Wednesday 3p.m. = Sylvia Day on Montel and Paperwork Day:
I'm convinced that the kids in the backyard have rendered me sterile. Honestly. So much for lolling in the springtime sun like a turtle on a rock, talking on a cellphone.
I thought my mom was just being sensitive, but she ain't kiddin' -- they don't laugh and play, like delightful, happy, playful kiddies. Oh no. They just scream like a kimodo dragon is tearing them apart, one at a time. Wishful thinking, I know.
"You weren't kidding about those kids, were ya?" I asked my mom, as I parked it on the couch just in time to watch my froggy-throated psychic heroine, Sylvia Browne, croak out psychic answers to earthly questions. My mama rolled her eyes at me and said, "Oh, yes, you shoulda heard them one day, hollering 'CAL-IF-FORN-YA, CAL-IF-FORN-YA' over and over and OVER at the top of their friggin' lungs. Honestly. They are two steps away from me throwing sulfuric acid in their pool..."
I told her I thought that was bad karma. She said, "Naw, that's what your daddy did to the next door neighbors' basketball goal until it fell over." After she explained it to me, that sulfuric acid dumped on the base of anything will eat it in two until it falls over, well, nothing surprised me as what my daddy would do. It also explained to me what normal isn't, and that's okay with me.
"Oh, I have to go take a Steinburg and wipe my Mary Coleman," my daddy would say with a look of disgust, referring to his ex-boss and her jerky Yes Man. All these years, I had no idea who they were, but I knew they must have zero-worth if he talked that way about them.
Apparently, this Mary Coleman woman was described by one of her co-workers as "a terrible blight on humankind, a black hole of despair who needs to die". She was the frick and Dr. Steinburg was the frack.
My dad didn't agree with this Mary Coleman megalomaniac and her bearded croany Steinburg, so the two *restructured* him -- took a successful research chemist from his work and lorded over him, making him do useless, time-comsuming monkeywork instead like filling out forms while they did crooked things in the meantime.
The co-worker said, "Your daddy hated them, and they hated him because they knew he was right, and they knew they were wrong. I'll never forget the day when your daddy was sitting at the conference room table, paperwork spread out across the table, and in walks Steinburg. He said to your dad in this sarcastic tone, 'Isn't there anything we can do to kiss and make up?', and your daddy never looked up and said back, 'Yeah, I got somethin' you can kiss...you can Kiss My Ass.' And that's why I respected and loved your daddy."
Me, too. And that's where I get it from. Thank God.
Walking around Kroger, taking photos of candy, pretending I'm not too old to be walking around Kroger, taking photos of candy, I say, "You know what time it is-s-s-s? Easter -- when Jesus comes out of his house and if he sees his shadow, we'll have, like what, 6 more weeks of winter, right?..."
"Shhh!! Don't say that!"
"You don't think that's funny? I think that's funny."
It also explained to me what normal isn't, and that's okay with me.