This is why I don't do the resolution thing. Like THREE DAYS/posts later, here I am, slackin' hard. Even though I know that only about three or four people read this, I feel the little voice at the back of my head chanting, "They're waiting for youuuu!" - allow me to clarify that, so it seems less weird that I listen to the voice. When S and I are supposed to be going somewhere, he does this thing that is gar-un-teeed to drive me crazy: He stands in our room, generally in a state of un/barely clothed, and says, "We're waitin' for you! I'm IN the CAR!" etc, repeat, repeat until I finish my toilette and stomp out to the car, muttering and than grumbling things like;
"Where did I put my.....you ARE NOT either in the car.... hurry up, I'm freezing/we're LATE!" as I jam bobby pins into my hair or swipe a bit of foundation on and rub eyeshadow on my eyelids. Generally the car is where most of my making-up goes on - I am more or less unused to having a level, stationary area for primping. My sister (Pony) doesn't understand this at all - since she is my polar opposite in the getting-ready department - which explains why she always looks so perfect. See? In exactly five days, I get to go and see Pony, and the rest of my WHOLE family.
To say that I'm excited is the same as holding up an autumn leaf and shouting, "Look! It's FALL!" - it just doesn't cover it. They are the best fun, most (often unintentionally) hilarious, crazy-making people I know. To say, "I love my family, they are great" - well, again with the bad metaphor, right? My sisters and I can reduce my mom and aunt to silent, shaking, hysterical laughter with a few well-placed words and gestures. This is magical. When I was ten or eleven, I used to come home, tired from school, ready for a snack and some hang-out time before the homework mill started. Many of those afternoons, I'd walk in the door to the gentle sounds and scents of my mom ironing - and the dreadful, grating noise of the SHE-DEVIL on the radio. That's right, my mother has been a Dr. Laura junkie for about fifteen years.
Oh, the everlasting shame and degredation. Even back then, I was certain that Dr. L was the great Mistress of Evil Incarnate- that all-knowing, snippy tone coupled with those little sound bites of reconstituted common sense - She must be stopped. And the books! Those self-loving, aggrandizing, mile-long titles - "Men Who Love Women Who Eat their Own Young" and "Women Who Can't Tell Their In-Laws to Shut Up, So they Kill them and Bury them in the Backyard". Worst of all, her "tag" line, "And I'm the Mother of My Children" - well, naturally you are, lady... but does that fact give you a right to just get an 800 number and start dispensing advice to every sad sap in middle America? At what point do you say to yourself, "Hmmm... I am SO good at giving advice - I think I'm just going to tell Everyone What to Do With Their Lives!"
I would sit and listen to my mother iron, and talk to her, and make fun of Dr. Laura until my mother laughed so hard she cried. When we go out there in five days, I am totally planning to do the same thing.
Along with a copious list of Things You cannot get in Colorado (at least not for a non-exorbitant price) I've been tasked with buying and bringing items such as: lemon curd, Wine, chocolate, hot chocolate (special kind, three tins please) ginger biscuits, white wine, panko crumbs (I actually added these) Irish breakfast tea, a special brew, Vodka (actually that is for us, I'll see if it lasts through the first 24 hours) and of course Wine. My other sister, the Baby (Pamby) sent me the following text message today: "Hey, you have to do me a favor. Dr. Laura is going to be at Borders on State St. doing book signing. Buy the book "Bad Childhood, Good Life' and get it signed to mom and auntie"
And that, folks, is how much I love my mother and my aunt. I'm totally doing it. Thank GOODNESS they don't know how to use the interweb.
This just in: S got the rockin' new Elph something or other camera today and is in the midst of shooting Our Favorite Subject, the Wildlife in our Home. Said subject is none too pleased with Papa's sudden excursion into photography (neither am I, come to think) and is biting his toes and legs with vigor. This means one thing: Score! Sweeet pictures of snow next week! Yesssss!
Meepers - out!