“And while I eventually puked my guts out, I NEVER puked my heart out.”
~ Michael Scott, The Office
Tough times out there. Hold on to that, pippa.
i’m back — with zero tolerance
Wow. So I decide I’m ready to come back and I find this comment waiting for me on this post. It says:
Yea, you should go on a break-you seem a little paranoid.
Uhm, thanks. Wow. Neato.
One has to wonder if said commenter has even been paying the slightest attention to what has gone on with this blog over the last couple of months. One has to wonder if said commenter was trying to be funny. I have a good sense of humor but I don’t actually find this funny. Just rude. Sorry to call you out, but you’ve always been a sort of looming problem. Something weird has always been bubbling under the surface of your comments, so in a way, I’ve been waiting for this day. There’s always been something slightly “off” about your tone. I’m sure you won’t be back now and that’s fine with me.
What’s that famous phrase? “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re NOT watching you”?
Yeah, I’m paranoid. With pretty good reason. So thanks for that, Peaches.
But I’m back, yes. With ZERO tolerance for rudeness and other such crap.
And now you can all sigh and say, “Oh! THERE’S that Tracey sunshine I’ve been missing!”
break
Until I’m ready to come back.
Thanks, everyone.
weird things you think as you recover from nearly succumbing to cultic mind control
We were driving north on Sunday, zipping past a low-slung row of gentlemen’s clubs and the freeway wall that keeps their contents from spilling out into the world like a can of pop’n’fresh.
And it was weird. No, not the pop’n’fresh analogy. That was genius.
What was weird was the billboard hovering high above all the slouching strip joints. A billboard which read:
Well. Well. Well.
San Diego’s #1-rated adult hospital.
Again and again and again.
Uh, okaay.
But — and this was weird again — later, when we drove south past this same section of freeway, on the side without any clubs, we passed a matching billboard for this same hospital. Yes, matching. Or so I thought.
It read:
Well. Well. Well.
San Diego’s #1-rated hospital.
Again.
Is it me? Am I just imagining things? Are they suggesting, on the strip-joint side of the road, that there’s such a thing as an “adult” hospital? Is that what they’re saying? Am I the only one who sees this? Because, I kid you not, the non-pervy side of the road did not use the word “adult.” And the “again and again and again” part? Is it me?? Does it sound a little, uh, racy? (This from the woman who recently exposed her nostrils on this blog.) Okay. It must be my recently but perhaps permanently dulled senses, but I read these aloud to MB. I commented on them at the time. And it’s now Tuesday night and I am still not over it. So clearly, I need some resolution of this pressing issue. Or are the effects of cultic mind control just making me see things? And you’d better not pick that option, peaches.
What is going on?? Is this is the new thing? “Adult” hospitals? I’m so confused. I’m an adult, but I am so not ready for an adult hospital.
What if I end up in the hospital someday with the dreaded acromegaly and they have to operate and I wake up wearing pasties in a room with a pole? Can I sue? Will my acromegaly be cured? Does insurance cover the pasties and the pole? Will deductibles be called cover charges now? Will there be bouncers to throw you out if they need the bed?
Help me, Obama. I just don’t understand your health plan.
color commentary
The Chargers beat the New York Giants yesterday, 21-20, in an absolute nailbiter. San Diego QB Philip Rivers marched the Chargers 80 yards downfield in less than 2 minutes to score the game-winning touchdown with 20 seconds left in the game. New York got the ball back, yes, but in the final play of the game, SD linebacker Shawn Merriman sacked Eli Manning.
Pretty awesome, but only if you’re a Chargers’ fan, which I am, in fair weather, ahem.
But this isn’t the sports column.
This is about me and MB and how he was stuck at the office yesterday and how I provided color commentary for him on the last three minutes of the game. I’m pretty sure that falls under the heading of “wifely duties.” Or it’s in the Constitution or the Bible or something.
So I’m at home, alone, watching the game. I’m freaking out. Screaming to the walls by myself. We’re gonna lose. I hate you, Chargers. You suck. I’m rooting for New York now. Oh, nice. Incomplete pass. We suck. I really hate you, Chargers.
My cell phone rings. It’s MB. “What’s happening in the game?”
“We’re behind by 6. We’re gonna lose. It’s over.”
I’m very positive in my negativity.
“Oh, that sucks.”
“Yep. So, want me to describe the game to you?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Uh ….. here we go …. Rivers is back, he’s back, he throws, and ……… AHHHHHHHHH!!!! …… I can’t believe it ………. AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“What? WHAT??”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“WHAT???”
“Huge HUGE pass completion. We’re on, like, the 20 or something, AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“Wow!!”
“I know!! Okay. Wait. Here we go again. The clock is ticking, so it’s all hurry up. Rivers is back, he throws … AHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
“What? What? WHAT???? I don’t know what’s happening!! You’re just screaming!!”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! We SCORED!!! We SCORED!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! We’re gonna win!!!”
“WOW!!”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
Yes. This was my play by play. Screeching in MB’s ear.
Uhm, I guess I can cross NFL commentator off my list of “Jobs I Think I’d Be Good At.”
Uh, yeah.
Still, I gotta say …… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
hello, watchers!
What? They’re just nostrils. Calm down.
Oh, you’re leaving?
For good, you say?
Bummer.
But, really, you shouldn’t be reading a naughty blog like this anyway, right?
Tsk, tsk …..
what about the girls?
I was up for my day at Disneyland for Piper’s birthday in September, when she came up to me, sat in my lap, and said, “Tee Tee, so, what about your girls?”
“My girls?”
“Yeah. You know, the girls you make. Did you bring any with you?”
“Uhm …. well … there might be a couple in my bag. Why?”
“Oh, I just want to see them is all.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Good.”
Then she smiled at me and gave me a big long Piper hug.
I was a puddle.
And, sure enough, later on, she took “the girls” out of my bag, oohing and ahhing at each one, making very specific comments to me about all of them.
I’m telling you, the kid has the gift of encouragement, an uncanny sense of what people need to hear and precisely when they need to hear it. It’s a spiritual gift. A sense she has that is nothing but otherly and divine. It’s part of her, but it’s otherly. I don’t know how else to say it.
And you know what, pippa?
That’s God.
THAT is God.
Protected: literally no words
halloween weekend snippets
ME (reading “menu” of scary movies from brother’s TV screen): What is Blair Witch “Pro”?
BROTHER: Uh, Tray, that’s the Blair Witch Project.
ME: Oh. Hahahahahaha. “Hey, Tray. What are you dressed as for Halloween?” “Uhm, a dumb blonde.”
BROTHER: Hahahahahahaha.
ME: Kill me.
**********
ME: Oh, I just opened the door because I thought you’d like it.
HE: I just closed the door because I thought you’d like it.
ME and HE (simultaneously): The Gift of the Magi! The Gift of the Magi!!
**********
SISTER-IN-LAW (while “Thriller” plays in the background): When I first started watching music videos, they all bummed me out. They were never what I pictured in my head. I mean, I thought every last one of them was going to be some romantic moment between married people.
ME: Hahahahahaha. So you thought “Thriller” would be this romantic moment between married people?
SIL: Yeah. Disappointing.
And we burst out laughing.
favorite part of the day
This Halloween, we trick or treated with The Banshees. They were both dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood, although Baby Banshee’s costume — with a cape she refused to wear — made her look, uhm, more like a chubby beer wench at Oktoberfest than Little Red Riding Hood. A smushable chubby beer wench, but a beer wench nonetheless.
As they were getting ready for bed, after all the sugar and excitement, my brother did their little nightly ritual with them. “What was your favorite part of the day? Of the night? What are you thankful for?”
So it was Baby Banshee’s turn. She’ll be two in December. Her dad turned to her and asked, “Baby B, what was your favorite part of the day?”
She pulled the “passy” out of her mouth and whispered, “Horrrrsies.”
“Horsies?” I said.
“Horsies,” my brother said.
“Oh.”
“She says that every night.”
“Hahahaha.”
“Yeah. Her life does not involve horsies in any way, shape, or form, but every single night, the answer is ‘horsies.'”
She looked at both of us, pulled that pacifier out, and whispered — with a little smile this time, “Horrrsies.”
So horsies are the key to happiness.
It’s good I learned this before it’s too late.