BEFORE IT WAS COOL
Every time Nora mentions a schoolyard “thing”—like cracking an imaginary egg on someone’s head, “no tag-backs,” cooties, “first is the worst, second is the best, third is the one with the hairiest chest,” rhymes about burning down the school, etc—she is ASTONISHED if I already know about it. I almost always do, since I attended third grade myself. Do these kids really think they made all that up? Please.
WHO PUT THAT THERE
I am a parking genius and backed into a BUILDING about a week ago. I was in a tight parking lot with angled spaces, trying very hard not to swipe the cars on either side of me, and ended up with the crunch and the oh shit. Also the hopeful hopping out of the car, “maybe nothing happened!” But it had. We are shopping around for estimates and the first one was $623, which is not really what I want to spend on the car although I may have to do it, bourgeois fucking scum that I am. I sort of miss having a shitty car. Not that I have a phenomenally sweet ride now or anything, but I find that I actually sort of care if it’s dented or not. Which is a long way from the days when LT used to ram shopping carts in the grocery store parking lot just to make me laugh.
MAYBE I WON’T DIE
And speaking of coming a long way: the Smartypants family is going camping! We have an official reservation at a campsite. (Did you know such a thing was needed? It was news to me; I always thought you just showed up in the woods. Having a reservation is making me imagine lots of little chipmunks and bunnies excitedly looking at their calendars and starting to sweep the ground, polish the trees, and gather firewood in preparation for our arrival.)
It is kind of baby camping, with nearby toilets and such. I am sure this will disappoint Nora a bit, since she is the sort who thinks Bear Grylls “cheats” by having a knife or a multi-tool or a compass. However, it’s probably best not to get too hardcore for our first time. There is fishing, swimming, hiking, and fossil-hunting nearby which will all work to wear out my thrill-seeking child. Personally, all I care about is a box of wine (permitted! I checked!) and a big fire. (Fire!) And not getting hacked to death by psychotic woodsmen. You hear that, psychotic woodsmen? Stay away. Go hack somewhere else.
MICROBIAL THREATS, CLOSER TO HOME
It has been a crazy few days. End-of-the-year school picnics, street fests, family weddings, playgrounds, 5K races. Everyone is a little run-down. Nora worse than most, as what was just a minor scab on her arm all of a sudden turned into a huge red area, complete with pain and red streaks going from wrist to armpit and holy shit, you do not mess around with staph-like superbugs. She was desperate not to miss the class party so I did a crazy work-from-home day that involved taking her to the pediatrician’s walk-in hours, dosing her in the Target parking lot with the antibiotic he gave us, and dropping her back off at school with her scary streaky arm. I felt weird about it but the doctor said that nothing was “open” so she technically wasn’t contagious. Poor skinny arm.
THANK YOU, BRAIN
Right before I fell asleep I was wondering about Red Lobster and how it got its stupid name and came into its stupid existence, and sternly reminded myself to Google that shit upon awakening. The Wikipedia page is somewhat disappointing, but it does contain an amusing story about the problem with endless crab legs.
THE VERY BEST THING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE
Is to waste a whole bunch of it on Drew’s picture site.
—mimi smartypants for the seafood lover in you.