Big Birds Don't Cry

Gee, I play footsies in the lav all the time, but does a cop ever come along and bring ME down to the station? Nooooooooo. All I ever get is some old, leathery octogenarian who borrowed her grand-daughter's Jimmy Choos.

Goshdangfreakin' nabbit. My house has turned into the suburban version of the Bermuda triangle. After a long and aggravating day, I foolishly decided that I would COOK, and not only would I cook, I'd pan blacken salmon. Hmm, hmm, hmm. Some spicy Mrs. Dash, a little cayenne pepper, and some cornmeal. Of course, when I reached for the cornmeal, my fingers fumbled and the cornmeal came a-crashing down upon the counter, stove, floor and feet. My feet. With the still damp touched-up pedicure. My Yahoo messenger icon is smiling at me, but is refusing to open, and my cell phone is saying, "Wait a minute" as it flashes every color of the rainbow, which is scary, 'cause believe me, no-one is special enough to me to get rainbow flashies.

As an aside, we have a new librarian in our school. Very tall. Very dark. Very handsome. Mr. Professional with a diamond earring that just hints at a little thug. Oh Mr. Librarian, have you Chaucer, Rabelais or Ballllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllzac?

And then...there's this. http://www.courant.com/news/local/fv/hc-whdrats0822.artaug22,0,441687.story I USED to be afraid of the squirrels. NOW I am willing to bribe them and enter an unholy alliance if they will just...keep... (ugh, can't stop shuddering) ...them...away.

In your general direction

I love speaking French with a snarl (and, admittedly, a Spanish accent, but that's a story for another day). I was just reading the back of a Band-aid box and had myself in hysterics by using a raspy, rude voice. "Mise en garde! Demandez l'aide d'un professionnel de sante!" Of course, it probably just sounded bizarre to the other house inhabitants because I was sitting on the crapper while doing it...

Paging Dr. Katz

KS, leaving message for therapist:
Oh, hi B. I'm looking at the appt. card, and I can't believe this, but we had a session scheduled for Monday, and I thought it was for today. I'm sorry. If we can reschedule...

Return message:
Hi KS. Yes, we had an appt. for Monday. I missed you! I have...

Sound of needle screeching across record. "I missed you"? Is that allowed?

She couldn't make another day

I'm terrible at emotional intimacy. Although I joke about sex and dating with friends, and occasionally write about feelings, I rarely express them. Christ, I can barely identify them.

I'm in a new relationship thingie and am at a complete loss. After two months, can I ask him if he's still dating others? Do I want to know? If he is, I'll be hurt, but if he's not am I someone's girlfriend? That freaks me out. I'm so accustomed to emotionally needy men that I feel insecure that he's not all up in my shit, and dumbfounded that I'm not needed as a rescue dog. Our senses of humor meshed right away, the sex is fun, and we have a fair amount in common, but I'm obsessing about stupid stuff. I hate talking on the phone, so I sound awkward whenever we talk. It must be loads of fun to call a chick and hear, "Yeah, that's cool, that's cool, good, uh-huh."

I wish I could talk to people. It's gotten a little better, especially with my sister, but unless an absolute crisis happens and I have to tell people what's really going on, I'm usually the one with the crazy dating stories or light hearted anecdotes that make everyone laugh, but a part of me is really just asking, Could you help me out here?

Shit. Out of the blue I said to him as I was leaving, "My brother called from CA to say Happy Birthday. It was cool to hear from him." He looked at me blankly for a moment, and who could blame him, and said, "Oh, nice." What I was thinking was, "Oh, God, my addict brother actually remembered to call me, remembered my birthday. He said he's coming off the meds that helped him to get over his addiction to Oxycotin. I hope he's ok. He sounded a little distraught, but not high. God, I hope he makes it this time. He's been through so much."

Or..."Bye, babe. Yep, school starts next week, will try to keep you on my calendar." I think I wanted to say, "Hey, my life is about to get busy again, and I'll have my son back for all but two weekends a month. You're important to me, so if you're interested in continuing a relationship, we'll have to get creative about seeing each other. Your daughters seem great; maybe we can do things altogether once in a while? I don't have overnight guests-even the guy I dated for 3 years didn't stay when my son was home, but I'd be willing to talk about it in the near future if it feels right for the both of us."

And for reasons I won't get into right now, I'm sitting here hating myspace, overanalyzing his parting comment of the phone conversation we had after I forced myself to call ("We'll touch base about Friday." Sounds promising...not.), and thinking what's the point of even bothering. Ever, with any of it.

Snarklepuss

Happy Birthday to me! (Don't round my age to the nearest ten or I'll bitch slap you. Four more years!) Happy Birthday to me! (What? How could 1989 call me to ask for these bangs back?) Happy Birthday to me-e-e-e-e (Taboo? You mean the Brady Bunch episode in which the family is on vacation and...) Happy Birthday to meeeee (NO! I DON'T want any sugar poured on me!) (Hey! Which one of you assholes gave me the can of Aqua Net and the day-glo green mesh shirt? Go to Hell!) One more time! Happy Birthday to...

Id's on first, Ego's on second

I knew 10:15 p.m. Buzzed Kamikaze Squirrel was going to hate 5:00 p.m. Leave Taking Out the Trash and Making Your Bed Until Later So That You Won't Stop for A Glass of Wine or Two After Dance Class Kamikaze Squirrel. 10:21 Kamikaze Squirrel hates both of them, but is loving herself, because she is going to sleep in the "guest room". Great thinking, KS! (Fine, it's the computer room with an old mattress, but at least there are sheets already on the bed.) Yes, 10:17 Kamikaze Squirrel had to bring the can to the curb, but at least the putrid salmon smell is no longer being pumped into the kitchen by the air conditioner.

Look at me! I'm...

As a tattooed, pierced and spiked hair thirty-something, whoda thunk:
1. I'd buy a Gap polo shirt.
2. It would look good.

At least it's black.

Trying...to...stay...nice

ONE poorly chosen extra stop at the bagel shop after a tremendous workout on a hot and humid Sunday (complete with swamp crotch) has resulted in a candida infestation of previously unknown proportions.The necessary one day, one ovule antidote feels as if I have mixed baking soda and vinegar and pored it into my, well, you know. On the agenda for today? A trip to NYC with a newish beau. With my period due any second.

Can you make change for a ten?

Pole: 4, KS: 0

Dagnabit, I can jog 3 miles comfortably, do ten "guy" pushups without sweating, kick almost as high as a Rockette, but could I slide down a pole without bruising every single freakin' limb on my body? Huh, evidently not. It surely takes a completely different skill set than what you learn during a Master's in Special Education. Any stripper who can do pole dancing should be tipped with fives and tens, and when you escort her to the back room for a lap dance? Take five minutes and rub her shoulders and lats.

Things I hate*

1. The song "You've Had a Bad Day". You know why I've had a bad day? YOU.
2. Mini-vans.
3. UPS men that block the Dunkin Donuts entrance when I have exactly 4.3 minutes to get a small iced French vanilla with milk and two sweet-n-lows before I have to drive an hour to tutor.
3. The DD employee who gives me a hot coffee with cream and sugar.
4. Norton anti-virus.
5.Insufferable fools.
6. Quite possibly you.
7. Lists.

Dammit, there's more, much more, but I must away to work. Which I hate. But, you know what I LOVE LOVE LOVE? The angry fist, shaken high in the air.

*besides kitty cats, puppy dogs and the Easter Bunny