I got a new bumper sticker this weekend.
It says, �Ghetto Booty�. Don�t hate! I thought it was pretty funny, until I drove up and parked at work today. Uh-oh. I hope my bosses don�t see it�that wouldn�t be very professional now would it?
Friday night, Lisa and I took the hellions to Jefferson Barracks Park. We ordered Happy Meals for all of us so we could get hopefully all of the spy kids toys. Just our luck, we all got Carmen. Sigh.
Some teenagers drove up, six cars of them, and hijacked the playground. I was sorta pissed, but then I remembered St. Louis doesn�t offer much in the way of entertainment if you�re under 21. So, we just left them alone.
When we finished eating, we slowly walked the kids to the playground, not expecting the older kids to leave. We told Jackie and Jacob to be nice and not to be disrespectful to the older kids. The older kids eye us warily.
Jackie hops on a swing and as I give her a push I notice the teens haul ass to leave. I�m thinking they probably feel that little kids are contagious and they don�t want any. They peel out like a bunch of morons, totally impressing us. Lisa and I say, �We wanna be just like you,� snorting and laughing.
We�re at the playground alone for about 5 minutes when I see like, 8 kids, come flying up the hill toward the playground. Ooh, then I see like, 3 dads with them. I�m impressed with the dads. Lisa and I surmise that the mom�s must be out somewhere. I then kick dirt on her feet because I know she hates it. She smacks me.
I see this cute little blonde boy running amok. He looks to be about a year old, and he is adorable. He�s dressed in a blue t-shirt and overalls. My ovaries jump. I think, �I could have another kid,� and then I remember that first you have to have a man for that. I�m thinking now that maybe I will petition one of my gay friends for some donor sperm.
Why not?
Why not have children with someone who�s smart, funny, intelligent, well mannered and best of all very cute?
Best of all, you have no one to answer to about raising the child, unless they want to help. I only say that because Jackie�s dad has some screwed up ideas about how you should raise kids. He doesn�t want her to know about the birds and the bees but he lets her watch scary movies, slasher flicks. I mean, that�s really disturbing to me. But God forbid she knows what an ovary is.
Carmen and Juny, I mean, Jackie and Jacob spend about an hour or so playing on the equipment with the other kids, while Lisa and I silently admire Uncle Hottie. Eventually we notice the mosquitoes are having a field day on our legs and we get ready to go.
I love JB. It�s an awesome park.
After we leave the park, we go spy on Mr. Sweatpants, who, surprise, is at the Tassels. I am mortified they might think I�m spying on him (which is true, but I don�t want to be obvious) and I scrunch down in the front seat as we go by.
Saturday dawns and I�m hating my hair. It�s too long, too bulky and I�m tired of looking like a Hungarian potato farmer�s wife because it�s ALWAYS pulled back in a bun. I mull over the sad state of my hair while I fold laundry at the Laundromat. I notice that Jackie went through 25 pairs of underwear in 4 days. Is that possible?
I like the place. Granted, it�s $1.75 for a wash, and 25 cents for a dry. A little expensive. But they got brand new washers and your clothes are actually dry in 30 minutes. I�ll pay a little extra for the convenience.
On the way home, I stop at the recycling bin, because I recycle magazines. I feel guilty about throwing magazines away.
I�m feeling way too icky. Jackie and I are heading home, and I happen to look in the rearview mirror and something in me snaps. I say �Jackie, how about getting our hair cut today?� She says, �Yeah mom. Let�s go now!!�
So, we head off to JC Penney.
An hour later we emerge, feeling beautiful. Little Jackie tosses her hair. I toss mine. I am minus 4 inches of hair; it is now shoulder length. Jackie beams, she looks like one of those Haley Mills kids in the Parent Trap movie but she�s modern.
We go home and veg.
Sunday dawns and I awake to find my bangs are sticking straight up. Fending off visions of �There�s something about Mary�, I gel them down a little. It takes some work, but eventually I get them to lie down.
We head off to grandma Lou�s to clean. It�s about 105 in her house. I think it�s because most old folks don�t like to pay for AC. I feel bad. When she�s not looking, I turn it down to 69 and turn it on. It�s pretty quiet, so I hope she won�t notice it�s on until it�s cooled off the oven, I mean, her house.
It is hot as hell outside too. I am pissed.
At 6:30 in the evening, I�m outside watering my plants and minding my own business. I�m dripping sweat. It�s gross. I�m mad. This is not natural. Wind is not moving anywhere.
I hate St. Louis in the summer. There is no such thing as a hairstyle. Your hair lies on your head like seaweed and has about as much manageability as broom bristles.
The only thing that makes me feel better is shopping, which I need to stop doing by the way. I�m addicted. Sigh.
3:07 p.m. - 2003-07-28
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
%%older_entries%%
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