Here, dear readers — My day in real time.

Sort of.

5, 6, 7 & 8 a.m.: Sleeping. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Large Wacky Cat 2, the stripedy one, pins me in on one side; muscular husband pins me in on the other. Why does the Cat want to sleep with us? It’s so flippin’ hot. Unable to move. Sex? No. Have to sleep. Can’t open eyes. Consider a new lifestyle that involves not staying up so late at night. Hmmm. What time did we go to bed? Vaguely remember 11 o’clock news. Keep eyes closed. Sleep. (more…)

Can you even deal with another post on lice? The whole thing — the social stigma, the health consequences of kids getting pesticides dumped on their heads over and over (pesticides that don’t always work. The nurse I talked with says there is a lot of concern among the traditional medical community because the pesticides — Rid, Nix, etc. aren’t strong enough for whatever SuperLouse is out there)… my anger at parents who intentionally send their kids to school lousy. Who refuse to pick up the phone and say, “I’m sorry, but my kid has lice, and we didn’t know when we came to your place for the sleepover/playdate/birthday party…” My anger at the school district and the staff, for letting this problem get out of hand. ONE KID CAN INFEST A WHOLE CLASS, SEE? I am no genius here, but one goddamn louse is all it takes.

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“Rudeness is a weak imitation of strength.”
— Eric Hoffer, philosopher and author (1902-1983)

“Should Chuck E. Cheese sell booze?” Such a no-brainer. No.

Yeah, you thought I was going to say yes, didn’t you? You do need a Valium IV, or a handful of Xanax, or a fifth of Absolut to get through the Chuck E. Cheese experience. We went for a birthday party the other night — and true to form, the kids had a blast and I became a screaming bitch from hell. But more later about the ride home.

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Oh, those bumperstickers. They’re always making me want to chuck a corndog through someone’s window. I was picking up my daughter from school today, we’re driving off down the street that runs in front of the school. I stop to let a mom and her son cross the street in front of us. She waves a thank-you. It’s windy, it’s raining, they’re crossing quickly. A van heading from the other direction stops for them, too. Just as they’re almost across the street, a mom in a van behind me hits the gas, zips around me, comes close to running over the mom and son, almost smacks into the other van, then drives off down the street.

Not doing 20 in a 20 mph school zone, by the way, for any of this.

The bumpersticker on the back of her van says:

Consider Adoption
Another Option

So abortion is wrong, but mowing down pedestrians and other drivers is all right? I am finding some irony in this. Actually, I’m just pissed about it. About ten years ago, a friend of mine saw a similar scenario unfold — driver is letting a pedestrian cross, the driver behind him flips out, zooms around, because, dammit HE IS GOING TO GET TO WHERE HE NEEDS TO GO RIGHT FRICKIN’ NOW.

And he kills the pedestrian.

My friend saw it happen. It was just one of those awful, awful stories. So don’t pull that manuveur, ‘k? Thank you.

Yours in safe driving,

WM

The smut mail is hitting the fan, so to speak. We’re trying to figure something out… Thanks for your patience.

Happy Friday.

WM

Dear Mick, Keith et al.,

We need to talk. I don’t know of a nice way to say this, but you need to hang up the bag of tricks, boys, and please retire. Shauna Lyon puts it well in this week’s New Yorker, when she compares you to a corporate juggernaut and an “enduring medical miracle”:

“Can your grandfather even climb a tree, much less fall out of one, bash his head, survive, and still remember the changes on ‘Sister Morphine’?”

No, neither of my grandfathers can do this, due to the fact that they are both deceased. And not much older at their passings than you guys are at this moment. Lyon also compares you to diptheria and/or kudzu, and really, did you mean for it to come to this? No, I did not think so. But what really pushed me to write you this letter was when I read about the new documentary Martin Scorsese is filming about y’all, and that you had to hire “seventy-five dollar girls” to come sex it up a little. That they were asked to dress “trendy, sexy, hip… Women really glam it up, but not trashy… nothing too over the top and outrageous (wigs, crazy hats, etc.)…”

No wigs? No crazy hats? What the fuck is wrong with you guys? I just watched “Gimme Shelter” last week. Why, I do not know. I was running a high fever, and it seemed like a good idea. I loved your music when I was a teenager. So did my friends, and y’all were all we would listen to. I’m not talking about a five- or six-month period. I’m taking three, four years. To the point where we were planning a party and my boyfriend begged, “Please, could we possibly listen to something other than the Stones?” And we all yelled, “NO!” at him and almost wouldn’t let him party with us.

Almost. We gave in because, you know. He had all the pot. Anyway, I’ve loved you guys for a good long time now. I loved “Some Girls,” even though it was my mom’s favorite album, too, and like, how uncool is that to love the same album your ma does? I loved “One Hit to the Body” and I still listen to “Exile on Main Street” and “Sticky Fingers” over and over until my husband asks, “Please, could we possibly listen to something other than the Stones?” (Seems to be a pattern in my life.)

Anyway, I’ve seen “Gimme Shelter” probably fifty times, because I thought Tina Turner was just too fucking righteous in it, and although I didn’t like the part where the Hell’s Angels knock Marty Balin unconscious, I liked the Jefferson Airplane’s set up until that point. You want to talk sexy? Let’s talk about the Flying Burrito Brothers, and their set at Altamont. Ha! Kidding. The Flying Burrito Brothers didn’t do much for me, you know, sexually. You know who was sexy? The crowd. The guys with their fringed suede jackets. “And beatnik chicks/just wearing their smocks,” as the Beastie Boys would put it. The beads and the hats and the crazy wigs. And maybe some people who, eh, you didn’t really want to see take off their clothes went ahead and stripped, but there were enough other sexy people there that it didn’t matter.

Now, tell me — you played with Tina Turner and now you’re saying no crazy wigs? I mean, for real, what the fuck is wrong with y’all that you have to pay extras to kinda, what, prop you up? This is supposed to be a documentary, but when you’re staging things and posing people, and yadda yadda, that’s fiction, not fact.

A fact: Meredith Hunter was sexy at Altamont, with his electric green suit and his purple dress shirt, dancing with his sexy girlfriend who did indeed know how to dress, grooving on the Jefferson Airplane. He was sexy right up until the Hells Angels grabbed his gun and stabbed and kicked him to death. And then it was just God rest his soul and why the hell did I watch “Gimme Shelter” so many times? It took a fever for me to figure this out? You guys gave his mom $10,000, for losing her sweet, sexy, 18-year-old son. Is she still alive? If she is you need to give her some cash and make sure she’s set. Because how shitty is that, for 8 bazillion Stones-loving idiots like me to watch “Gimme Shelter” over and over and watch her son being killed onscreen. No one ever went to jail for that one, remember?

So please, hang it up. No crazy hats, no wigs. Just call it a day. Shidoobee.

Love,

WM

Some of you reportedly think I am Supermom of Universe. I would like to say something here — You are on glue.

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I called the city on my neighbor last week. And the county. And then (because I was on a roll, obviously) Animal Control. If she keeps being so rotten to her aged mother, I’m calling Elder Control, too. (Wait, I don’t think that’s what it’s really called.) Yee-haw, virtual high-fives to me for finally getting up the nerve to do this AFTER SIX YEARS OF HER.

As those of you who regularly read this blog know, I have two neighbors: Angel (Wacky Nekkid Neighbor) and Devil (Evil Neighbor). I am sorry to be so simplistic, but there is just no way around it. I am in Purgatory. Apparently I was really rotten as a child and this is payback. (more…)

That was an exceptionally long middle-of-the-night rant, even for me. Sorry.

There’s some idiot at school who you just do not want to deal with, and the principal has to deal with it for you, and you’re PMS, and your kids have the flu, and everything is making you cry, and the cats always PUKE ALL OVER THE HOUSE and it is NEVER GOING TO STOP RAINING, oh wait, it DID STOP RAINING AND THE SUN IS OUT AND I STILL FEEL LIKE CRAP, and why can’t your husband work four 10’s, instead of five days a week, or three 10’s and one day from home and you drink a nice glass of Pinot Grigio and all it does is make your HEAD HURTand food tastes ICKY, and the PUBLIC SCHOOL CLUSTER BULLSHIT IS JUST BULLSHIT and 7-12? WTF? No, 7-12 girls in one place, 7-12 boys in another, and 9-12 coed in the boys’ school (WTF? again) and uniforms for everyone, but only for the poor kids, the rich kids can still wear whatever they want okay now no uniforms, but yes to all the other crap, and maybe we should go private (uniforms!) or move to Canada or something?

It means you, my friend, have the flu, too. So off to get rest now, Wacky Mommies. More later…