simplynutmeg.com

Just the person I want designing my wardrobe: a repressed, frigid, self righteous, emasculating Republican.

Buying from her line is like a third vote for her sugar daddy:

I can think of a few people who will be lining up to get their pink cardigans and petal pushers though!

Oops.  Scratch that one!

My family is having that conversation - the one about permanently taking away the car keys to prevent another disaster that may hurt other drivers.

In my defense I tend to hit empty cars.  Or walls.  Or empty cars and walls.

Yesterday I had my third car accident in two years.  As I’ve repeatedly explained to Nathan, that record is pretty good for me.  In 1988 I had five accidents one of which involved a drive through cement post.  No humans or animals were hurt in the making of any of those insurance disasters.  The most embarrassing of the bunch was when I accidentally rolled into the car in front of me at a light and, when I got out to say I was sorry and beg forgiveness, I put the car in reverse instead of park and slammed into the car behind me.

Oops.

So this time another damn parked car hit me!  What is wrong with these people?  At this point I think it’s their own fault for parking anywhere near me. 

Of course, I had to hit a BMW.  Convertible.  2008.  Navy blue.  It was quite lovely.  Before I confused the clutch with the gas and flew backward out of my driveway into its cute little driver’s side door.

Oops.

Really, I was just trying to make my mom feel better as she had her accident right in front of her own driveway too.  I almost got hit by a moving car that was able to brake in time or I would have had the very same accident as my mother.  Except she was driving her car forward and it wasn’t a stick shift.  And I’m not 82.

Oops.

On a high note, my mom recognized me when I finally made it to the hospital.

On a low note, when I asked her if I could get her anything she said jewelry.

Okay, Mom.  Let me see if the nurse has an extra diamond tiara floating around.

Go ahead. 

Shake your head.

Laugh at me. 

Lord knows I am!

Rowan started half day kindergarten this year. She rides the bus with her sisters in the morning and returns home around noon, all by herself, on the kindergarten bus. Yesterday was the first day of the mid-day bus. I sent Rowan to school with a badge around her neck letting the bus helpers know on which bus she rides home. Over the weekend we walked together to the bus stop and I showed her where Finn and I would be waiting for her at the end of her day. As she boarded the morning bus yesterday, I reminded her of the afternoon bus routine.

She rolled her eyes at me like I was more stupid than dirt.

Guess who forgot to go to the bus stop at 12:04pm.

I remembered while I was reading a book to Finn as he played in the tub. There was a cute little bus in the book…

BUS! FLIPPING FLOPPING FRICKING FRACKING BUS!!

I dragged Finn naked and dripping out of the tub and ran out the door to the bus stop at

ah

12:34PM.

Rowan was not on the front porch.

Rowan was not on the bus stop.

Rowan was not roaming around the neighborhood dazed and confused.

Rowan was not at the school (after a phone call.)

Rowan was not at the transportation department (after another phone call.)

Rowan was not at the police station. (That phone call was written down in the police log as: 12:45 pm - crank call from lunatic woman.)

Finally a bus rolled up to my house, at 12:58 pm. The door squealed open and I saw a very angry face. Behind the big angry face was a smaller, dirt-smudged, tear-stained angrier face.

Rowan had been driving around town dropping off every other kindergartener in the district all of whom were met by smiling mommies or daddies. With cameras.

I, of course, blamed it on Nathan.

I am more stupid than dirt.

Lately I’ve been meeting people who already know me from reading my blog.  Although I find it sort of flattering, it has its problems: Inevitably, soon after the formal introductions are made, I notice these people straining their necks to assess me for chin hairs.  If that’s not distracting enough, instead of listening to their polite get-to-know-you questions and comments, I’m thinking about what they’re thinking of me considering I included the word bl*w-j*b in a post last week.  (Editor’s note: my mother’s computer is on the fritz.)

I’m almost always socially awkward to begin with, unless I’m plopped in the middle of a family gathering where I feel cocooned by the warmth of my huge extended family and surrounded by blood relatives who are far crazier than me; but being in the presence of perfect strangers who know the intimate details of my life, like what I sleep in, my worst parenting bloopers, and my propensity to over-use the word crap, is daunting.  Worst of all, I can’t revert to my roll as the funny lady because they’ve already read every bit of my material. 

This is also why I hesitate to meet other bloggers.  You can’t imagine how freeing it is to get to know people without the ramifications of chemistry, unless you are one of those people who is addicted to dating men in prison.  It’s a lot like that, really.  You don’t genuinely want to meet that ax-murderer/rapist for fear he won’t find you as adorable as he does in your long, thought-out, edited letters or your photo-shopped pictures.  Because you know that prisoner does not include your cellulite and bad breath when he calls up a mental image of you that he’s created in his head from just your words.

Oh, crap.  This is not to mean that I have cellulite or bad breath.  Okay, a little on the tops of my thighs, dammit!

See?  It’s best if I just remain behind bars, trading cigarettes for kinky favors from the other inmates.  

Early in the weekend Finnian and I were playing on the floor with plastic picnic cups when he hauled off and cracked me with one of them in the nose.  The kid has a damn good swing.  Within minutes, in spite of the ice, I had a bright strawberry goiter attached to the bridge of my nose.  Lovely.

We had five parties to go to this weekend and I commented to Nathan on our way to the first one that I looked scary, nose tumor and all.  He said not to worry.  It just looks like a big zit.

With Nathan away I’ve slipped off the intelligent, read-a-book wagon and have spent long hours watching bad television. I’ve been able to catch some very popular shows for the first time. Let me tell you People, there’s some truly scary programming going on out there.