I don’t watch much television. I drool over Project Runway each week, look forward to every episode of evangelical preacher T.D. Jakes‘ show, and try to catch Fr. Benedict Groeschel’s Sunday Night Live whenever I can. There are few other shows that capture my attention.
So it is with great bewilderment that I admit that I am just barely able to resist the urge to follow entire season of Paris Hilton’s My New BFF. I stumbled across it the other day and, well, let’s just say that that’s 20 minutes of my life that I can never get back. The premise is that various tanned twenty-somethings ruthlessly try to be Paris Hilton’s “best friend forever” even as she leaves their events early, talks on her cell phone instead of listening to them, and eliminates losers via text messages that end with “see you never.” I couldn’t look away. Please pray that I never watch this show again.
If you are a football-loving Aggie from Houston, I just want to tell you that I am sorry. These are dark days, indeed.
I keep expecting that one of these days the teachers at our parish Mother’s Day Out program will start charging admission to let people watch me try to pick up four-year-old DB and two-year-old LC on the days that my mom can’t watch baby LM while I’m there.
Last Thursday was such a day. I had baby LM in an umbrella stroller. I picked up DB from his class, having him wear his backpack and walk beside me while I carried his lunchbox. Redheaded LC started melting down as soon as I got to her class and insisted on being held. She refused to wear her backpack. As I struggled in vain to find a way to attach the small handle of her lunchbox to the stroller, I took a moment to hate myself for the decision to buy large retro aluminum lunchboxes that don’t fit in toddler backpacks because I thought it’d be a fun, kitchy throwback to my childhood. Then DB decided that this moment would be a good time to refuse to push the baby’s stroller.
So there I was, a loud and squirmy redhead on my hip, barely holding on to two metal lunchboxes and a pink princess backpack, trying to somehow push the baby’s stroller with my hip, when the teacher hands me LC’s artwork from the day: a willowy 11×14 piece of construction paper covered in bright red paint that was still wet. At that point I was just waiting for the teacher to tell me that it was our day to take home the class pet hyena and the Faberge egg collection.
I handed the painting to DB and it immediately slipped from his hands and onto the floor. Anyone want to guess which side it landed on? Yeah. As the teacher peeled the paper off the carpet to reveal large, red blotches, she insisted that I just go and she’d take care of it, but not before taking a moment to look up and exclaim, “You really have your hands full!” Truer words.
[The following note is exclusively for employees of Texas-based corporation HEB Grocery or its affiliated companies.]
Sorry about #4, I was just trying to vindicate myself by pointing out my keen ability to recognize arachnids of the genus Latrodectus when they’re SITTING IN A BUNCH OF GRAPES.
Sunday I was at HEB and couldn’t help but notice something very black and spidery moving around in the bag of grapes that sat right next to my son’s leg. I picked up the bag to see a half-dead spider whose frightening shape I thought I recognized. I held up the bag to examine the bottom of the spider’s body, and announced colorfully to everyone within a 50-foot radius that this spider, indeed, was marked with a red hourglass. It was a black widow.
I headed to checkout, where I handed the bag of grapes to the high-school-aged checker and announced my ominous find. He did not respond by saying, “I am so sorry that you had to deal with something so frightful, ma’am! May I take a moment to contact my manager so that he might issue a formal apology and help you find some non-black-widow-infested grapes?” Nay, he mumbled instead, “That’s not a black widow. You can tell because it doesn’t have a round body like black widows do.”
“Well, yeah, right now it looks like an oozing blob with some legs sticking out of it,” I said. “But I assure you its body was rather bulbous before I smashed it into that Wheaties display a few times in a fit of hysteria.”
“OK, if you say so,” he said dismissively. At this point another employee walked by, and my checker handed him the grapes casually and said, “She doesn’t want these because she thinks there’s a bad spider in it.” I was fumbling for my wallet but looked up in time to see him catch the other employee’s eye and shake his head no.
At this point I shook my fist in the air and cried, “You have not heard the last of me, sassy HEB checker! I shall DENOUNCE YOU ON MY BLOG!!”
None of the above representations of my part of the conversation at HEB are accurate. It’s what I imagine myself doing if I were to have a single confrontational bone in my body. Actually I just said a couple things and laughed nervously.
Why do I seem to be the only blogger who’s concerned that Bloglines hasn’t updated my feed in a week? It’s happening to everyone on Blogger with custom domains, yet a few Google searches indicate that I am the only person
slightly concerned about this. Kudos to the rest of you for being detached from worldly things like large percentages of your readers thinking that you’ve stopped blogging! losing my mind
Those are my thoughts from so far this week. Have a nice Tuesday night!