Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

I don't mean to be cryptic, because that's annoying. But sometimes there are things you can't write about because they are not yours.

But it doesn't mean you don't feel feelings about them.

And so for now I will say that although I have long understood that the world doesn't operate on fairness, and if you expect fair, you will be disappointed.  And you can get upset about it and say, "It's so fucking unfair!" And, well, you may be right. But that doesn't change things.

But I was thinking, you know, IF the universe were fair, then instead of bad things happening to wonderful people, the following might occur:

Dick Cheney, instead of living forever (although I genuinely suspect this is because he has Horcruxes hidden all over the planet), would years ago have succumbed to a flesh-eating bacteria that started on his face, even while fire ants worked their way up from his feet, while also dealing with, I don't know, maybe a case of trench mouth and an excruciating case of moral rot in his intestines.

I'm not suggesting any of these things should happen, nor do I actively wish any harm to the man.

Please understand it's just an example.


Because, you know, I was just thinking.

So it's probably for the best I'm not in sales or marketing

Yesterday, as I was waiting for my hair to turn blonde, I posted this photo as part of my strategy to keep myself fairly constantly amused.

(And no, I've never seen Total Recall, in case you are wondering. Apparently there's something about three boobs? And Quaid?)

Next, while sitting there cooking, I did the thing that makes me kind of hate myself, and yet I know I'll do it again next time. I flipped through issues of Us Magazine and People.

I know these are minutes of my life I will never get back, and in actual fact, I think Kris Jenner is a disgusting human being, but what bothers me more is that I have an opinion on her at all.

Anyway. (At least it wasn't racist porn.)

So there I was, flipping through magazines, and I saw this recommendation to jazz up one's workout! A colorful reversible bra! Cute!

Reversible! I immediately thought, "But look how skinny it is in the back. If you turned it around, then your boobies would poke out the sides and jiggle and that would be so uncomfortable."

Reversible: inside-outable. Not back-to-frontable.

Well, then.

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Last weekend I took Jordan and met up with friends at kiddie happy hour.

Now, when you walk in to this establishment, which is called Grand Central (and has taken up the kiddie happy hour charge now that sadly, the Reef is no longer), the wall leading up to the bar is floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Which to Jordan, I learned, looked like another room.

So as I was putting our coats down he was busy gearing up his fire truck in order to drive it as fast as possible, head first...straight into the mirror.

I'm sorry to admit that I burst out laughing, while all other parents, at the giant crash, turned and emitted a collective, "Ohhhhhh!"

He was fine, after massive amounts of comforting, if a wee bit fragile for the rest of the evening. "Why I did that, Mama? Why I did that?"

So dinner.  My friend suggested ordering two plates of food for our kids to share.  We got cheese quesadillas and chicken tenders, both of which both of our progeny have been known to like.

We set these plates of yummy yummy food in front of our progeny, exclaiming over the yummy deliciousness of them, proclaiming our delight.

Jordan eyed the plates suspiciously. He pointed to the quesadilla. "What's that?"

"A quesadilla! Mmmm! A quesadilla!" (I didn't mention cheese, because in theory he hates cheese, although in reality he likes grilled cheese and he likes mac and cheese.)

"Nooo! I don't like quesadilla!"

So I immediately reached into my bag of never-fail scatology.

"Oh! Did I say quesadilla!?! I meant fartsadilla! It's a fartsadilla!"

The LOOK. The look of horror on his face. "I would not eat a fartsadilla! NO FARTSADILLA!"

Uh, can't blame you there, my friend.

An open letter to my husband, love of my life, light of my days

Dear Nick,

You know that I love and adore you with my whole heart, and that I cannot imagine being married to anyone else, and that my sincere hope is that we spent our lives together forever and ever till death do us part amen.

I can't actually remember our vows, and I know you can't either, but quite sure we didn't include the sickness and health and richer poorer, etc, but of course it was all implied and neither of us are one to run from a difficult situation.

Naturally, you're probably going to die before me, because one, you're a man, and two, you're overweight and sedentary and have high cholesterol and a bad temper.

But I of course hope that by then I am very old and grey and feeble and not far behind you.

My darling, I love your mind, and your quick wit, and the fact that you are both funnily sarcastic and very punny. Even though it irritates me that you always have to drive when we do the Sunday crossword, and you always write on the fucking numbers, I enjoy how our minds and skills compliment each other.

You are extremely smart, and I'm constantly surprised and impressed by your breadth and depth of knowledge on topics I couldn't begin to talk about.

Physically, you truly are strong as an ox. I respect how hard you work - both in your firm for your clients and colleagues, and at home. You almost never stop on the weekends, and you can do everything from electricity to plumbing to tarring the roof. It shocks me when you pick up a sofa all by yourself and carry it up a flight of stairs.

You are the big, strong man with the power tools that I dreamed of all those years.

Also, I absolutely love that you swam competitively and played water polo and college lacrosse and you were just insanely fit, like, 20-something years ago.

Which brings us to the present. 20-something years later.

You've been sick - really sick - for two solid weeks.  You've been hacking and coughing day and night. For two weeks. Coughing so much your head hurts. Coughing and coughing and snoring.

Every goddam night. For two solid weeks.

I know your job is incredibly busy, and you have a trial next week, during which you will work 24/7. I also know that your doctor, who is now mine, is thorough but has terrible time-management, and it is not unusual to sit for two hours in his waiting room.

Yes, I realize you do not have this kind of time to waste.

And thus, even though you agreed and perhaps even promised that you would call the doctor, the odds are that you will not.

I do know that in most situations, your strength and stubbornness win out. And if you do not have pneumonia or something else requiring antibiotics, then I hope your constitutions gets you through.

However.

Much as I love you and do hope that we grow old as the hills together, don't think I won't smother you in your sleep if you don't die of consumption and this motherfucking all night coughing keeps up much longer.

Love,

Lisa

How's your day going? I mean really?

"How are you?" "How's it going?" "What's up?"

We say this as a greeting. We say it in passing. Mots of the time, what we mean is, "Hello!"

And when asked our automatic response tends to be something along the lines of: "Fine, thanks. You?" "Not bad." Or maybe, "It's Monday."

This is the exchange we expect, I think. Every once in a while you might say, "How's it going?" and the person will shock you with a response like bursting into tears, or saying something like, "My dog died."

I know I've done this to people. Sometimes you are carrying something so close to the surface that you cannot manage a normal response.

But sometimes, sometimes you ask, and you get real answers. I'm sharing something I posted on Facebook this morning. Really, I was venting, and maybe looking for a little sympathy.

The real-life, candid, thoughtful answers I got absolutely delighted me. I could so relate to all of the responses, and some of them made me giggle, and one of them made me so glad that he hadn't vomited on me while on my shoulders in a department store (you win with the puke, Lesley).

We've all got our stuff going on, you know?  So, how are YOU today?

Me
Yah, so my morning began with my son vomiting at the breakfast table. How's your day going?

English
Ha ha! Better than in the bed where you'd have to change the sheets. See? Always a positive side!

I hope he feels better soon!

Kelli
Yikes! -15 degrees here and husband with the flu. Thanks for asking;)

Sophie
yelled at Zoe so loud this morning I think I woke up the neighbours. I just can't do mornings anymore, they are Sean's domain. Really, just put on your frikking snowsuit!!!!

Christopher
I had a long commute in today, but believe me I'd rather have that than deal with puke at the table. Hang in there.

Lesley
Well, our son locked his bedroom door and refused to get up, so missed the bus and had to be driven...

Gotta love these kids, but probably easier than your morning! I still remember the stomach bugs. Could tell you some good stories - like the time Chloe was on Stephans shoulders at the 'Macy's' equivalent store in Germany and threw up all over him (that was our first experience w a stomach bug - fun times!!)

Kory Danielle
Well i have been home with all 4 kids since december 20th, they canceled school again today!! So here we are again home together.

Rachel
I'm trying to figure out how to answer Angie's questions about death and dying. Nana, I can manage, but she asks things like "Do kids die?" I'm at a loss.

Dana
Kids bitched and moaned about waking up because it's been two weeks since they needed to. Youngest threw a fit about his socks (but he always does). The puppy ate a book. And I'm overcome by a surprise but heavy bout of sadness. Yay Monday.

Paula
Oh no sorry. Hope he's feeling better.

Bobby
My dog decided to eat something out of the trash last night, so I put her in Time-Out. Now she's not speaking to me this morning.

Julia
Stepped on glass and cut my foot and have been trying to stop the boys from killing each other all day (its only noon).

Monique
Kids school got canceled due to yet another snow day... Uuuggghhh... Hope your day gets better... Hugs...

Amy
how do you do time out Bobby Evans - I need that for my dog?

Bobby
Amy, my dog knows when she's in trouble and she puts herself in Time-Out. She just walks into her room and sits in the corner. She is still avoiding me today.

Amy
Bobby, I wish I had that control over my dog. My daughter left to go back to college Sunday so he is down.Won't be happy around me, won't eat for days and he wont even be in the same room with me right now. he gets depressed when she comes back and forth. I can take this but he behavorial problems are about to drive me up the wall (sheltered dog - from a dog hoarders - 2 years old). I have no life anymore!!

Heather
Hugs to you and Jordan! I feel okay but woke up without a voice. If only there were a gentleman caller to use this husky sexy voice on, but alas no. Stay cozy Lisa

Lynn
Came home from Denver to have a nasty, loud argument with my 20yo son. Here I go again. Bigger the kid, bigger the problem. But still, I wish Jordan feeling better real soon and that it does not make its rounds at your house!

Becky
awwweeesome...ugh. We had a haircutting incident this weekend, but vomit tops.

And now I can't stop thinking about dinosaur porn

You know how you will get something stuck in your head and it will not leave? Sometimes it's a song - try getting "Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream..." out, for example.

Sometimes it's a new word you just learned, and you start listening for it. And sometimes it's something like DINOSAUR PORN, which will not enrich your life in any way and yet, there you are, stuck with it.

Yesterday, my friend Cynthia posted a link to an interview with these two young women who make good money writing dinosaur porn and monster erotica.

It's the kind of thing you see and if you are me you cannot help but click on and then you actually read the article and then you are all, goddammit why did I never think of that? Because I had years of tedious, low-paying jobs.

Why why why? Why didn't monster erotica or dinosaur porn ever occur to me?

When asked how much they're making, one replied, "I make more money than our friend who has been working as an engineer at Boeing for a few years and Christie's friend who is a five-year accountant in Dallas, Texas."

I don't know how much engineers or accountants make, but definitely more than I made annually in non-profit gigs.

So I thought, hell, I could totally write dinosaur porn or monster erotica. Couldn't I? I was totally Team Jake, and he was a werewolf.

I could write about women with heaving breasts and dinosaurs with quivering, scaly loins - a young maiden sunbathing on a rock, being eyed lustily by a...tyrannosaurus.

I mean, I don't quite understand how it would work, because really they're giant lizards. I know dinosaurs laid eggs, but the boy ones would still have penises. But probably forked penises, like snakes, which...I just...

And then there's the fact that when given an opportunity to come up with a porn name for myself, I chose Dolly Farton, which as Nick said, would never get me hired in normal porn circles. So maybe I wouldn't actually be good at the dinoporn. Maybe scat dinoporn?

You see?

The fact that I even go down this road when I have so little mental space and could instead be memorizing all of the U.S. Presidents in order or learning some other actual facts that I ought to know is just very indicative of, well, I don't know. Something.

Thank you very much, Cynthia, is what I'm saying.