Me: Hi, honey! How's your day?
Winston: Dana, are you under the impression that you have unlimited texting?
Me: Uhhhh... I don't understand the question and I refuse to answer it.
Winston: I'm serious. Do you have any idea how many texts you sent last month? And movies? And pictures?
Me: I'm going with "several." What the hell? You told me I could text as much as I wanted to! I believe you said, "Here. Knock yourself out." Why are you getting on me?
Winston: That's not the same as unlimited texting! You sent over 2,000 texts last month!
Me: So what is the issue?
Winston: I only got you 1,000 texts a month! You went over by 100%!
Me: That's your problem. Don't tell me to knock myself out and think that means 1,000 texts. And one of those videos was the kids arguing over why Anne whipped Henry with the jump rope and I had to send it to everyone.
Winston: I just can't believe that 1,000 texts isn't enough for you. They don't even count the texts to me, cause we are in the ICloud together. What... no wait, who are you texting?
Me: Don't even start! You're not the boss of me! I say who! I say when!
Winston: (silence)
Me: Get it? It's awesome! You know, from Pretty Woman after George Costanza beats her up?
Winston: (sigh) Fine. Unlimited texting. I'll look into it.
So tell the truth: when you're out somewhere and you see a mom, pushing 40 and texting, what do you think she's talking about? Probably something like
1. Hon, can you pick Junior up from soccer?
2. Can't make the PTA meeting tonight, I have book club.
3. Sounds great, lets meet at Curves at 9am tomorrow and have a great woman-centered workout.
4. I would love to scrapbook with you! Then we'll have lunch at Panera!
With this in mind, let me introduce you to my friends and a recent texting stream we had on a Saturday morning. We were all doing other mother-centered things while we were texting each other. I gave these ladies the opportunity to choose their own identity-saving blog names and they chose these really awesome stripper names that I promptly forgot. It's because, like I explained in Engineering My Own Disappointment, I tend to imprint people with identities of my own choosing that are not based in reality. I think of them as Laverne and Shirley.
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| We're gonna make our dreams come true... |
We don't hang out with each other and I have no idea how or why we started texting each other. We don't even live close. On this particular day, I was cleaning the house and doing the weekly shopping.
Laverne: We were friends in high school. Had a rather violent falling-out after college. Did not speak for years. Tentatively reconnected because we seem destined to keep running into each other and because of the awesome power of Facebook. Through an even stranger twist, we also hijacked the planning of our 20th high school reunion, which is this summer. (Don't worry, I'm already working on Winston for a sweet Lytro stealth camera for that one.) She has one child, one ex-husband named Carmine and a boyfriend named Squiggy. On this day, she is trapped at a tai chi demonstration with Squiggy. They must still be in the first flush of love. Give it 2 more years and she'll be like, " Go tai chi yourself, I'm sleeping in." Later, Laverne and Squiggy are going on a road trip and staying in a no-tell motel. Why is not important to the story.
Shirley: I was petrified of her in high school. She was one of the cool, tough girls who wore leather and eyeliner and was known for a particularly awe-inspiring fist fight with another girl. I tried to never make eye contact, because I was a goody-two shoes and I was afraid someone would try to kick my ass and I would be too polite to fight back. She married her high school sweetheart, became a nurse, had 4 boys and several turtles. She is actually a sweetheart, although I still have not made eye contact because you can't be too careful. She is a co-hijacker of the reunion. On this day, she is attending a neighbor's birthday party with her boys.
10.34 am April 28
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| Lorie finds the best cakes. And wakes me up with them. |
Me: Honest opinion: best cake ever? Or cake of nightmares? Shirley, I think your boys would love it.
Laverne: Terrifying.
Me: You can hear the teeth clicking, can't you?
Laverne: I'd rather bring the blacklight with me tonight than see that cake again.
Me: Fine. I will never again share awesomeness with you.
Laverne: Somehow, I think I'll be OK with that.
Shirley: That is unbelievably cool. My son once wanted a Predator head cake.
I am not a miracle worker. Creating an AllSpark cake was awful enough. And no one even knew WTF it was!
Laverne: I don't bake. My kid gets a Larabar and a hug.
Shirley: Those teeth look expensive. I'll take the teeth themselves!
Me: AllSpark cake! That's so cool! Mom of the century!
Laverne: *puke*
Me: Whatever. But how can you hate on an AllSpark cake? It has no teeth.
Laverne: I find people like Shirley create false expectations in less fortunate children, such as my son.
Me: Don't hate the playa. And what the hell is a Larabar?
Laverne: Sidenote: I am suffering through a "World Wide Tai Chi Day" just so I can have an excuse for bad behavior later tonight. Squiggy was asked to demonstrate. Meh.
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| Actual tai chi mystical lighting |
Shirley: FML
Me: I have no words.
(awkward pause)
Me: I did find this card when we were out last night. It sounds dirty. And you know the "private instruction" is nude.
Laverne: A Larabar is an organic, raw piece of food, wrapped to look like a granola bar. Healthy. Expensive. I show love by letting him eat the cherry pie flavor. I'm a giver.
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| It's healthy. Not poo. Really. |
Me: I just keep imagining the nursing home he will select for you.
Laverne: That would make this experience this morning much more interesting. I'm dying here.
Shirley: I am at a limitless boy's birthday party. I don't know what anyone is saying. They're all Latino.
Laverne: Anyway, I'm sure I'll be on the Medicaid wait list.
Me: Kinda early for a ESL party.
Laverne: Request a "Bachata" and see what happens...
Shirley: The conversation we had this morning about how all Mexican babies are born with mustaches has me nervous. Please don't embarrass me, boys.
(I'd like to stop all of you who just opened an email to me to send me a bitchy letter about racially profiling babies and their body hair. I have no issue pointing out body hair on babies because I am of Polish descent and we are born hairy, too. I was 8 when my mother sat on me, plucked my unibrow, waxed my lip and told me, "Suffer. It hurts to be beautiful." We, like the Central Americans, are a proud people. We are also stocky and hairy.
Laverne: Go up to the cutest guy and say "Quiero chichar." It'll be fun. I promise.
Shirley : I don't know what that is, but NO. It's gotta be a dildo or something?
Me: We tease Henry that he has a Puerto Rican mustache, lol, puberty...
Shirley: They are our neighbors! And we actually get along, lol.
Laverne: Ask for a Malta. They love that shit. It's Latino beer.
Shirley: I don't believe you. It's probably translated to "rectal exam."
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| Drink deep, my gringo friend. I'll get a glove. |
Me: Don't drink the Malta. You'll grow a mustache.
Shirley: Curse these people. The food doesn't stop! And it's so good!
Me: I would take my kids aside and order them to eat up, cause it's dinner too.
Shirley: It is dinner! There's these yummy pierogie things, omg.
Me: Put them in your purse.
Laverne: I have just had to excuse myself from the Tai Chi demo due to a fit of giggles. I'm such a shitty girlfriend.
Shirley: It's their own fault. We saw that pic.
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| It's like Comic Con. In slow motion. |
Laverne: Seriously, stifling snorts now...belly... hurts...
Shirley: Poor Squiggy
Laverne: I am awful. Truly. I lost it when I started imagining mustachioed Latino babies.
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| A google image search yielded 4,130,000 hits. |
Me: Brace yourself. Henry has a friend who got a mustache at age 9. Picture a 9 year old boy in footie pajamas eating waffles. With a mustache.
Shirley: They hired a juggler! He's wearing Dr. Seuss pajama pants.
Laverne: That's it. I'm done. Shit. Squiggy will never speak to me again. Hiccuping and crying now. I should just change my Facebook status now to "single."
Me: Juggle, mo fo, juggle!
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| The Unibomber plots his next move, juggler. |
Me: That's fucked up. Love the unibomber hoodie dude.
Shirley: All I was hoping for was a pinata. That's my son, LMAO!
Me: He looks like he's gonna bust a cap in the juggler.
Shirley: And you're probably right, sigh.
Me: (playing with the awesome zoom on my phone...)
Shirley: Hey. Their model is the same as ours. I want to investigate. Our formal dining room is their sitting area. Who needs a dining room? They're smarter! He's putting a ball in a tube now.
Me: That's what she said.
Shirley: That's a beaver in his hand!!! Now I'm dying.
Me: OMG
Shirley: Omg, Joey shut up! My son just asked him what his real job is...
Me: (more zooming)
I love your son. Give him a dollar for me.
Laverne: Fuck you guys. That's it. My relationship is over. I am snorting uncontrollably now. Tai chi people are staring. And Carmine just walked in. My ex. Seriously, I could write this shit.
Me: Carmine's into naked Tai Chi too? Lucky girl!
Shirley: The rope get's stiff and limp. Fucking magic dude!
Me: "The rope gets stiff and limp" Kama Sutra pg.179
Shirley: I think I want to screw the juggler.
Me: He seems talented.
Laverne: I swear I'm in a parallel universe. Ex hubby, boyfriend, stiff ropes, Latino babies with facial hair, and Shirley screwing the talent. Can't breathe.
Me: Balls! Beavers!
Laverne: I swear I'm in a David Lynch movie.
Me: Shirley and I are bringers of joy.
Shirley: Makes you wonder about pubic hair... This party is lasting forever.
Laverne: For the love of GOD STOP!! If Squiggy and I aren't speaking tonight, I blame both of you.
Me: Do you really want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn't care about Latino baby mustaches?
Laverne: Processing. I'll get back to you.
Shirley: The mom next to me is texting in Asian! I don't know what they are but her kids look just like Kate plus 8 kids! Her texting looks awesome! OMG, my kids are trying to speak Spanish.
Me: "Laverne's Diary Today: Dear Diary, Today I broke up with Squiggy for a juggler with a really stiff rope. Squiggy never cared about cakes with teeth or hairy babies. I feel free! "
Shirley, I give your kids points for insulting ethnic people in their own home.
Shirley: He didn't deserve you anyway, Laverne.
Me: I've seen it! Now I can't unsee it! Octopus in a cardboard box!
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| I'm at Marc's. Again. |
Laverne: Squiggy and I just left the bank so we can high-roll at the two-star Varsity Inn.
Me: Two-stars worth of high rolling.
Laverne: I need cash money for Clorox wipes. Don't hate.
Me: Cart of shame.
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| We eat all organic. We're really healthy. |
Shirley: My son just proclaimed that "man's butt crack is showing." It occurs to me: If Laverne gets pregnant tonight, whose child would it be? With the leftovers on the sheets and all.
Me: Omg, lmfao
Laverne: Fuck you. Both of you.
And that just took place over the course of one weekend morning. While I was doing other things. Yes, I need unlimited texting, Winston. How else would I have helped two Facebook friends through a Latino birthday party and world tai chi day? It helps me give to others. And the next time you see a 30-something woman texting? Don't let her take your picture.
~dana
