No Arguing With Assclowns on the Internet Day (NAWACOTID) is an international netizen holiday and antidote to common internet trolls, cranks and kooks. You know, assclowns! Shirts available now; blog coming soon to NAWACOTID.com!
Happy Birthday to my mom, aka My Kids’ Grandma, who several years ago gave them T-shirts that said:
I didn’t do it
I wasn’t even there
I want my Grandma
Happy Birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
random bullets for my Thursday 13:
1) Iowa is settling down. Now it’s everyone along the Mississippi we need to worry about. Life is getting too crazy, weather-wise, with the tornadoes and flooding and fires and whatnot. (If you want to see a YouTube video of the “Book Brigade,” look here.)
2) It’s my birthday next week. (more…)
Marriage has turned out differently than I thought it would. We have too many scares and tears and ER visits, but we also have more flowers than I ever expected, good meals, sitting around together talking, playing dominoes or gardening. I planted herbs and flowers all afternoon yesterday. We sent out for pizza and ice cream, stayed up late watching movies.
But Iowa is on our minds. I never expected, when I first married, that Iowa would become such a big player in our lives, and that I would love my husband’s family this much.
My son is disappointed he’s not there with his grandparents this weekend, in Iowa City, going to the park, playing in the yard, having Pagliai’s Pizza instead of Eddie’s Flat Iron.
“Poppy’s coming here?” he just asked my husband, hopefully.
“No, honey. He’s staying home with the big flood. The road from his house to the airport is closed.”
Cedar Rapids (where we fly in when we visit my in-laws, where my husband’s brother and wife live with their three girls) is a mess. Our family is fine, their neighbors are fine, but whole sections of town — homes, businesses, cars and bridges — are toasted or severely damaged.
My in-laws are stuck on their side of town — no way to get to downtown Iowa City. They have been helping how they can, but how can you stop a river? How can you stop nine rivers?
Steve put up some pictures on his blog — they formed a book brigade to save the books in the main library. I love that library, where my father-in-law worked for many years. I love the campus and the Writers’ Workshop. Kurt Vonnegut and Raymond Carver did, too, along with about a zillion other writers. I love Iowa. The people, the boating, the farmlands and the huge barns. The parks and great schools and my husband’s old high school, City High, where we went for an ice cream social one time when we were back home visiting. Steve teases me when I call Iowa “back home,” but you know, Iowa is not that far from Arkansas, where my mom grew up and all of her extended family still lives. For me, that all is “back home.”
Ice cream socials and huge gardens and my kids, running with their cousins all over the place. Having gin and tonics at cocktail hour, watching the fireflies — that’s home.
We were about two seconds from moving there, but a lack of jobs (and lower wages, if we managed to find jobs) stood in the way. I wish we were with our family right now, but am so relieved that my husband and kids didn’t fly out. (I was staying home to work and wrap up end of school year.)
So, prayers please, and good thoughts and I can’t believe that the next time we go to my husband’s home state to visit, it will be all different. We still don’t know the extent of the damage and won’t for a while.
Here’s to things calming down and an attempt to get back to normal. Whatever that is.
For now, much love and a Happy Father’s Day to my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and of course, my excellent husband.
If you ask my Grandma the secret to her long life (she’ll turn 88 next month) she says (and I’m quoting here):
“I get up off of my butt.”
No, you really don’t. Believe me. It involves me getting a migraine and throwing up, then getting over it, going to work and trying to wrap up end of year at two schools (no, three) the two where I work, and the one my children attend. I have two offices at my schools and one at home and they are all three a mess.
A big ol’ mess.
Also, I could use a spa day.
The rest of my time revolves around my obsession/love for Friday Night Lights (Season Two, Now on DVD!) and the Wire (Season Three, scary as hell) and learning to play tennis and being so frustrated because goddamn — how do those pros do it? Tennis is hard. Keeping your eye on the ball is extraordinarily hard. But a good work-out for sure so that is cool.
Also, tennis makes me think of John McEnroe which makes me think of Tatum O’Neal and now, a brief letter to Tatum O’Neal, in regards to her recent arrest for a crack-cocaine purchase in New York City:
Dear Tatum,
I love you. I have always loved you since we were nine years old. Stop buying drugs. Stop doing drugs. Don’t kill yourself, you’ll regret it. Your children will hate you for it. I know. Tatum, I love you. Clean up your hand. No one wants to see you die young. Send me an e-mail, would you? You need a girlfriend, not crack.
love,
wm
Also, why do children “turn up the whine” end of May/beginning of June and then become relentless mosquitoes buzzing until September? All children, not just mine. Why?
Also, a lot of my time is now spent on Wacky Cat 3, who is such a handsome tuxedo-clad boy, but is such a big thug. He non-stop pounds and chews and claws my two older cats. Bad boy, Wacky Cat 3! Out he goes. Then he cries and promises he’ll behave. Comes in, gets a nibble to eat, and starts pounding the shit out of the older cats again.
Internet, can this family get some help, please? Tatum is not the only one having issues here. (Hey! Leave her some love notes in comments, why don’t you? Maybe she’ll stop by and see them.)
See? I told you. Dullsville, U.S.A. Prey for us, wouldja?
love,
wm
“I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumblebee. I am no more lonely than the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the north star, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.”
– Henry David Thoreau, naturalist and author (1817-1862)
Well, well, well. Let’s review this past school year, shall we? (more…)
Do you love Yvonne even half as much as I do? No, I don’t think you do, because I love her THIS MUCH. Her obsession with bean dip and Rick Springfield (not in that order. I don’t think, anyway), her funny hubs and kids, especially her charming little kick-ass daughter. She is so damn sexy — all the time I’m thinking, honey. You are gorgeous! Go look in the mirror! Also, she takes superb photos. She needs a little lovin’ right now and frankly, so do I.
Plus we are Thyroid Sisters. And now, being older, I can one-up her: I have Other Troubles. (Is that vague enough? I’m sorry, but I cannot be specific. You can e me if you want all the grim details.)
She sez:
Dear You,
Ask me a question.
In doing so, you may help to unlock my brain and save me from this Blogpression. (Oh YES I DID.)
Love,
Me
I’m asking you — do the same for me, would you? Because I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired.
wm
…in case you were wondering.
She appreciates all your good thoughts, and is sleeping off the anesthesia as I write this. I’m sure she’ll be blogging on the morrow.
“It’s poison! I tell you, it’s poison! I know you feel bad… and…”
– George Bailey
Yes, people, It’s A Wonderful Life over here. And also, it’s poison when your pharmacist constantly makes mistakes on your RXs. It’s always the same damn pharmacist, four times in a row. If you live in Portland, e-mail me if you are so inclined and I will happily share her name so she doesn’t do you in, or your preshus chillen.
Why do I keep going back? Well, we’re not talking Hillbilly Heroin subbed for the amoxicillin or something drastic. We’re talking kids’ multi-vits, with the fluoride but not the iron; birth control pills which I had to pay Cash Money for because she couldn’t figure out how to bill my insurance, then insisted, “They don’t pay for these!” (yes, they do, thanks to the hard work of my lobbying sisters)… but the thyroid? Don’t mess with my thyroid RX or you will have hell to pay.
She has twice now filled the old RX — the one from a year ago, which was based on my old bloodwork — and claimed it is my current RX. No, my current RX is the “real” one; the old one is a mere imposter. (No one but Y is going to read this post.) (This may all change, yet again, after I get my bloodwork redone. But for now, we are going with the “real” RX.) Even though I call in with the right prescription number, somehow she is convinced that Her Way is Right and Mine (and my doctor’s) is Wrong. Why do I keep going back, you ask? Because the “real” pharmacist, the one who is there five days a week and fills the prescriptions ninety percent of the time, is an angel. She is. She’s magical, this girl, and will happily discuss my child’s fever (see: How High Can It Go?); my daughter’s need for iron, etc.; my hormonal upheaval; and then whew! everything’s okay then, ha! ha! (the story of this month) nothing is fine at all, more tests for you!
(Internets, please do not worry. It will all be fine. Just more tests, which apparently are so pressing that we will do half tomorrow and half in June! “Doctor is very busy!” (direct quote from Doctor’s Scheduler.)
My point, and I do have one: That is why I keep going back to that same pharmacy. The one pharmacist is just the best; her counterpart is just the worst. I already know what you’re going to say and yes, I am transferring as many prescriptions as I can (allergy RX, kids’ vitamins, thyroid medicine) to prescriptions-by-mail and the rest?
Fred G. Meyer, where they have a drive-through pharmacy.
hugs and kisses, little fishes,
WM
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