what exactly is your dysfunction
THE SIGN WILL BE THAT LIFE IS AWESOME
Someone must have slipped something in my water bottle this morning because I am very on edge and I keep seeing weird shit that turns out not to be weird shit. The first instance was on the train, when I glanced up from my book and saw a guy staring at his hand. His mouth was open in a frozen scream and his eyes were all bugged like he was seriously WIGGING OUT on bad acid HOLY FUCK LITTLE TINY JERRY FALWELLS ARE LINE-DANCING ON MY HAND. No, at second glance I realized he was just sort of flexing his knuckles and having one of those weird open-eyed big yawns.
Later as I toiled at my desk a white phantom went screaming past my high-rise window AHHHHH but it turned out to be just a falling and slowly-unspooling roll of toilet paper. Which is in itself pretty weird—is a disgruntled maintenance worker pitching toilet paper off the roof? If so, I would like to grab the bottle of tequila from my desk drawer and join him, because that sounds like fun.
Maybe I am just tired. I have been awake at 4 AM many times in my life—illness, insomnia, crying baby, kicked out of Hidden Cove at closing—and never once have I felt it to be ambrosial. In fact, to stick with Classical metaphors, I believe that 4 AM more closely resembles ichor than ambrosia. Today I was awakened at 4 AM because the cats were playing with a rock. Where the hell did they even get a rock? And do you know the racket that a rock makes as it tumbles around on wood floors? (These are rhetorical questions.)
IT'S A JEDI THING
Nora rarely feels like talking about the academic specifics of her Montessori workday. The backpack comes home stuffed full of number work and sight words and drawings of our family (Nora HUGE, me medium-sized, LT tiny), so I assume she is doing something other than socializing, but you'd never know it from her tales out of school. Those are full of who had to be separated for excessive chat! Who was wearing an X-Men shirt! Throwing snow on the playground, yay! How she “rescued” a scared three-year-old from the top of the big slide! (Aww Nora. That's pretty sweet, actually.)
Last night, I heard these details of fantasy playground awesomeness:
Nora [going on and on and on]: I was Superman, Peter was Batman, and we were stealing money from a bank! Some rocks were the money. We stealed [sic] and stealed and stealed! And then Jared tried to be the police and he said STOP but we shot him with arrows! The arrows were sticks.
Me: Wait a minute, I thought you were being Superman and Batman! Superman and Batman wouldn't steal! They're good guys!
Nora: Yeah, but we were under MIND CONTROL.
Oh, mind control! Man, is that ever the perfect pretend-play solution. You get all the fun of being a bad guy while retaining the morals and muscles and superior wardrobe of a good guy. Mind control would also be a much more excellent bad-behavior excuse than my usual “sorry, I was really drunk.” Must remember mind control. For future reference.
FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL
I must link this: a video in which Philip Rivers is (for once) not screaming like a retarded redneck but is instead giving you directions to 123 Abstinence Lane, Blue Ball, Pennsylvania.
I don't even know if I can watch the AFC game. It will be The Douchebag Wars. And if Belichik wears that ratty old cutoff sweatshirt again I will be so angry that I just may have to drink a bunch of beer and eat some nachos. That will show him!
—mimi smartypants knows that revenge is best served cold, unlike nachos.