My Wacky Neighbor just brought over an entire plate of gooey, frosted brownies. OMFG. Thank you, WN!
Happy and cold today. Not wishing for anyone to roast in hell. Am writing now, must go.
The lice policy for Portland Public Schools is…
Mine does. It’s not the Clap, it’s Lice. “Scratch, everybody! Scratch!” Yeah, I have some hideous sinus infection combo wallop thing, my throat is still trashed (the doctor took a long look at my vocal cords — “Are you sure they’re not damaged?” he asked. “No, I just sound sexy.”) The kids are finally over the flu-cold-respiratory thing they had, so they’re bouncing off the walls — which brings us to My Life in Hell, the Afternoon Session: Wacky Girl’s Class is Chock Full O’ Bugs.
Just in time for Valentine’s Day snuggliness.
Wacky Girl: “Y’know how we found out? S looked at S and said, ‘Hey, there’s something in your hair!’ And then that’s how we found out it was lice.”
Neat-o. Our heads have been checked and so far, so good. It’s just the power of suggestion is all.
Feeling itchy?
Happy VD — Clap, everybody! Clap!
Love and kisses,
WM
Also, the Stabber? Spent the entire morning on Friday stabbing himself in the forehead with a pencil. (A sub was there. She refused to “play the heavy,” as my hippie parents used to say, with the kids.)
“My breasts are so versatile now. I can wear them down, up, or side to side.”
— Cybill Shepherd
And in the in-box today (Does my writing suck? Apparently. Along with my secretarial skills):
Thank you for submitting to The Georgia Review. I’m sorry but your submission was not accepted for publication.
For future submissions please review our submission guidelines. You failed to enclose an SASE with your submission, nor did you even supply a return address. We will not respond via email in the future.
Best.
Scott R. LaClaire
Production Manager
The Georgia Review
The University of Georgia
Athens, GA 30602-9009
706.542.3481
Georgia Review
To Scott, I say:
Girl Scouting Is All About Friendship. Girl Scouting Is All About Leadership. Girl Scouting Is All About Caring. Girl Scouting Is All About Fun. Yes, the cookies are in, ta-ra-ra-boom-di-ay… Thin Mints, yes. Lemon Thingies, eh. Peanut Butter Tagalongs, hell yes. All Abouts, hand ’em over. Will now drown my literary sorrows in honey-vanilla chamomile tea and a large plate of cookies while watching last night’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy on tape. (Tell me again, why the hell did Meredith stick her hand inside blown-up guy? To get McDreamy’s attention? Well, that’s one I never tried before.)
Did I mention I have laryngitis? Me, with no voice. Imagine. Hockey God and children are thrilled and not even trying to hide it.
Was also recently rejected by McSweeneys, both online and published versions. Have also been rejected by numerous other literary mags in the past few years. Far too many to mention here. This is just the most recent round of me trying to get my shit published. Have also been shot down by 20, 30, 80 who can remember, really, literary agents, publishers, feature-style magazines, etc.
Have also given up on my writers’ group. Rewrite, rewrite, repeat, and still, they kept saying the novel had no “voice.” Me. With no voice. Imagine.
Love,
WM
Not us anymore! HA! I say HA to you mushrooms. Bastards. The contractors ripped off the bathroom wall, and while it was plenty wet, all the way into the office, which shares a wall with the bathroom, it is not a disaster. Knock wood. It drenched the carpet pad but somehow did not ruin the carpet? Fantastic. And there were no giant uber-mushrooms growing in the walls.
My imagination was running a little crazy-like, as Junie B. Jones would say, so it was a huge relief. I’d even had some trippin’ anxiety dreams, where everything was squooshy and soaked and Hideous Kinky. But fears were eased so there you go.
We now have the DriEaz Dehumidifier going in the bathroom (it has a tube that runs water out of it and into a drain in the sink. It makes it look like the bathroom is on life support. Which, I guess, it is). The Turbo Dryer Sahara Pro is going in the office, making the carpet lift up, settle down, lift up, settle down. Giving the office, too, the illusion of being in an oxygen tent or something, on life support. Couple more days of drying and we should be good.
Someday I will have a shower again. (The baths have been relaxing though. We do have a tub in our other bathroom. But I’m not much of a long bath type girl. I’m more a jumpy shower girl.) Then I’ll be able to wash my hair at home and not have to go to the neighborhood salon: “We use nasty chemicals here, so don’t let your preschoolers run around. Clients only, okay?” (That’s what the sign up front says.)
Do you ever wonder where my kids are when I blog? Usually here in the office, with me. But they can’t come back here cuz of the Turbo Dryer, so they’re banging on the door. “Come. Out. NOW!!! MOMMY!!!!!!” Gotta motor. One of ’em is screaming now.
Dear Wacky Mommy,
How do I get people to stop assuming that because I am a first-time mom, I am an ijit? My IQ did not go down just because I got knocked up.
Signed,
Smarter Than You Think
Dammit I want some pasta with a mushroom sauce right now. Pasta Bangs? (It’s my favorite pasta place, over on N. Mississippi. She’s got a Jamie Oliver deal going, with street kids working for her. She’s very hep, Ms. Polly Bangs. Go give her some business, if you’re in Portland, Ore.)
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