a very long walk with The Boy last night. Trust me, it wasn’t so much the distance that made the walk very long, as it was only about a three-mile jaunt; it was The Boy and his incessant chatter about choices. Here is an excerpt from our conversation:

Mama, what if you had to choose between being dripped on by a hot glue gun, or running through 69 feet of fire?

The hot glue gun.

What if it was a whole bucket of hot glue?

Still choosing the hot glue.

What if you ran really fast and you weren’t wearing flammable pants?

Where can I get those pants?

What if you had to poop outside and you had to pick between wiping your butt with a fuzzy leaf that made you itch or a thorny leaf. What would you choose?

Am I out of toilet paper? Why am I making this choice?

You’re outside and you have to go right now.

I’d probably scoot along on the grass because I’m not using either of those leaves.

You have to choose one.

Am I still wearing those magic pants that are not flammable? ‘Cause if they’re like astronaut pants, this question might not matter.

You have to use a leaf.

I’ll just hold it until we get home.

You can’t - you have to choose.

What would you pick?

I would pick the thorny leaf because I really don’t like having an itchy butt.

And there we have it, son. No one does.

Where The Hell Am I?

I recently found myself in a Facebook conversation about a place called Jertih, Terrennganu. I didn’t even know there was such a thing, but I won’t bore you to death with the details because I don’t remember any. Just suffice it to say that World Geography was never my best class.

Don’t get me wrong, blognuts are teachable beings, but we didn’t get geography. I think I missed that day in school. It was just one day, right? I didn’t even find out the earth is round until a few months ago when I finally learned I was being robbed of a day off from work for Columbus Day, (which I’m still outraged about), and I had to ask who he was and what I was supposed to do to honor his day, and someone explained the whole thing to me and I kinda remember something about him setting sail in 1492 with three boats that didn’t fall off the earth because it turned out to be round. Frankly, I still have my doubts about that whole round theory, but I’m choosing to believe it because it relieves me of having to worry about tripping off the edge of the planet and falling into outer space.

Outer space is kinda scary to me. Did we learn about that in science? I think I was sick that day too, but I did see something on TV with a fat guy that always wanted to be beamed by some unseen man named Scotty. I dunno. I think they were a couple.

Before you go getting all worried, just know that I can read and write and I’m pretty math-y, too. I’ve always been all about the numbers in a Rainman sort of way. I mean, I can’t count toothpicks flying through the air or keep track of cards in Vegas, but I can solve a math problem eventually, and I may or may not memorize your social security number if you tell it to me. I don’t do that on purpose, it just happens to me. In fact, I wish it didn’t happen to me because I have to forget something important-y in order to make room for your social security number which I have no use for unless some nefarious sort offers to buy it from me.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on so long that I no longer recall my point so I’ll just go now, but I won’t know where I’m going until I get there because… hello, that’s geography.

I Would Like a Tiny Kangaroo

This is the conversation I had with The Boy very early this morning:

Mama, can we get a kangaroo?

Sure.

Wait! What? Did you say kangaroo? (Suddenly I wondered if this was something I could pick up at Petco, or if I’d have to call a breeder.)

Yes, a tiny kangaroo.

Do they come in tiny?

I had a dream about a tiny kangaroo. It lived in my room and ate celery.

(Damn the celery-eating tiny things. Note to self: Get celery.)

How tiny, Son? Did it live in the old hamster cage or roam freely about the room?

It stayed in my room and never went anywhere else. It didn’t even poop.

Well, I guess the tiny kangaroo has that going for him, then. What was his name?

I dunno.

How ‘bout Hank? That sounds like a tiny kangaroo’s name to me.

No it doesn’t. We’ll just call him tiny kangaroo.


After this whole conversation, I got to thinking that I’m glad The Boy has those kinds of dreams that leave him excited and hoping for a tiny kangaroo. I think it says something about the kind of childhood he’s living. So even if he is a little bit silly, I’m all good with that.

Plus, now I kinda want a tiny kangaroo.

And Boy is My Face Red

Look... all I’m saying is I wore sun block yesterday. I wore an SPF 45, to be exact. And? I put it on twice, so that’s like SPF 90, right?

And today? I put it on, like, four times, so that’s like SPF whatever, right?

Be quiet. I am not in the mood to do the math.

I CAN do the math, I just don’t feel like it.

Oh, all right. SPF 180. Why do you always have to have your way?

So, anyway, I was saying I wore sun block. A lot of it. I suppose I should count my blessings that I’m not more burned than I am, if one were looking for blessings and all, but it’s hard to count yourself among the blessed when you have little blisters all over your skin and you look like a Ballpark Frank that has been left too long on the grill.

Here’s the thing - I was doing some planting in the yard yesterday, so I baked my furry blue body and singed off my fur in places. Then today, I was volunteering at The Boy’s school for their outdoor Track & Field Day events, where “volunteer” equals “guilted into showing up on the hottest damn day of the year.”

And now? I look like this...

...instead of this....
I find this troubling, don't you?

Furthermore, in a few days when I start molting and flaking and peeling and itching, I think it's safe to say there will be additional whining.