So, Day 5 of Pioneer Girl Camp. I have been tolerating the insane shit of this other mother who seems to have singled me out for her particular brand of mental, and after surviving the inane conversation yesterday... I had high hopes that I would make it through the week without killing her. No such luck. She was begging for it.
Pioneer Mom: (gesturing towards the Lakewood Skate Park, adjacent to the Pioneer Girl Camp) They should pass an ordinance and make those kids wear helmets. I mean, its so dangerous and their parents don't seem to care.
Me: Oh My God! Let's just legislate the country into a coma! What do you care if they wear helmets or not? The city isn't even liable! Read the sign!
Pioneer Mom: But they could get hurt! They should be made to wear helmets!
Me: Jesus Christ, you and I never wore helmets and we're alive! We survived a helmet-free childhood. And we both, I guarantee it, slept on our faces when we were infants and neither of us died in a pool of vomit. If their parents don't care about their skulls, why should you?
Pioneer Mom: But.. but... if there was a law, then...
Me: Honey, you need to relax. I gotta go.
I almost made it through the week rage free. But all of my dogs are suffering from a mysterious case of the spastic hippo shits, and I am wore out from wiping, scrubbing and sobbing over my upholstery. And the "electrical issue" that had all of Lakewood Fire Department in my basement has me pretty stressed out, too. I'm really not fit for company.
Some people care too much about EVERYTHING.
And the all-white couch may have been a mistake.
~dana
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Please, Just Don't Talk to Me. I Don't Really Care.
( Me, dropping my daughter off at Pioneer Girl Camp today. I am cornered by a mom I do not know.)
Other Pioneer Mom: How are you?
Me: Oh my God, will I be glad when this heat breaks tomorrow. I was not meant to sweat. I need to move further north.
Pioneer Mom: I know. I've been upset all morning.
Me: Uuuuuh...yeah. I don't follow.
Pioneer Mom: Climate change! This heat wave is a direct result. And I see all these people in Lakewood taking out trees and I think, "This is all YOUR FAULT! Trees lower the overall ambient temperature! So thank your neighbors!
Me: (Don't laugh at her. Obviously the heat has her mental.) Hmmm... imagine if Lakewood had no pavement? Just dirt roads. That's good for a degree or two, huh?
Pioneer Mom: Exactly! And blacktop is the worst! And more trees! That would solve the global warming crisis. But people don't care.
Me: And houses. Imagine if there were no houses. How many more degrees would that be? It'd be like Finland here. (grinning)
Pioneer Mom: Climate change is a serious issue. I was being serious.
Me: I'm sorry. You're right.
...and I walked away, trying to look ashamed of myself, as she stared at me with narrowed eyes, indignant and green. (And definitely sustainable, local and organic. Lol.)
I actually had this conversation today. The social laws of my daughter's pioneer day camp required that I stand there and listen to this shit. And aren't you proud of me? I think I'm making social progress! I nearly made it through the whole damn conversation without making a snide remark! Very nearly!
~dana
Other Pioneer Mom: How are you?
Me: Oh my God, will I be glad when this heat breaks tomorrow. I was not meant to sweat. I need to move further north.
Pioneer Mom: I know. I've been upset all morning.
Me: Uuuuuh...yeah. I don't follow.
Pioneer Mom: Climate change! This heat wave is a direct result. And I see all these people in Lakewood taking out trees and I think, "This is all YOUR FAULT! Trees lower the overall ambient temperature! So thank your neighbors!
Me: (Don't laugh at her. Obviously the heat has her mental.) Hmmm... imagine if Lakewood had no pavement? Just dirt roads. That's good for a degree or two, huh?
Pioneer Mom: Exactly! And blacktop is the worst! And more trees! That would solve the global warming crisis. But people don't care.
Me: And houses. Imagine if there were no houses. How many more degrees would that be? It'd be like Finland here. (grinning)
Pioneer Mom: Climate change is a serious issue. I was being serious.
Me: I'm sorry. You're right.
...and I walked away, trying to look ashamed of myself, as she stared at me with narrowed eyes, indignant and green. (And definitely sustainable, local and organic. Lol.)
I actually had this conversation today. The social laws of my daughter's pioneer day camp required that I stand there and listen to this shit. And aren't you proud of me? I think I'm making social progress! I nearly made it through the whole damn conversation without making a snide remark! Very nearly!
~dana
Thursday, June 14, 2012
The Swimming Pool
Pool days are here again. Last week I was presented with an opportunity to educate my kids on how great their life is compared to my childhood. You don't want to waste that opportunity. It's sorta like the parental equivalent of "the burn." For example:
Henry: Eeew. What is this green crap, I mean stuff, on my plate?
Anne: Is this from the yard? Gross. I want grocery store green stuff.
Me: Shut up and eat your macrobiotic micro greens!
Henry: Why can't we just have canned green beans LIKE EVERYONE ELSE?
Me: When I was a kid, we had canned beans! Generic canned beans from the charity grocery store! We got a crayon at the door and had to write on the damn can what we could afford! Be grateful for fresh green stuff! Eat it!
Anne: What color was the crayon?
Winston: Really?
Me: Yes, really. The crayon was black, Anne, and I got smacked repeatedly upside the head for suggesting to my mother that we write "1 cent" on everything and then we could eat like kings and not eat CANNED BEANS EVERY DAMN DAY. Apparently, I was rubbing our poverty in her face. Thus, the smack. But seriously, if it were me, I would still do that today. I would have no shame about writing "1 cent" on a can.
Henry: You have a story of suffering for everything. How can that be?
Anne: She's making it up.
Me: Do you want me to tell you the story about the little girl who called her momma a liar and then her mom got hit by a bus and she never got a chance to say she was sorry?
Winston: Just eat your dinner. Where is this store, anyway?
Me: Don't even go there! I am not shopping the charity store so you can get NFL Season Ticket!
Anyway, back to the pool. Anne got invited to go swimming with her friend at their country club. And no, we aren't country club sort of people, as this conversation will demonstrate.
Super Nice Other Mom Who Is Not Psycho: We wondered if Anne would spend the day with us at The Club tomorrow and go swimming? Maybe we could pick her up at 11am and have her back by 4?
Me: Uuuuh... (thinking, "How the hell do I reciprocate that shit?") Sure. I'll pack Anne a lunch and maybe send some snacks for break times? And a towel, right?
Super Nice Mom Who Is Way Classier Than Me: Oh, dear me, no! There are towels at the club. And we'll just eat at the club, so don't bother with the lunch. It's no problem, really.
Me: Hey, Anne, you could just order a steak sandwich with a steak sandwich and charge it to the Underhills! Right, Super Nice Mom? Am I right? Uuuuhhhh.....
Super Nice Mom Who Now Knows I Am Mental: Does she like steak sandwiches? Who are the Underhills? I don't think we know them.
Me: You know... like in the movie? Fletch? He, like, keeps ordering steak sandwiches and charging it to the Underhill family?
Silence.
Me: Well, never mind! Sounds like fun! Please stop looking at me like that so I can run inside and be embarrassed!
There was no talking to the child when she got home from the wonderland that is the pool at a country club.
Anne: I didn't see even one band-aid in the whole pool! And there were pool toys and none of them were dirty or broken! And everyone gets a chair! There's lots of chairs so even kids get one! Ooooh! Ooooh! These fancy boys served us lunch!
Me: Nice! Cabana boys! Sign me up!
Anne: Whatever. Oooh! And the bathrooms! They were so clean! The floor wasn't all covered with wet toilet paper! And none of the toilets were backed up.
Me: You mean how at Lakewood Pool, one toilet is backed up for the entire summer and no one seems to care? Yeah. But that takes all the fun out of it!
Anne: No, it's not fun, Mommy, it's GROSS. And we each got our own changing room with carpet and chairs and a little table and a BLOW DRYER! I blow dried my whole body! It was awesome! I love the club!
Me: Yeah, well don't get too used to it, Toots. Your butt is going to be swimming at Lakewood Pool for the duration of the summer.
Anne: I don't want to go to Lakewood Pool anymore! It's gross and it's not awesome! The signs about "waterborn virus" in the bathroom scare me! I want to go to The Club!
Me: Listen: you and your brother have no conception of what it means to swim in a shitty pool. I don't want to hear it. If you saw where I swam as a kid, you'd have nightmares.
Henry: Here we go. A tale of suffering. Thanks, Anne.
Me: Nope. I'll do you one better. We are taking a road trip to my childhood! I will show you pain and suffering!
Kids: Great.
So Saturday, I told Winston to head out of the county to the little podunk community I grew up in. It was, as always, painfully nostalgic.
"And that's where the Big Wheel Department Store used to be. That's where I got all my clothes. Think Marc's but worse. And that mobile home park used to be the Pumpkin Patch and we used to walk there every year, 2 miles there and back, and pick out our pumpkins for Halloween. I was a slow witted child. Every year I picked a 30 pound pumpkin and dropped it on the way home. You'd think someone would have stopped me at some point. Never actually carved a pumpkin.
Henry: Your childhood was depressing. Can we go home now?
Me: Nope. Not till you see the swimming hole. I won't have you little snobs thumbing your noses at Lakewood Pool. That used to be the library over there, and I used to ride my bike three miles there and get way too many books and then try to balance them on my handle bars the whole way home. And once, Alva Easterly knocked me off my bike on the way home and stabbed me with a pencil in my back.
Winston: I thought he did that in History class in 6th grade.
Me: Don't try to make it pretty! He stabbed everyone REPEATEDLY in the back with his damn little sharp pencils! I hope that turd is doing hard time somewhere! And who the hell names their child "Alva Easterly" and thinks that won't cause damage?
There was no pool in my hometown. So someone decided to dig a big hole in the ground, cover the whole area with sand and dirt, then let it fill with rainwater and call it South Central Pool. It was not a pool. It was a mud hole. But on a hot summer day in the sticks, it was your only option.
Let me tell you an interesting fact about South Central Pool. It was conveniently located next to a fertilizer plant. So the smell of the whole area was an intriguing combination of bleach and dead fish and poo. I think the city got the land cheap because no one wanted to be anywhere near that part of town.
Me: See that abandoned fertilizer plant over there, kids? It stank like hot poison. And your Grandma made us sit right here by the damn fence because your Uncle Darryl had delicate skin and needed shade. You worry about some wet toilet paper and band aids at freaking Lakewood Pool? I WAS SWIMMING IN RUNOFF FROM THE FERTILIZER PLANT! Any minute now, the tumors are going to start popping out from all over my body, like the Toxic Avenger.
Winston: Are we done here? Did you still want to show them the high tension lines you grew up under?
Me: I want to get a few more pictures. The we'll show them the other reason I will probably die tumorous.
Kids: Great.
After enlightening my kids at the South Central Fertilizer Mud Hole, we drove over to the house I grew up in. I loved my house. My parents gave us a beautiful home with the best they could, considering the whole country was sitting in gas lines and our town was one of the poorest in the area. But if you grew up in North Ridgeville, Ohio and you didn't have much money, you probably lived under the power lines. Like we did.
Me: Alright, get out of the car. I want you to see where I played as a child.
Henry: No. You can't make me.
Winston: (Sigh...)
Anne: I'll come!
Me: You people suck. Come on, Anne.
Anne and I jumped out of the car and walked the gravel utility access path that I had walked every day as a child. So I could go play in the ditch and climb the power lines.
Me: So, this gravel road is exactly the same as when I was your age, and I would run across the street here to play in the ditch! See?
Anne: That's not so bad. I like ditches.
Me: Yeah, well the ditch was fun, but even a ditch gets boring after throwing rocks in it for the whole summer. But the big fun was back here, playing under the power lines.
Anne: I thought those were dangerous. And there's signs everywhere saying "No Trespassing."
Me: They are dangerous. The government says it's safe to live under them, but people who do always get cancer. That's why poor people live under them, cause no one cares. Your Uncle Dougie and I used to climb the scaffolding of the high tension wires and try to steal the sign that said, "Danger! Risk of Electrocution!" We thought the little picture on the sign of the little man getting fried by a million volts was funny.
Anne: I'm 9, and even I know that's dumb and stupid.
Me: Yeah, well you didn't grow up under this crap so you're probably smarter than me.
FYI? The most surprising people grew up under the power lines, so be careful not to use it as a deprecating phrase in polite company. I know a girl named Becky who would have benefited from that advice. When my Henry was a baby, I joined a playgroup so he wouldn't grow up socially awkward from isolation. (We all did this. Yes, it's stupid. Playgroups are just sadism for mothers who already feel guilty about everything.) During one play date at this total tool named Becky's house, she decided to flavor an insult with a power line reference. Her house? I (Heart) Country all over the place. Potpourri wreathes and framed Bible verses with little Raggedy Ann and Andy shit all over the place. And she had this weird upper lip that made me think of a trout, so I sorta hated her already. And I have rage issues.
Becky: ... I mean, you have to advocate for your child. You can't just let them grown up all "willy nilly." You have to research every little thing before you make a decision about your child. If you don't, your kid will end up like those people who live under power lines or something. (snort) Pathetic.
Me: (standing up and grabbing Henry) Becky, you are a freak-lipped cunt. You don't know shit about power line survivors. And who the fuck decorates their entire home including the goddamn bathroom with their wedding pictures?
Becky: How dare you swear in front of my child?! Get out!
Me: Oh, don't worry, Becky, you twat. I'm leaving. I hope your daughter doesn't grow up to be a freak-lipped cunt like her mother. But then, I grew up under power lines, Becky, so you can't expect too much from someone like me. You're lucky I didn't shit on the rug. I'm out.
It was either my finest moment, or the first sign of mental damage from the pool and the power lines.
I think I got through to my kids. There is nothing wrong with the city pool. We will never be country club people. Let's be honest, we'd never pass the review process. I'd probably blow my stack and call someone a "freak-lipped cunt." I could never slink about a pool gracefully and wink at the cabana boys. I cannot flick my hair. If we belonged to a country club, I would definitely be shopping at the charity shop for cheap beans and Winston would never have NFL Season Ticket. But then, my kids aren't country club material either. Anne and I talked about it and she realized that most of the girls there were just tanning or walking around flicking their long blond hair and texting. And that is so not my daughter. My kids like to do multiple cannon balls and try to soak the life guard. They like to wear their goggles and dive to the bottom of the 7ft area and sit there until their ears hurt. They swim and splash and play weird, loud, complicated pool games until they are pruney. We're city pool people, and that cement pond looks pretty fancy to me.
~dana
Henry: Eeew. What is this green crap, I mean stuff, on my plate?
Anne: Is this from the yard? Gross. I want grocery store green stuff.
Me: Shut up and eat your macrobiotic micro greens!
Henry: Why can't we just have canned green beans LIKE EVERYONE ELSE?
Me: When I was a kid, we had canned beans! Generic canned beans from the charity grocery store! We got a crayon at the door and had to write on the damn can what we could afford! Be grateful for fresh green stuff! Eat it!
Anne: What color was the crayon?
Winston: Really?
Me: Yes, really. The crayon was black, Anne, and I got smacked repeatedly upside the head for suggesting to my mother that we write "1 cent" on everything and then we could eat like kings and not eat CANNED BEANS EVERY DAMN DAY. Apparently, I was rubbing our poverty in her face. Thus, the smack. But seriously, if it were me, I would still do that today. I would have no shame about writing "1 cent" on a can.
Henry: You have a story of suffering for everything. How can that be?
Anne: She's making it up.
Me: Do you want me to tell you the story about the little girl who called her momma a liar and then her mom got hit by a bus and she never got a chance to say she was sorry?
Winston: Just eat your dinner. Where is this store, anyway?
Me: Don't even go there! I am not shopping the charity store so you can get NFL Season Ticket!
Anyway, back to the pool. Anne got invited to go swimming with her friend at their country club. And no, we aren't country club sort of people, as this conversation will demonstrate.
Super Nice Other Mom Who Is Not Psycho: We wondered if Anne would spend the day with us at The Club tomorrow and go swimming? Maybe we could pick her up at 11am and have her back by 4?
Me: Uuuuh... (thinking, "How the hell do I reciprocate that shit?") Sure. I'll pack Anne a lunch and maybe send some snacks for break times? And a towel, right?
Super Nice Mom Who Is Way Classier Than Me: Oh, dear me, no! There are towels at the club. And we'll just eat at the club, so don't bother with the lunch. It's no problem, really.
Me: Hey, Anne, you could just order a steak sandwich with a steak sandwich and charge it to the Underhills! Right, Super Nice Mom? Am I right? Uuuuhhhh.....
Super Nice Mom Who Now Knows I Am Mental: Does she like steak sandwiches? Who are the Underhills? I don't think we know them.
Me: You know... like in the movie? Fletch? He, like, keeps ordering steak sandwiches and charging it to the Underhill family?
Silence.
Me: Well, never mind! Sounds like fun! Please stop looking at me like that so I can run inside and be embarrassed!
There was no talking to the child when she got home from the wonderland that is the pool at a country club.
Anne: I didn't see even one band-aid in the whole pool! And there were pool toys and none of them were dirty or broken! And everyone gets a chair! There's lots of chairs so even kids get one! Ooooh! Ooooh! These fancy boys served us lunch!
Me: Nice! Cabana boys! Sign me up!
Anne: Whatever. Oooh! And the bathrooms! They were so clean! The floor wasn't all covered with wet toilet paper! And none of the toilets were backed up.
Me: You mean how at Lakewood Pool, one toilet is backed up for the entire summer and no one seems to care? Yeah. But that takes all the fun out of it!
Anne: No, it's not fun, Mommy, it's GROSS. And we each got our own changing room with carpet and chairs and a little table and a BLOW DRYER! I blow dried my whole body! It was awesome! I love the club!
Me: Yeah, well don't get too used to it, Toots. Your butt is going to be swimming at Lakewood Pool for the duration of the summer.
Anne: I don't want to go to Lakewood Pool anymore! It's gross and it's not awesome! The signs about "waterborn virus" in the bathroom scare me! I want to go to The Club!
Me: Listen: you and your brother have no conception of what it means to swim in a shitty pool. I don't want to hear it. If you saw where I swam as a kid, you'd have nightmares.
Henry: Here we go. A tale of suffering. Thanks, Anne.
Me: Nope. I'll do you one better. We are taking a road trip to my childhood! I will show you pain and suffering!
Kids: Great.
So Saturday, I told Winston to head out of the county to the little podunk community I grew up in. It was, as always, painfully nostalgic.
"And that's where the Big Wheel Department Store used to be. That's where I got all my clothes. Think Marc's but worse. And that mobile home park used to be the Pumpkin Patch and we used to walk there every year, 2 miles there and back, and pick out our pumpkins for Halloween. I was a slow witted child. Every year I picked a 30 pound pumpkin and dropped it on the way home. You'd think someone would have stopped me at some point. Never actually carved a pumpkin.
Henry: Your childhood was depressing. Can we go home now?
Me: Nope. Not till you see the swimming hole. I won't have you little snobs thumbing your noses at Lakewood Pool. That used to be the library over there, and I used to ride my bike three miles there and get way too many books and then try to balance them on my handle bars the whole way home. And once, Alva Easterly knocked me off my bike on the way home and stabbed me with a pencil in my back.
Winston: I thought he did that in History class in 6th grade.
Me: Don't try to make it pretty! He stabbed everyone REPEATEDLY in the back with his damn little sharp pencils! I hope that turd is doing hard time somewhere! And who the hell names their child "Alva Easterly" and thinks that won't cause damage?
There was no pool in my hometown. So someone decided to dig a big hole in the ground, cover the whole area with sand and dirt, then let it fill with rainwater and call it South Central Pool. It was not a pool. It was a mud hole. But on a hot summer day in the sticks, it was your only option.
Let me tell you an interesting fact about South Central Pool. It was conveniently located next to a fertilizer plant. So the smell of the whole area was an intriguing combination of bleach and dead fish and poo. I think the city got the land cheap because no one wanted to be anywhere near that part of town.
 |
| A peaceful scene of an now abandoned fertilizer plant. |
Me: See that abandoned fertilizer plant over there, kids? It stank like hot poison. And your Grandma made us sit right here by the damn fence because your Uncle Darryl had delicate skin and needed shade. You worry about some wet toilet paper and band aids at freaking Lakewood Pool? I WAS SWIMMING IN RUNOFF FROM THE FERTILIZER PLANT! Any minute now, the tumors are going to start popping out from all over my body, like the Toxic Avenger.
Winston: Are we done here? Did you still want to show them the high tension lines you grew up under?
Me: I want to get a few more pictures. The we'll show them the other reason I will probably die tumorous.
Kids: Great.
 |
| You're thinking "cute pond." No. Think "sanitary runoff." |
 |
| That slime was there when I was a kid. We weren't allowed to touch the steps, cause my mom didn't want to deal with head trauma. |
 |
| lol |
After enlightening my kids at the South Central Fertilizer Mud Hole, we drove over to the house I grew up in. I loved my house. My parents gave us a beautiful home with the best they could, considering the whole country was sitting in gas lines and our town was one of the poorest in the area. But if you grew up in North Ridgeville, Ohio and you didn't have much money, you probably lived under the power lines. Like we did.
 |
| home sweet home |
Me: Alright, get out of the car. I want you to see where I played as a child.
Henry: No. You can't make me.
Winston: (Sigh...)
Anne: I'll come!
Me: You people suck. Come on, Anne.
Anne and I jumped out of the car and walked the gravel utility access path that I had walked every day as a child. So I could go play in the ditch and climb the power lines.
Me: So, this gravel road is exactly the same as when I was your age, and I would run across the street here to play in the ditch! See?
 |
| My ditch. |
Anne: That's not so bad. I like ditches.
Me: Yeah, well the ditch was fun, but even a ditch gets boring after throwing rocks in it for the whole summer. But the big fun was back here, playing under the power lines.
Anne: I thought those were dangerous. And there's signs everywhere saying "No Trespassing."
Me: They are dangerous. The government says it's safe to live under them, but people who do always get cancer. That's why poor people live under them, cause no one cares. Your Uncle Dougie and I used to climb the scaffolding of the high tension wires and try to steal the sign that said, "Danger! Risk of Electrocution!" We thought the little picture on the sign of the little man getting fried by a million volts was funny.
Anne: I'm 9, and even I know that's dumb and stupid.
Me: Yeah, well you didn't grow up under this crap so you're probably smarter than me.
 |
| I did have a lot of fun. But it's a wonder I was never kidnapped. Or electrocuted. |
FYI? The most surprising people grew up under the power lines, so be careful not to use it as a deprecating phrase in polite company. I know a girl named Becky who would have benefited from that advice. When my Henry was a baby, I joined a playgroup so he wouldn't grow up socially awkward from isolation. (We all did this. Yes, it's stupid. Playgroups are just sadism for mothers who already feel guilty about everything.) During one play date at this total tool named Becky's house, she decided to flavor an insult with a power line reference. Her house? I (Heart) Country all over the place. Potpourri wreathes and framed Bible verses with little Raggedy Ann and Andy shit all over the place. And she had this weird upper lip that made me think of a trout, so I sorta hated her already. And I have rage issues.
Becky: ... I mean, you have to advocate for your child. You can't just let them grown up all "willy nilly." You have to research every little thing before you make a decision about your child. If you don't, your kid will end up like those people who live under power lines or something. (snort) Pathetic.
Me: (standing up and grabbing Henry) Becky, you are a freak-lipped cunt. You don't know shit about power line survivors. And who the fuck decorates their entire home including the goddamn bathroom with their wedding pictures?
Becky: How dare you swear in front of my child?! Get out!
Me: Oh, don't worry, Becky, you twat. I'm leaving. I hope your daughter doesn't grow up to be a freak-lipped cunt like her mother. But then, I grew up under power lines, Becky, so you can't expect too much from someone like me. You're lucky I didn't shit on the rug. I'm out.
It was either my finest moment, or the first sign of mental damage from the pool and the power lines.
I think I got through to my kids. There is nothing wrong with the city pool. We will never be country club people. Let's be honest, we'd never pass the review process. I'd probably blow my stack and call someone a "freak-lipped cunt." I could never slink about a pool gracefully and wink at the cabana boys. I cannot flick my hair. If we belonged to a country club, I would definitely be shopping at the charity shop for cheap beans and Winston would never have NFL Season Ticket. But then, my kids aren't country club material either. Anne and I talked about it and she realized that most of the girls there were just tanning or walking around flicking their long blond hair and texting. And that is so not my daughter. My kids like to do multiple cannon balls and try to soak the life guard. They like to wear their goggles and dive to the bottom of the 7ft area and sit there until their ears hurt. They swim and splash and play weird, loud, complicated pool games until they are pruney. We're city pool people, and that cement pond looks pretty fancy to me.
~dana
 |
| I just love how seriously they take their goggles. |
Friday, June 8, 2012
Uncle Dan Explains The Universe
The kids and I spent Memorial Day weekend visiting my baby brother Dan and his girlfriend Caitlin in upstate New York. And, as always with Uncle Dan, my kids learned a lot. Mostly stuff I would prefer they not learn. Just refer to Dan explains the Bible and even maybe browse Me, My Brother and the Aliens Who Bestow Pink Eye on Unbelievers. My problem is two-fold: (1) I find it nearly impossible to get mad at my brother. (2) He is like a demented Pied Piper to my kids, and they love it.
Shortly after we arrived and inspected the contents of his fridge...
...we decided to go out for dinner. So we drove around in his giant black Chevy Tahoe and tried to decide where to go.
Uncle Dan: Dinosaur Barbeque, Henry? Could be awesome.
Henry: I don't know... it's not actually dinosaur is it?
Dan: No, wait, Caitlin is vegetarian. No way they have meatless alternatives at Dinosaur Barbeque.
Anne: Look, Uncle Dan! What about Top Your Pizza?
Uncle Dan: You don't want to go there. I ate there once. Top Your Pizza? More like Top Your Toilet. I barely made it home.
Anne and Henry: Top Your Toilet! Top Your Toilet!
Me: Thank you for this special moment, Dan. What the hell? Are we in the ghetto? Why are we in the ghetto?
Dan: This is Troy. It's important that the kids know what a real ghetto looks like.
Me: I am not eating in the ghetto. And we live in Cleveland. They have seen ghetto.
Uncle Dan: Not like this. This is stereotypical ghetto. It's better. Now kids, pay attention. Do you see that group of youths playing stickball?
Kids: Yes, Uncle Dan.
Uncle Dan: What you have there is a mix of ghetto fat and ghetto thin. Do you see the difference? Ghetto thin always, ALWAYS, wears a wife beater and droopy shorts with a belt. Ghetto fat may wear shorts, but it's always with an over sized, extra long t-shirt or some sort of sports jersey.
Henry: Oooh, oooh! That one is ghetto thin, right Uncle Dan?
Uncle Dan: Very good, Henry. Always look for the wife beater. It's a dead give away.
Me: You are so lucky Winston isn't here. But continue.
Dan: Now this next one is a tricky one. They normally wear pants, but they can pretty much wear anything. What you are looking for is a specific walk, legs apart, wide stance, stiff legs, little bit of a shuffle. That is what you call a Zombie Bum. There! Right there! That dude in the middle of the street? Zombie Bum.
Me: Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with him?
Kids: Why is he walking like that?
Uncle Dan: Zombie Bums walk like that because they are so drunk, they have crapped themselves. That's why you usually see them in pants. But it explains the stiff legged walk. And they're slow, so you don't really have to worry about them.
Caitlin: Dan, can we go eat now? Stop it. You do this every time someone visits us. It's embarrassing.
Uncle Dan: They have to learn! OK, one more ghetto fact and then we'll go. Kids, do you see that group of... what kind of ghetto are they?
Kids: Ghetto Thin!!
Uncle Dan: Good! You're paying attention. That group of ghetto thin on the stoop with the radio, dancing and drinking? Ghetto thin in Troy only listen to mid '90's rap.
Me: Don't you dare roll the window down. I will fucking kill you, Dan. My babies are in this car!
Uncle Dan: I don't even have to. Without rolling down the window, I can tell you that they are listening to "Scrubs" by TLC. The "ghetto thin" believe that rap peaked in the mid "90's, so that's all they listen to.
Me: You're like an anthropologist. No wait. You're the ghetto whisperer.
Henry: Can you be a zombie bum and be ghetto fat or thin?
Uncle Dan: No. It's a totally different classification.
And my children start spouting bizarreness when they are around Uncle Dan, too. When we got back to Dan and Caitlin's apartment, there was a smell, probably the garbage disposal or something.
Henry: Wait. It smells like odor in here.
Uncle Dan: Henry, don't make me kick your ass.
Henry; What are we going to do now, Uncle Dan?
Me: I'm going to bed. Eight hours in the damn car and an additional 1 hour learning ghetto? I'm done.
Anne: Me too.
Caitlin: (already in bed...)
Uncle Dan: Good, cause Henry and I have hours of Ancient Aliens to watch. Henry, you down?
Henry: It's not scary, is it? I mean, too scary?
Uncle Dan: Man up. It's just a historically accurate show that details how all human events were triggered by aliens.
Me: OMG.
Henry: Awesome!!!
The next morning, after spending 3+ hours with this guy explaining how aliens carefully manipulate all human events...
my son was, to put it mildly, paranoid.
Henry: Mommy! Did you know aliens created the Egyptian people and that's why they wore those cone hats because their heads were shaped like that! And did you know that aliens buried all that stuff on Oak Island? And Jesus was totally an alien.
Me: Thanks, Dan. What are we doing today?
Dan: Vermont? But let's get going. I ate something last night and I may need to make a few stops, if you know what I mean.
Anne: Top Your Toilet!!
Henry: Are you saying you have the "squirts," Uncle Dan?
Uncle Dan: I'm gonna kick your ass, Henry. Wait, gotta use the can.
The drive to Vermont was gorgeous, just like a postcard. We stopped in Ticonderoga.
But skipped Fort Ticonderoga because it was $$$.
Park Ranger: That'll be $18.50 per person.
Dan: Uhhhh...
Anne: Is there a roller coaster or something?
Park Ranger: No.
Entire Car: Pass!
We arrived in Burlington, VT around lunch time, and Dan made it clear we needed to find a restaurant with a toilet quick. So I found a local and she pointed us to a restaurant called Farmhouse. Dan hit the can, and we were seated by a waitress who appeared high or on the cusp of a zen achievement type coma. It's hard to say in Vermont. I love Vermont, but it always seems the people there are not on the same planet as the rest of us. When describing the menu, she used the term "sustainable" 4 times. My apple cider was not only organic, it was locally sourced and sustainable.
Waitress: Here's your local, sustainable, organic cider. And here's your organic grain fed beef burger, raised locally and sustainably by one of the farmers we co-op with. Do you need more recycled napkins? Can I get anyone some organic water? Our ice cubes are produced locally. And they're in season.
When she finally wandered off... Henry turned to Dan, now back from the toilet and said, "How's your squirts, Uncle Dan?!" as loud as he possible could.
Uncle Dan: You son of a... No, no, it's good. It's all slowed down. Shut up.
Henry: Would you call it more of a drizzle?
After lunch, we wandered around Burlington. It's a strange place. Lots of money, lots of weirdos. My favorite weirdo...
And throwing anything away in Vermont is way more complicated then you can imagine. I get really nervous.
Which brings me to the toilets. Which are chemical, organic, sustainable and freaky as hell. Anne was terrified to sit on it. I don't blame her. They don't have water. They have foam. I swear to God.
Uncle Dan also insisted that the kids walk with him in what he calls "Cullen Formation." He would take point and make me, Caitlin and the kids fan out behind him, while he walked in slow motion. It was hysterical fun, until he hissed at a group of children. He's 6'6. Let's just say we stopped walking in Cullen Formation after that. And let's also just say that Caitlin is a saint.
The car ride back to New York from Vermont was memorable for several reasons:
1. Dan found out the kids had never see the Rainn Wilson vehicle "The Rocker" and was outraged. So he pulled into a gas station and came back out with a $4.50 copy for the ride home. I was amazed first of all that it is our new favorite movie (and it's set in Cleveland!) and second that he just walked into a gas station and BOUGHT IT. But his life works like that. No one else's does.
2. There's a lot of farms all over Vermont, and my brother made the following observation as we drove past a charming dairy farm:
" Oh my God! Look at that cow! HE HAS NO HEAD! DUDE HE HAS NO HEAD! HOLY SHIT! Oh, wait. He has a head. He's just licking his ass. Gross. But look!"
3. From the dark quiet of the third row of seat, my son's voice rang out about 2 hours into the ride home and shared this with me:
Henry: Mommy? When I was little, I thought "croissant" was a polite term for "poop." But everyone does that, right?
Me: NO, HENRY! NO ONE ELSE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD HAS THOUGHT "CROISSANT" WAS A POLITE TERM FOR POOP!
Henry: (continuing) I remember you would say, "Henry! Would you like a croissant from Costco for breakfast? And I was like, "What is wrong with her? Is she trying to kill me?"
Uncle Dan: You can't be too careful. I can totally see that.
Me: And now I know why my son has never eaten a croissant. Thanks, Uncle Dan.
~dana
Shortly after we arrived and inspected the contents of his fridge...
...we decided to go out for dinner. So we drove around in his giant black Chevy Tahoe and tried to decide where to go.
Uncle Dan: Dinosaur Barbeque, Henry? Could be awesome.
Henry: I don't know... it's not actually dinosaur is it?
Dan: No, wait, Caitlin is vegetarian. No way they have meatless alternatives at Dinosaur Barbeque.
Anne: Look, Uncle Dan! What about Top Your Pizza?
Uncle Dan: You don't want to go there. I ate there once. Top Your Pizza? More like Top Your Toilet. I barely made it home.
Anne and Henry: Top Your Toilet! Top Your Toilet!
Me: Thank you for this special moment, Dan. What the hell? Are we in the ghetto? Why are we in the ghetto?
Dan: This is Troy. It's important that the kids know what a real ghetto looks like.
Me: I am not eating in the ghetto. And we live in Cleveland. They have seen ghetto.
Uncle Dan: Not like this. This is stereotypical ghetto. It's better. Now kids, pay attention. Do you see that group of youths playing stickball?
Kids: Yes, Uncle Dan.
Uncle Dan: What you have there is a mix of ghetto fat and ghetto thin. Do you see the difference? Ghetto thin always, ALWAYS, wears a wife beater and droopy shorts with a belt. Ghetto fat may wear shorts, but it's always with an over sized, extra long t-shirt or some sort of sports jersey.
Henry: Oooh, oooh! That one is ghetto thin, right Uncle Dan?
Uncle Dan: Very good, Henry. Always look for the wife beater. It's a dead give away.
Me: You are so lucky Winston isn't here. But continue.
Dan: Now this next one is a tricky one. They normally wear pants, but they can pretty much wear anything. What you are looking for is a specific walk, legs apart, wide stance, stiff legs, little bit of a shuffle. That is what you call a Zombie Bum. There! Right there! That dude in the middle of the street? Zombie Bum.
Me: Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with him?
Kids: Why is he walking like that?
Uncle Dan: Zombie Bums walk like that because they are so drunk, they have crapped themselves. That's why you usually see them in pants. But it explains the stiff legged walk. And they're slow, so you don't really have to worry about them.
Caitlin: Dan, can we go eat now? Stop it. You do this every time someone visits us. It's embarrassing.
Uncle Dan: They have to learn! OK, one more ghetto fact and then we'll go. Kids, do you see that group of... what kind of ghetto are they?
Kids: Ghetto Thin!!
Uncle Dan: Good! You're paying attention. That group of ghetto thin on the stoop with the radio, dancing and drinking? Ghetto thin in Troy only listen to mid '90's rap.
Me: Don't you dare roll the window down. I will fucking kill you, Dan. My babies are in this car!
Uncle Dan: I don't even have to. Without rolling down the window, I can tell you that they are listening to "Scrubs" by TLC. The "ghetto thin" believe that rap peaked in the mid "90's, so that's all they listen to.
Me: You're like an anthropologist. No wait. You're the ghetto whisperer.
Henry: Can you be a zombie bum and be ghetto fat or thin?
Uncle Dan: No. It's a totally different classification.
And my children start spouting bizarreness when they are around Uncle Dan, too. When we got back to Dan and Caitlin's apartment, there was a smell, probably the garbage disposal or something.
Henry: Wait. It smells like odor in here.
Uncle Dan: Henry, don't make me kick your ass.
Henry; What are we going to do now, Uncle Dan?
Me: I'm going to bed. Eight hours in the damn car and an additional 1 hour learning ghetto? I'm done.
Anne: Me too.
Caitlin: (already in bed...)
Uncle Dan: Good, cause Henry and I have hours of Ancient Aliens to watch. Henry, you down?
Henry: It's not scary, is it? I mean, too scary?
Uncle Dan: Man up. It's just a historically accurate show that details how all human events were triggered by aliens.
Me: OMG.
Henry: Awesome!!!
The next morning, after spending 3+ hours with this guy explaining how aliens carefully manipulate all human events...
my son was, to put it mildly, paranoid.
Henry: Mommy! Did you know aliens created the Egyptian people and that's why they wore those cone hats because their heads were shaped like that! And did you know that aliens buried all that stuff on Oak Island? And Jesus was totally an alien.
Me: Thanks, Dan. What are we doing today?
Dan: Vermont? But let's get going. I ate something last night and I may need to make a few stops, if you know what I mean.
Anne: Top Your Toilet!!
Henry: Are you saying you have the "squirts," Uncle Dan?
Uncle Dan: I'm gonna kick your ass, Henry. Wait, gotta use the can.
The drive to Vermont was gorgeous, just like a postcard. We stopped in Ticonderoga.
 |
| I really love it that they decorated the town with giant pencils. |
But skipped Fort Ticonderoga because it was $$$.
Park Ranger: That'll be $18.50 per person.
Dan: Uhhhh...
Anne: Is there a roller coaster or something?
Park Ranger: No.
Entire Car: Pass!
We arrived in Burlington, VT around lunch time, and Dan made it clear we needed to find a restaurant with a toilet quick. So I found a local and she pointed us to a restaurant called Farmhouse. Dan hit the can, and we were seated by a waitress who appeared high or on the cusp of a zen achievement type coma. It's hard to say in Vermont. I love Vermont, but it always seems the people there are not on the same planet as the rest of us. When describing the menu, she used the term "sustainable" 4 times. My apple cider was not only organic, it was locally sourced and sustainable.
Waitress: Here's your local, sustainable, organic cider. And here's your organic grain fed beef burger, raised locally and sustainably by one of the farmers we co-op with. Do you need more recycled napkins? Can I get anyone some organic water? Our ice cubes are produced locally. And they're in season.
When she finally wandered off... Henry turned to Dan, now back from the toilet and said, "How's your squirts, Uncle Dan?!" as loud as he possible could.
Uncle Dan: You son of a... No, no, it's good. It's all slowed down. Shut up.
Henry: Would you call it more of a drizzle?
After lunch, we wandered around Burlington. It's a strange place. Lots of money, lots of weirdos. My favorite weirdo...
And throwing anything away in Vermont is way more complicated then you can imagine. I get really nervous.
 |
| 20%? I can't do trash math! |
 |
| No Lemons? What the hell? |
 |
| That's right. A solar trash can. |
Which brings me to the toilets. Which are chemical, organic, sustainable and freaky as hell. Anne was terrified to sit on it. I don't blame her. They don't have water. They have foam. I swear to God.
Uncle Dan also insisted that the kids walk with him in what he calls "Cullen Formation." He would take point and make me, Caitlin and the kids fan out behind him, while he walked in slow motion. It was hysterical fun, until he hissed at a group of children. He's 6'6. Let's just say we stopped walking in Cullen Formation after that. And let's also just say that Caitlin is a saint.
 |
| We looked way more badass. |
The car ride back to New York from Vermont was memorable for several reasons:
1. Dan found out the kids had never see the Rainn Wilson vehicle "The Rocker" and was outraged. So he pulled into a gas station and came back out with a $4.50 copy for the ride home. I was amazed first of all that it is our new favorite movie (and it's set in Cleveland!) and second that he just walked into a gas station and BOUGHT IT. But his life works like that. No one else's does.
2. There's a lot of farms all over Vermont, and my brother made the following observation as we drove past a charming dairy farm:
" Oh my God! Look at that cow! HE HAS NO HEAD! DUDE HE HAS NO HEAD! HOLY SHIT! Oh, wait. He has a head. He's just licking his ass. Gross. But look!"
3. From the dark quiet of the third row of seat, my son's voice rang out about 2 hours into the ride home and shared this with me:
Henry: Mommy? When I was little, I thought "croissant" was a polite term for "poop." But everyone does that, right?
Me: NO, HENRY! NO ONE ELSE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD HAS THOUGHT "CROISSANT" WAS A POLITE TERM FOR POOP!
Henry: (continuing) I remember you would say, "Henry! Would you like a croissant from Costco for breakfast? And I was like, "What is wrong with her? Is she trying to kill me?"
Uncle Dan: You can't be too careful. I can totally see that.
Me: And now I know why my son has never eaten a croissant. Thanks, Uncle Dan.
~dana
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Suck It, Strawberry Farmers!
 |
| Die, motherfuckers, die. Revenge is a dish best served cold. |
...as an update to today's earlier post, check out this link to yet another NewsNet5 article about strawberries that popped up today. I guess karma's a bitch, strawberry farmers! That's what you get for messing with the anti-strawberry lobbyists!
How ya like us now, strawberry lobby? Revenge is cold!
~dana
Yes. I have lost perspective. My blog. Too bad.
St Winston and the Shi-tzu of Rage
I have a lot of problems that only an entitled woman living in the United States would actually consider "problems." If you ask St. Winston, he will tell you that personality-wise, I greatly resemble an angry Shi-tzu. A small, hairy creature who fixates on something and keeps yapping and snarling in a way that's really more annoying than threatening. And all that tiny rage goes on long past any reasonable due date. It's been like 4 weeks since these events occurred and still, I find myself turning to Winston as we sit in the basement watching the X-Files or Mountain Men (History Channel, drop everything and love it) and saying:
"I am going to go back to that damn gas station and smack that little bitch."
or
"If I see that motherfucking tree man, I am going to hit him with my Subaru."
or
"Maybe I'm too mentally unstable to go to grad school or travel. I am never leaving the house again."
or
"Dunkin Donuts can suck it."
Let's go back to 4 weeks ago. I am running late because my kid won't turn off his damn Xbox and get in the fucking car, so I can take him to his pediatric dermatologist because the Gorbachev spot on his forehead looks weird and then on to his fencing class. As soon as I get in the car, I realize that I am out of gas, too.
"Fuck fuckity fuck! Great! Not only are we late, but I have to stop and get gas! OMG this is the worst day ever! "
So I pull in the gas station and try to make the pump go with my debit card. Nothing.
"Shit shit shit!"
So I run into the gas station to ask the attendant to turn on the pump. There is a young girl behind the counter, maybe 20, talking on her mobile phone, sucking on a lollypop and squirming about in a tank top and hot pants. And flip flops. She ignores me.
Me: Umm? Excuse me? I need help. The pump won't turn on.
Gas Station Lindsay Lohan: (dirty look)
Me: HELLO?! I'm in a HURRY!
Gas Station Lindsay Lohan: I'm on the phone. (disgusted noise)
Me: (exploding) Really? What, are you on the phone with fucking BP corporate? Come on! You're at work, honey!
Lindsay Lohan: (shifts lollypop to corner of her mouth, sighs and says...) I'll call you back. I gotta go.
(then says to me...) Whaaat?
Me: I'm in a hurry and the pump won't turn on. Can you please turn the pump on?
Lindsay: Umm....did you put your card in?
Me: Yes, I fucking put my card in! What, did you think I just hopped out of the car and wandered in here without trying anything?!? I put my card in and nothing happened.
Lindsay: Did you use a credit card?
Me: No, I used my library card. Yes, I used my credit card! Nothing happened!
Lindsay: Listen, don't get all upset with me. I can't do anything from in here. (gestures at the register with her lolly pop) It's like... I can't like... you know.
Then she shifted a little and I saw, on the floor behind her, a tiny fat dog wearing a muscle shirt and running in his sleep on the floor beside Lindsay.
Me: That's just great. Isn't that nice? You can bring your fucking dog to work with you and eat lollies and talk on your phone AT WORK but you can't turn on the fucking pumps at the gas station YOU WORK AT!
Lindsay: Uhhhh...
Later, after I leap frogged to another gas station and got gas, I called Winston crying.
Me: ... and now we're late for the dermatologist and you know I can't sleep worrying about all of Henry's delicate skin issues and that Gorbachev thing on his forehead has me so stressed out and we are definitely going to be late to fencing now... I have the worst luck. I am going to go back to that damn gas station and smack that little bitch.
And then. The weekend Winston didn't buy me a historic houseboat for Mother's Day. The day prior to my not getting a boat, Winston we had been out trying to find a tree for the front yard to replace the one we had taken out. We stopped at a nursery and wandered around, not finding what I wanted.
Tree Man: Hello! Can I help you find something?
Winston: We're looking for some trees. What was it you were looking for, honey?
Me: I want a False Acacia or a Catalpa. Either one is fine. Where do we find those?
Tree Man: Oh. Well, you see, we don't carry any of those trees. No, but we do have Honey Locust which is similar. Now, those are right over...
Me: I don't want Honey Locust. It doesn't get the drapey flowers. No Catalpa either?
Tree Man: No, I'm sorry. But you see, you only find those trees in the forest.
Me: (seething, clenching fists, gritting teeth)
Winston: (quickly) Thank you for your time! Let's go, kids! Come on, Dana!
As soon as we hit the car, I blew.
Me: Did you hear that, Winston? Those trees only grow in the forest! He actually said that to me! Gregor Mendel just told me my trees only grow in the fucking woods! ALL TREES GROW IN THE FUCKING WOODS!!! We were standing in a field of trees from the motherfucking woods!!
Winston: Calm down. He didn't mean it like that.
Me: Oh yes he did! He acted like I asked for a fucking unicorn tree! I asked for native Ohio trees that you see every damn day! But apparently, they only grow in the goddamn forest because technology cannot deduce how to get a tree out of the forest and into a shitty little tree lot! Oh wait! It has!
Winston: He's a tree guy. He's not as eloquent as you. He just meant they don't carry them. Relax.
Me: They are fucking encouraging the homogenization of the environment! If they have their way, Ohio will be fucking arborvitae and Centennial oaks as far as the eye can see! They don't care about native birds and honey bees! They are destroying nature! And profiting from it! Fucking trees grow in the forest! Of course they do! Turn around. I'm going to tell him off.
Winston: Come on. Calm down. We'll find one somewhere else.
Me: If I see that motherfucking tree man, I am going to hit him with my Subaru.
Emotionally, Mother's Day was difficult for me because that was the day I realized that Dunkin' Donuts was fucking with me and excluding me from free donuts. I awoke to a cup of coffee and silence, which is what I most crave from my family. No one asked me where their hairbrush was or accused anyone of eating all the Lucky Charms. I retreated with my coffee to the calm waters of the internet to check my email and read the news.
Which is where, I found this article on NewsNet5.com, in which I learn that I am excluded, as a person allergic to strawberries, from my free donut on Mother's Day. And you know what? Dunkin Donuts Can Suck It, And Not Just On Mother's Day.
About 15 minutes later, Winston strolled into the quiet dining room where I sat typing frantically.
Winston: Can I make you some breakfast, honey?
Me: No. I'm busy. Fuckers think they can get away with this. We'll see about that. They pissed off the wrong housefrau!
Winston: What are you on about now?
Me: Fucking Dunkin Donuts is offering a free donut to all mothers today. But not me! Oh no! The only donut they are offering is this fucking strawberry monstrosity and I am pissed as shit about it! Since when is strawberry the color and flavor of a mothers love? What about an old fashioned donut? Or a glazed donut? BUT NO!!! It has to be fucking strawberry! Do you have any idea how many people nation wide are allergic to berries? I am sick and tired of the anti-peanut lobby and the strawberry lobbyists! You know they're in bed together! It's a fact!
Winston: So, are we going up there so you can stage a scene or a sit-in or something? Is that how we're spending Mother's Day? Cause I thought the plan was Mentor Headlands and Scooter Dawgs.
Me: No. They don't deserve my presence but they are getting a very strongly worded letter. Just let me finish up.
To Whom it May Concern at Dunkin Donuts:
I am writing in response, or rather outrage, to your free donut giveaway for Mother's Day. Really, people? Is strawberry the only flavor you could think of? At what exact point did this formula became the standard for all things pertaining to love? Mothers =Heart=Red=Strawberry? I mean, if you have to go with red, why not cherry or passion fruit or currant? And for that matter, why red? Mothers hate red food, because it stains clothes. If you really wanted to create a special donut for Mothers Day, you would create one that is immaculately clean, drenched neither in powdered sugar, nor sticky jelly nor grease. It would be more like astronaut food. But why don't we get down to what this is really about: the power of the anti-peanut lobby and the iron fist of control that the strawberry growers have on this nation. There is no chance in hell that you would market a Crunchy Peanut Donut for Mother's Day! The anti peanut mothers have you scared out of your mind! And those strawberry growers are wily! Just walk down the cereal aisle: every major cereal has a second version featuring strawberries. Rice Krispies! Rice Krispies with Strawberries! Strawberry Count Chocula! Honey Bunches of Oats: Now with Strawberries! And let me ask you this: when was the last time someone garnished your pancakes and eggs with a peanut? Never? Well, as someone who is deathly allergic to strawberries I cannot count the times someone has garnished my plate with an artfully carved strawberry that I did not ask for! I am not an animal! I am a person too, and a MOTHER and I would like my fucking free donut and not have to die from it. Please send me a coupon for a free old fashioned donut because that is the only one I like anyway.
Kind Regards
Dana DeLaney
I received this encouraging response:
Product Feedback from danadelaneymcswain
Thank you for contacting Dunkin' Donuts, we value our guests' feedback and we'll make sure your comments get shared. If we need additional information we will contact you soon.
Which brings us to last weekend. Amazing 5 day vacation with just me and my kids. Aside from going away with Winston (which never happens due to planetary alignment) it is a real luxury for me. I spend so much of my time organizing them and yelling at them and in general being saturated with the business of being their mother, that I don't often get the time to just kick back and show them that Mommy doesn't, in fact, suck all the time. We went to visit my brother, Uncle Dan, in upstate New York, even visited Vermont. It was awesome and we had a great time.
That is until 3.5 hours into the 8 hour drive home. When I suffered an enormous panic attack. I hadn't had one in YEARS. If you've never had one, consider yourself lucky. If you have, you know exactly what I am talking about. And you understand why it took us an additional 3 hours to get home. I had three big attacks and several tremors over about a day and a half, and once, while I was lying in a fetal position on Winston's chest (this cures it for some reason), I asked him, "OMG honey. Am I mental? Like, do you think that after circling mental-ness for the last 38 years, I have finally snapped and later this week you will find me eating cat food and painting the ceiling with condiments?" He just laughed and said, "No, don't be silly. You're nervous about grad school. That's all. You just blew a fuse. You'll be fine. "
(And you wonder why my family calls him "St Winston?")
Honestly, up until that point it had not occurred to me that I was freaking out, shaking, crying and whimpering BECAUSE MY HUSBAND HAD OFFERED TO PAY A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF TUITION SO I COULD NURSE MY ABSURD GOAL OF BEING A LEGIT LIBRARIAN BY THE TIME I'M 40. Apparently, being offered the chance to hang out, take classes, NOT WORK, and become a co-ed again was TOO MUCH FOR MY SQUIRREL BRAIN TO HANDLE.
Anyway, the other night we were watching Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations in the basement and eating what we call "glop" and drinking Modelo's. Glop is basically a brick of Velveeta melted into a jar of salsa and eaten with too many jalapenos. If you've never seen No Reservations, it's basically travel/food porn. Bourdain travels the world eating. We like to eat and get drunk and watch. Sometimes, he travels to exotic and expensive locals, like Brittany or Chile or Uruguay. The food is amazing; we immediately add it to our travel list. But on other shows he gets all moody and travels to fly-ridden parts of Africa or Haiti and tries to eat the UNICEF gruel that the locals eat, along with some unrecognizable rodent on a stick. I think of them as the "penance episodes."
Anthony Bourdain: The people of Haiti haven't had food or water since the quake. This reminds me of the episode we shot in the Sudan. Actually, the paste we ate in the Sudan was more filling. But those people were missing limbs and there were more machine guns as opposed to machete's. Lots of machetes here.
Me: I am totally going to regret these jalapenos tomorrow.
Winston: You want another beer?
Anthony Bourdain: This child is digging with a stick through the Port-au-Prince landfill for food for his family. It really makes you think. I mean, I won't eat sushi if it's not minutes old. The people of Haiti are eating trash and drinking sewage.
Me: (shoving nachos in my mouth) Oh my God. I am so fat. Let's just give up and get really fat.
Winston: I hate myself. Why did we eat so many nachos? I hate my pants.
Me: I am never doing this again. Why do we keep doing this? I wish I knew how to make myself throw up. How can you love me when I am this repulsive?
Anthony Bourdain: This child obviously has dysentery and cholera, and still he digs through the trash to feed his family. I need a moment. Turn the cameras off! Turn them off!
Winston: You're not fat. I love you.
Me: Winston? Did we just watch children starving in Haiti while gorging ourselves on nachos and beer? And then bitch about our fat?
Winston: It's all relative, baby. I'm going to bed. Burp.
But the more I think about it, most of my bullshit is not relative. All of my problems are pretty little packages of nonsense that do not end with me starving or dying of a machete attack. My first world problems do not in any way relate to the real world problems of say, the Haitian kid. Let's compare.
Haitian Landfill Kid
digs with stick in landfill
for food
for dying family
drinks sewage
has cholera
has dysentery
has to listen to Anthony Bourdain narrate his pain
surrounded by hungry desperate people with machetes
ME
late for pediatric dermatologist
late for fencing classes
Subaru needs gas
landscaping issues
vacation with kids
terrified of expensive advanced degree
no houseboat in backyard
threatened by free strawberry donuts
feels "fat" because I eat too many nachos
Yeah. It's not even close to being relative. I really am an idiot, driven by entitlement and rage. Winston agrees with the rage part, but only from 20 feet away and with the promise that I won't attack.
Me: Winston, do you think that I have rage issues? Be honest. I won't get mad, I swear.
Winston: I have no idea what you are talking about. I love you and think you are perfect in every way. (inching towards the door)
Me: (screaming) Listen, God damn-it, tell me the truth or I'll kick your ass: Do I have rage issues? Do you think I can't control my temper???
Winston: (taking large backwards steps) Maybe. Occasionally. Sometimes.
Me: I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey!!!
So I am trying to let some of the rage go. I have forgiven the Tree Man for trying to subvert native species, I am planning to just avoid those Dunkin Donuts assholes (which will help with the fat thing) and I am taking grad school one day at a time and hoping I don't fuck it up too bad. But so help me God, I still want to smack that little bitch at the gas station.
~dana
"I am going to go back to that damn gas station and smack that little bitch."
or
"If I see that motherfucking tree man, I am going to hit him with my Subaru."
or
"Maybe I'm too mentally unstable to go to grad school or travel. I am never leaving the house again."
or
"Dunkin Donuts can suck it."
Let's go back to 4 weeks ago. I am running late because my kid won't turn off his damn Xbox and get in the fucking car, so I can take him to his pediatric dermatologist because the Gorbachev spot on his forehead looks weird and then on to his fencing class. As soon as I get in the car, I realize that I am out of gas, too.
"Fuck fuckity fuck! Great! Not only are we late, but I have to stop and get gas! OMG this is the worst day ever! "
So I pull in the gas station and try to make the pump go with my debit card. Nothing.
"Shit shit shit!"
So I run into the gas station to ask the attendant to turn on the pump. There is a young girl behind the counter, maybe 20, talking on her mobile phone, sucking on a lollypop and squirming about in a tank top and hot pants. And flip flops. She ignores me.
Me: Umm? Excuse me? I need help. The pump won't turn on.
Gas Station Lindsay Lohan: (dirty look)
Me: HELLO?! I'm in a HURRY!
Gas Station Lindsay Lohan: I'm on the phone. (disgusted noise)
Me: (exploding) Really? What, are you on the phone with fucking BP corporate? Come on! You're at work, honey!
Lindsay Lohan: (shifts lollypop to corner of her mouth, sighs and says...) I'll call you back. I gotta go.
(then says to me...) Whaaat?
Me: I'm in a hurry and the pump won't turn on. Can you please turn the pump on?
Lindsay: Umm....did you put your card in?
Me: Yes, I fucking put my card in! What, did you think I just hopped out of the car and wandered in here without trying anything?!? I put my card in and nothing happened.
Lindsay: Did you use a credit card?
Me: No, I used my library card. Yes, I used my credit card! Nothing happened!
Lindsay: Listen, don't get all upset with me. I can't do anything from in here. (gestures at the register with her lolly pop) It's like... I can't like... you know.
Then she shifted a little and I saw, on the floor behind her, a tiny fat dog wearing a muscle shirt and running in his sleep on the floor beside Lindsay.
Me: That's just great. Isn't that nice? You can bring your fucking dog to work with you and eat lollies and talk on your phone AT WORK but you can't turn on the fucking pumps at the gas station YOU WORK AT!
Lindsay: Uhhhh...
Later, after I leap frogged to another gas station and got gas, I called Winston crying.
Me: ... and now we're late for the dermatologist and you know I can't sleep worrying about all of Henry's delicate skin issues and that Gorbachev thing on his forehead has me so stressed out and we are definitely going to be late to fencing now... I have the worst luck. I am going to go back to that damn gas station and smack that little bitch.
And then. The weekend Winston didn't buy me a historic houseboat for Mother's Day. The day prior to my not getting a boat, Winston we had been out trying to find a tree for the front yard to replace the one we had taken out. We stopped at a nursery and wandered around, not finding what I wanted.
Tree Man: Hello! Can I help you find something?
Winston: We're looking for some trees. What was it you were looking for, honey?
Me: I want a False Acacia or a Catalpa. Either one is fine. Where do we find those?
Tree Man: Oh. Well, you see, we don't carry any of those trees. No, but we do have Honey Locust which is similar. Now, those are right over...
Me: I don't want Honey Locust. It doesn't get the drapey flowers. No Catalpa either?
Tree Man: No, I'm sorry. But you see, you only find those trees in the forest.
Me: (seething, clenching fists, gritting teeth)
Winston: (quickly) Thank you for your time! Let's go, kids! Come on, Dana!
As soon as we hit the car, I blew.
Me: Did you hear that, Winston? Those trees only grow in the forest! He actually said that to me! Gregor Mendel just told me my trees only grow in the fucking woods! ALL TREES GROW IN THE FUCKING WOODS!!! We were standing in a field of trees from the motherfucking woods!!
Winston: Calm down. He didn't mean it like that.
Me: Oh yes he did! He acted like I asked for a fucking unicorn tree! I asked for native Ohio trees that you see every damn day! But apparently, they only grow in the goddamn forest because technology cannot deduce how to get a tree out of the forest and into a shitty little tree lot! Oh wait! It has!
Winston: He's a tree guy. He's not as eloquent as you. He just meant they don't carry them. Relax.
Me: They are fucking encouraging the homogenization of the environment! If they have their way, Ohio will be fucking arborvitae and Centennial oaks as far as the eye can see! They don't care about native birds and honey bees! They are destroying nature! And profiting from it! Fucking trees grow in the forest! Of course they do! Turn around. I'm going to tell him off.
Winston: Come on. Calm down. We'll find one somewhere else.
Me: If I see that motherfucking tree man, I am going to hit him with my Subaru.
Emotionally, Mother's Day was difficult for me because that was the day I realized that Dunkin' Donuts was fucking with me and excluding me from free donuts. I awoke to a cup of coffee and silence, which is what I most crave from my family. No one asked me where their hairbrush was or accused anyone of eating all the Lucky Charms. I retreated with my coffee to the calm waters of the internet to check my email and read the news.
Which is where, I found this article on NewsNet5.com, in which I learn that I am excluded, as a person allergic to strawberries, from my free donut on Mother's Day. And you know what? Dunkin Donuts Can Suck It, And Not Just On Mother's Day.
About 15 minutes later, Winston strolled into the quiet dining room where I sat typing frantically.
Winston: Can I make you some breakfast, honey?
Me: No. I'm busy. Fuckers think they can get away with this. We'll see about that. They pissed off the wrong housefrau!
Winston: What are you on about now?
Me: Fucking Dunkin Donuts is offering a free donut to all mothers today. But not me! Oh no! The only donut they are offering is this fucking strawberry monstrosity and I am pissed as shit about it! Since when is strawberry the color and flavor of a mothers love? What about an old fashioned donut? Or a glazed donut? BUT NO!!! It has to be fucking strawberry! Do you have any idea how many people nation wide are allergic to berries? I am sick and tired of the anti-peanut lobby and the strawberry lobbyists! You know they're in bed together! It's a fact!
Winston: So, are we going up there so you can stage a scene or a sit-in or something? Is that how we're spending Mother's Day? Cause I thought the plan was Mentor Headlands and Scooter Dawgs.
Me: No. They don't deserve my presence but they are getting a very strongly worded letter. Just let me finish up.
To Whom it May Concern at Dunkin Donuts:
I am writing in response, or rather outrage, to your free donut giveaway for Mother's Day. Really, people? Is strawberry the only flavor you could think of? At what exact point did this formula became the standard for all things pertaining to love? Mothers =Heart=Red=Strawberry? I mean, if you have to go with red, why not cherry or passion fruit or currant? And for that matter, why red? Mothers hate red food, because it stains clothes. If you really wanted to create a special donut for Mothers Day, you would create one that is immaculately clean, drenched neither in powdered sugar, nor sticky jelly nor grease. It would be more like astronaut food. But why don't we get down to what this is really about: the power of the anti-peanut lobby and the iron fist of control that the strawberry growers have on this nation. There is no chance in hell that you would market a Crunchy Peanut Donut for Mother's Day! The anti peanut mothers have you scared out of your mind! And those strawberry growers are wily! Just walk down the cereal aisle: every major cereal has a second version featuring strawberries. Rice Krispies! Rice Krispies with Strawberries! Strawberry Count Chocula! Honey Bunches of Oats: Now with Strawberries! And let me ask you this: when was the last time someone garnished your pancakes and eggs with a peanut? Never? Well, as someone who is deathly allergic to strawberries I cannot count the times someone has garnished my plate with an artfully carved strawberry that I did not ask for! I am not an animal! I am a person too, and a MOTHER and I would like my fucking free donut and not have to die from it. Please send me a coupon for a free old fashioned donut because that is the only one I like anyway.
Kind Regards
Dana DeLaney
I received this encouraging response:
Product Feedback from danadelaneymcswain
Thank you for contacting Dunkin' Donuts, we value our guests' feedback and we'll make sure your comments get shared. If we need additional information we will contact you soon.
Which brings us to last weekend. Amazing 5 day vacation with just me and my kids. Aside from going away with Winston (which never happens due to planetary alignment) it is a real luxury for me. I spend so much of my time organizing them and yelling at them and in general being saturated with the business of being their mother, that I don't often get the time to just kick back and show them that Mommy doesn't, in fact, suck all the time. We went to visit my brother, Uncle Dan, in upstate New York, even visited Vermont. It was awesome and we had a great time.
That is until 3.5 hours into the 8 hour drive home. When I suffered an enormous panic attack. I hadn't had one in YEARS. If you've never had one, consider yourself lucky. If you have, you know exactly what I am talking about. And you understand why it took us an additional 3 hours to get home. I had three big attacks and several tremors over about a day and a half, and once, while I was lying in a fetal position on Winston's chest (this cures it for some reason), I asked him, "OMG honey. Am I mental? Like, do you think that after circling mental-ness for the last 38 years, I have finally snapped and later this week you will find me eating cat food and painting the ceiling with condiments?" He just laughed and said, "No, don't be silly. You're nervous about grad school. That's all. You just blew a fuse. You'll be fine. "
(And you wonder why my family calls him "St Winston?")
Honestly, up until that point it had not occurred to me that I was freaking out, shaking, crying and whimpering BECAUSE MY HUSBAND HAD OFFERED TO PAY A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF TUITION SO I COULD NURSE MY ABSURD GOAL OF BEING A LEGIT LIBRARIAN BY THE TIME I'M 40. Apparently, being offered the chance to hang out, take classes, NOT WORK, and become a co-ed again was TOO MUCH FOR MY SQUIRREL BRAIN TO HANDLE.
Anyway, the other night we were watching Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations in the basement and eating what we call "glop" and drinking Modelo's. Glop is basically a brick of Velveeta melted into a jar of salsa and eaten with too many jalapenos. If you've never seen No Reservations, it's basically travel/food porn. Bourdain travels the world eating. We like to eat and get drunk and watch. Sometimes, he travels to exotic and expensive locals, like Brittany or Chile or Uruguay. The food is amazing; we immediately add it to our travel list. But on other shows he gets all moody and travels to fly-ridden parts of Africa or Haiti and tries to eat the UNICEF gruel that the locals eat, along with some unrecognizable rodent on a stick. I think of them as the "penance episodes."
Anthony Bourdain: The people of Haiti haven't had food or water since the quake. This reminds me of the episode we shot in the Sudan. Actually, the paste we ate in the Sudan was more filling. But those people were missing limbs and there were more machine guns as opposed to machete's. Lots of machetes here.
Me: I am totally going to regret these jalapenos tomorrow.
Winston: You want another beer?
Anthony Bourdain: This child is digging with a stick through the Port-au-Prince landfill for food for his family. It really makes you think. I mean, I won't eat sushi if it's not minutes old. The people of Haiti are eating trash and drinking sewage.
Me: (shoving nachos in my mouth) Oh my God. I am so fat. Let's just give up and get really fat.
Winston: I hate myself. Why did we eat so many nachos? I hate my pants.
Me: I am never doing this again. Why do we keep doing this? I wish I knew how to make myself throw up. How can you love me when I am this repulsive?
Anthony Bourdain: This child obviously has dysentery and cholera, and still he digs through the trash to feed his family. I need a moment. Turn the cameras off! Turn them off!
Winston: You're not fat. I love you.
Me: Winston? Did we just watch children starving in Haiti while gorging ourselves on nachos and beer? And then bitch about our fat?
Winston: It's all relative, baby. I'm going to bed. Burp.
But the more I think about it, most of my bullshit is not relative. All of my problems are pretty little packages of nonsense that do not end with me starving or dying of a machete attack. My first world problems do not in any way relate to the real world problems of say, the Haitian kid. Let's compare.
Haitian Landfill Kid
digs with stick in landfill
for food
for dying family
drinks sewage
has cholera
has dysentery
has to listen to Anthony Bourdain narrate his pain
surrounded by hungry desperate people with machetes
ME
late for pediatric dermatologist
late for fencing classes
Subaru needs gas
landscaping issues
vacation with kids
terrified of expensive advanced degree
no houseboat in backyard
threatened by free strawberry donuts
feels "fat" because I eat too many nachos
Yeah. It's not even close to being relative. I really am an idiot, driven by entitlement and rage. Winston agrees with the rage part, but only from 20 feet away and with the promise that I won't attack.
Me: Winston, do you think that I have rage issues? Be honest. I won't get mad, I swear.
Winston: I have no idea what you are talking about. I love you and think you are perfect in every way. (inching towards the door)
Me: (screaming) Listen, God damn-it, tell me the truth or I'll kick your ass: Do I have rage issues? Do you think I can't control my temper???
Winston: (taking large backwards steps) Maybe. Occasionally. Sometimes.
Me: I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey!!!
So I am trying to let some of the rage go. I have forgiven the Tree Man for trying to subvert native species, I am planning to just avoid those Dunkin Donuts assholes (which will help with the fat thing) and I am taking grad school one day at a time and hoping I don't fuck it up too bad. But so help me God, I still want to smack that little bitch at the gas station.
~dana
Friday, June 1, 2012
Stomping My Foot Didn't Work Either
I have discovered a new way to both waste time, procrastinate and stave off another grad school panic attack. My friend Katie sent me a video of a baby raccoon, which obviously launched a full scale war between me and Winston at the dinner table. He is now not only "anti illegal chicken in the basement coal chute" but is also "anti raccoon in a Baby Bjorn." (Can this marriage be saved?)
The Man of Wrath* insists that raccoons are illegal in Lakewood, but that is not true. Last summer I saw someone walking a baby raccoon down Lake Avenue, so of course I sprinted after them to pet it and drill them with questions. The raccoon was super friendly and climbed right up my leg and settled about my head, like I was a Dana-tree. Then he whispered sweetly in my ear and I fell madly in love. The couple said they found it on the side of the road, far too young to care for itself so they took it into their LAKE AVE 4TH STORY APARTMENT AND GAVE IT IT'S OWN ROOM, LITTER BOX AND PUT SEVERAL LIVE TREES IN THE RACCOON ROOM AS WELL TO CREATE A SIMULATED ECOSYSTEM. I hope this answers some of the questions you may have had over the years when you wondered what the fucking hell that smell was in your new apartment. I asked them how they planned to keep the po-po off their backs, especially considering that they were walking it in Lakewood Park. They said that the cops in Lakewood had chased them down just like I did to pet it and told them:
"Listen. Don't let strangers pet it because a lot of people are dicks and if he accidentally scratches someone, we would have to shoot the raccoon. But otherwise, it's fine to keep the little guy. There's no ordinance against it." Then they proceeded to make kissy noises at it. And if you have had any encounters with the fine officers of Lakewood, you will understand that is somewhat of a Christmas miracle.
So I asked about the rental company for their apartment, which is at Cook and Lake, and they said they were allowed to have a pet under 35 pounds so the rental company couldn't do shit. Which is a hysterical loophole in the rental contract. "No large animals but go right ahead and create a lush, woodland environment in the spare bedroom for a raccoon."
My "landlord" is inflexible on his anti raccoon policy. The husband states that if he finds a raccoon in either my shirt or in a baby front pack on my person, he will seek a swift divorce. I tried crying, but he just accused me of sounding like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka. (DADDY, I WANT A BABY RACCOON NOW! OR I'M GOING TO SCREAM!")
So, I said, "Fine. Screw you. I will seek sympathy for my raccoon-less plight within the Tubes of the Internet! Meany Pants! Sergeant Suck!"
Which led me, with astonishingly little effort on my part, to this... Enjoy. Try to get about 15 posts down the rabbit hole. It is so worth it.
Support Group For People Who Love Raccoons Too Much
~dana
*apologies to Elizabeth
The Man of Wrath* insists that raccoons are illegal in Lakewood, but that is not true. Last summer I saw someone walking a baby raccoon down Lake Avenue, so of course I sprinted after them to pet it and drill them with questions. The raccoon was super friendly and climbed right up my leg and settled about my head, like I was a Dana-tree. Then he whispered sweetly in my ear and I fell madly in love. The couple said they found it on the side of the road, far too young to care for itself so they took it into their LAKE AVE 4TH STORY APARTMENT AND GAVE IT IT'S OWN ROOM, LITTER BOX AND PUT SEVERAL LIVE TREES IN THE RACCOON ROOM AS WELL TO CREATE A SIMULATED ECOSYSTEM. I hope this answers some of the questions you may have had over the years when you wondered what the fucking hell that smell was in your new apartment. I asked them how they planned to keep the po-po off their backs, especially considering that they were walking it in Lakewood Park. They said that the cops in Lakewood had chased them down just like I did to pet it and told them:
"Listen. Don't let strangers pet it because a lot of people are dicks and if he accidentally scratches someone, we would have to shoot the raccoon. But otherwise, it's fine to keep the little guy. There's no ordinance against it." Then they proceeded to make kissy noises at it. And if you have had any encounters with the fine officers of Lakewood, you will understand that is somewhat of a Christmas miracle.
So I asked about the rental company for their apartment, which is at Cook and Lake, and they said they were allowed to have a pet under 35 pounds so the rental company couldn't do shit. Which is a hysterical loophole in the rental contract. "No large animals but go right ahead and create a lush, woodland environment in the spare bedroom for a raccoon."
My "landlord" is inflexible on his anti raccoon policy. The husband states that if he finds a raccoon in either my shirt or in a baby front pack on my person, he will seek a swift divorce. I tried crying, but he just accused me of sounding like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka. (DADDY, I WANT A BABY RACCOON NOW! OR I'M GOING TO SCREAM!")
So, I said, "Fine. Screw you. I will seek sympathy for my raccoon-less plight within the Tubes of the Internet! Meany Pants! Sergeant Suck!"
Which led me, with astonishingly little effort on my part, to this... Enjoy. Try to get about 15 posts down the rabbit hole. It is so worth it.
Support Group For People Who Love Raccoons Too Much
~dana
*apologies to Elizabeth
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