mincer ray don't worry
THE FROZEN BUNDLE OF SUCK AND TOO MANY BORING DETAILS
Midwesterners, rejoice! The weekend temperatures are supposed to be around 20°F! Oh I am so excited. We are running out of metaphors to describe this extra-special cold. I hope that the rest of the winter is just regular cold, so as not to tax our creative powers.
I worked from home one day this week, and as usual I had a ton of running around to do in between putting out publishing-company fires via email. (I think one of my emails literally had the subject line “EVERYBODY CALM DOWN.”) I went to Target for a new booster seat, as Nora is not even close to outgrowing hers by weight (will she EVER be forty pounds?) but is getting too tall for the harness straps. Found the desired seat no problem in the lovely morning-style Target, all quiet and clean and full of stay-at-home moms and their tiny bucket babies—however, at home I got it out of the trunk, stuck it up on the car roof for a moment while I unloaded other items, and then somehow when I reached up there it slid forward and bashed me in the face. So basically I had a heavy car-seat box dropped on my face from a height. Bruised nose, broken glasses, much cursing. I had hoped my glasses screw was just jarred loose, but really the whole corner is kind of smashed, and now I have tape on the side where it meets the lens frame like a DWEEB. Cannot get an appointment at any place that takes my insurance until Tuesday, so prepare for a dweeby weekend.
Then I worked some more, and then I went to the gynecologist for the annual speculum fun. My girlbits doctor looks like a dark-haired, Jewish, aging beach-volleyball star—she has that kind of overly-worked-out body and thin face and an athletic vibe that is very practical and focused and high-energy. I can imagine her high-fiving the rest of her team or insisting on one more run on the ski slopes. But she's also got the doctor thing going on, so it is not a perky sort of athleticism and gung-ho-ism but a serious one. This combination is kind of alarming. Especially when you are naked and the doctor claps her hands together and loudly says, “All right! Let's DO this thing!” And when “this thing” refers to sliding metal instruments into your vagina. I mean, it takes five minutes and I see her once a year, so it is okay if our personalities don't totally mesh, but she still scares me. On the other hand, I am pretty sure she could cure cancer just by telling the malignant cells to get a move on, and she would prescribe the patient a regimen of wind sprints + protein shakes and all would be well.
Much later I went to pick Nora up from chess club. (NERD! But look who's talking, Mimi TapeGlasses!) Finding a parking spot around school can be challenging, so I was proud to be a mere block away. After fetching her, though, I found out that there was a huge berm of plowed snow that I would somehow have to drive over, and the Toyota is not a monster truck, and the smell of burnt rubber and the sound of spinning wheels soon kicked in. Along with the helpful comments from the back seat about “give it more power!” and “turn the wheel more, Mommy!” I actually turned all the way around and gave her the I-Am-Going-To-Kill-You look and a Dangerously Quiet statement about how I don't want help from a KINDERGARTEN CHILD with NO DRIVING EXPERIENCE. I had to get out twice and shovel, but eventually I was able to drive away. Also, Nora was able to shut herself up (for once) and thus remains unstrangled. Giant heap of snow loses! Mimi wins!
FRUITED BY THE TEMPTING
Perhaps you are familiar with the band Squeeze and their overly-ubiquitous single “Tempted.” Did you know it came out in 1981? Good lord! Why is this song so common in beer-drinking settings? Why do I have it on my iPod? I do not know, but I indeed have it on the iPod. It is one of those songs that I do not love, but don't really hate enough to skip if it comes up on shuffle, particularly if I am typing or working and in the mode of music-as-background rather than -as-listening-experience. Or rather I should say that I USED to not skip it, before I became allergic to a particular noise contained within. Read on!
Anyway, like all Squeeze songs it is way too long. So toward the end the band is playing the riff over and over again, and the organist is doing organist stuff, and the singer is attempting different white-boy-blues croaks and improvisations, and at one point he does this…this…THING. It is so horrible I can barely describe it. He makes a guttural URRRRRRR sound but at the end of the URRRRRRR it turns into a jubilant HEY! It makes me cringe. It makes me wonder why Paul Carrack* felt the need to ejaculate in the recording studio.
(*Yes, I had to look that up.)
If you and I were in a bar right now, and “Tempted,” came on the jukebox, I would be ordering shots/stepping outside for a borrowed cigarette/plugging my fingers in my ears for the whole four minutes/weeping softly into your shoulder (reaction depends on number of beers consumed before song play). I give a tiny whisper-shriek if the song shows up on iPod's shuffle and stab for the fast-forward. (I should really just delete it from iTunes, but 15GB tends to make deletion a low priority on the to-do list.) And just yesterday I went down to the cafeteria to fill up my water bottle and THERE WAS TEMPTED on their stupid piped-in radio station, and yep, I got there just in time to hear the disgusting soulful groan. It really pissed me off. If I could wave a magic wand and make it so that every single copy of this song on the planet would cut off before the gross ejaculatory grunt-shout of a 58-year-old British musician, I would do so immediately.
—mimi smartypants is perhaps a bit aurally sensitive.