The Way Things Are



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You cannot resist the fancy dancing.
2006-07-18, 5:23 p.m.

Ha ha! You’re all wrong. The bruises on my arm were caused NOT by my sloppy race car driving, NOT by a bike, NOT by rough sex, and NOT by dogs.

They are both furniture-related incidents. Furniture! Two distinct and separate furniture incidents. The bruise at the top happened when I was cleaning up the files on the floor of my office (I know it’s time to pick up when I start rolling over paperwork with my chair) and bumped my shoulder on the sharp, pointy corner of my desk. Ouch.

The one down by my elbow happened when the arm of the antique wooden rocking chair I was sitting in broke, and the pointy, scratchy, jagged piece of antique rocking chair wood poinked and scraped and just generally assaulted me. I’ve had that chair for years – my grandmother gave it to me. Now I see why. I even rocked Lil Guy to sleep in that chair. I kind of trusted that chair and now? Not at all.

I didn’t realize how pretty my arm was looking until I got to work Monday morning in my sleeveless shirt, and went for that first bathroom break of the day.

Do you ever surprise or horrify yourself when you take that first bathroom break of the day? Do you ever walk into the bathroom and exclaim “Good Christ! Did I leave the house like this?” I kind of dread seeing myself in the mirror sometimes, unless I’ve had time to rearrange my facial expression and adjust my hair and clothing to make sure I look like myself. Something happens between the time I leave the house, looking like myself, and that first bathroom break. All hell breaks loose.

****

Now comes the part where I bore you to death (and you thought it was that part up there! Ha! Joke's on you!), and your shambling corpse stumbles into my office to haunt and taunt me for causing you to keel over dead.

BORING the FIRST: Bike riding. I, um. I guess I could go on and on, but I’ll just say, I really, really, REALLY like doing this. To answer the helmet question, I went for one that has no distinguishing features whatsoever. No fins, no bright colors, no rainbow-colored Afro wig attached. I didn’t see any of those, which is a shame. Think of the possibilities.

I’ve ridden so much that I have injured my right knee just a little bit. A tiny bit, and it’s caused from my seat being too low, and not getting enough extension…SNZZZZZZXXXXKKKK

Anyway, my right knee doesn’t seem to like bike riding, but it’s tolerating it, and I have fixed that pesky low seat situation. Better than my left knee, which ABHORS running. What would be left for me? Mall walking? I shudder. You’ve seen the mall walkers, right?

LG likes my bike so much that we bought him one of his own. Not a fancy, plane-ticket-expensive bike. Just a simple mountain bike from Academy. You know, it brings the family together, gets the kid out of the house and away from the TV, and all that jazz.

****

OK, that was very dull, so let’s move on.

BORING the SECOND What are you cooking for dinner? I ask because I am good about planning meals, and shopping for said meals, but I’m kind of in a rut. It seems like we have the same 7 dinners over and over again. Badger one time posted some of her dinner menus, and it was like a whole new world opened up for me. Delicious, exotic-sounding stuff that did not include day after day of chicken, but DID include things wrapped in bacon, or served in whiskey sauce. Go look in her May 2006 archives. It’s in there. I wanted her to ALWAYS post her dinner menus.

AnywaaaaaySSSSS, a little while later, she posted an entry about baking a chicken, and how her husband is allergic to poultry, so she and her kids only eat chicken when he’s out of town. That’s when I figured out why her dinner menus sounded so good: it wasn’t an endless parade of chicken teriyaki, chicken nuggets, baked chicken, fried chicken, etc. It was things like beef. Shrimp. Exotic meats like butterflied pork chops. Fish. I never cook fish because (1) I ruin it, (2) I can go out and get really good fish in a restaurant cooked and served by some-damn-body other than me, (3) there is no 3, and (4) fish makes your house stink.

Now I find that Badger has started a blog, just like I wanted her to, and it’s this. Is there some way I could get you people to tell me what you have cooked for dinner for maybe like a week, and we could all see what each other are cooking, and mebbe, just mebbe, we could all get a little inspired, if that’s what’s missing?

Tell me what you think of that. I’m really tired of the things I cook, but you might think things like lasagna and pulled pork are exotic. Even if you don’t, it’s really fun to say “pulled pork”.

Which reminds me: my beloved Peaches FUCKING GAVE NOTICE last Friday, so I’m collecting resumes, and I got one from a girl whose email address is pokechop@somethingorother.com. Pokechop! That’s so freaking professional I can’t even stand it.

Anyway, do read Badger because she's NOT boring. But still read me, too.

****

Here are some funny things my kid has said to me lately. Yesterday morning, I was clip-clopping through the house as we got ready to leave, and LG took a look at my lime-green espadrilles, and said, “Dude, those are like three-inch heels. Yo.”

Yo?

And then yesterday in the car, New Order’s “Blue Monday” came on the radio. I turned it up, explaining to LG, “This is only like the best dance song EVER.” He proceeded to waggle his shoulders and wave his fists in the air in a style eerily reminiscent of how DW and I dance. Then he stopped, looked at me with dismay, and said “GOSH!” He hung his head in his hands.

“What?” I asked, wondering what I had done now to insult or embarrass him.

“GOSH! I always do that! I got that from you and DW, and I always do that now. I can’t believe it!”

HA!!! My fancy dancing is contagious. You cannot resist the fancy dancing of Laura Flea.

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