it’s pulled pork (SNORT!)
2006-01-25, 3:24 p.m.
Scene: last night in the kitchen. Dinner is ready: it’s pulled pork (SNORT!) cooked all day in the crockpot, served on hot, fresh, delicious store brand hamburger buns that have been languishing in the fridge for a couple of weeks. (Pulled pork is Lil Guy’s favorite meal, and that’s good, because I never tire of saying it. What’s for dinner? Pulled pork. SNORT.)
DW: (pulling his hamburger bun out of the toaster) Do we have any potholders I can put my sandwich on?
Me: (falling over) (laughing)
We spent a lot of time laughing last night. American Idol was on, and that’s always good for lots of laughing. Did anyone catch the guy who said, “I guess I’m JUST A CRAZY PERSONHEEE HEEE HEEE HEEE!” with the nervous, hysterical laughter punctuating his declaration of insanity? I can imitate him perfectly, so I did, over and over and over. It alarmed Mrs. Beans each time, but just sent DW and Lil Guy into fits of appreciative laughter. I am a laughter whore, so I almost wore it out, but I know to stop just when they are wanting one more time, so I claimed that I was going to lose my muse if I overdid it. They are so lucky to have me, for I am one funny sonofabitch
There was the mimicking of peoples’ dance moves, the mimicking of bad singing, and much rapt fascination with Rhonetta. We couldn’t get enough of her. Did any of you notice that despite Rhonetta’s obvious shortcomings and personality disorder, she has the most gorgeous, smooth, flawless, glowing skin ever seen on a real live human person? Maybe she’s been airbrushed, but hell, where can I get my freckly, pocky, uneven, blotchy, rashy skin airbrushed?
Lil G: Mom, what’s that on the side of your neck?
Me: I dunno. Is it red? Did I scratch myself?
Lil G: (shuddering) Looks like a rash. Gross.
Lil Guy got a lesson from me in learning to lighten up and laugh at himself. I don’t even remember what he said now, but he said one thing, mixed up his words, and said something completely different and comical. I laughed, he wailed “Don’t laugh at me, Mom!” and I had to explain that I wasn’t laughing at him, I was laughing instead of him. No, I was laughing because what he said was funny. I went on to explain that the ability to laugh at oneself is a very valuable quality, and not to take it personally when people find it funny when you mean to say “defeated” and you end up saying “de feces” or somesuch. You separate your ego from what you actually said, or did. Like DW separating his ego from the potholders.
We worked for probably 3 hours finishing up my, I mean HIS science fair project. It’s completely thrilling this year, if you are a geek, and you know you ARE. It seeks to answer the question that burns like an eternal flame: can I hit my golf ball further at higher altitudes? The answer is an unequivocal “we think so.” Sure, you can test it using a tube, a vacuum pump, and a golf ball whose bounce is measured under various air pressures and be reasonably certain, but in the end, Lil Guy admits that the only real way to prove his hypothesis is to (1) perfect his golf swing so that it is uniformly consistent (rather than the wonkily unpredictable swing he has now), (2) travel the world playing various golf courses at various altitudes, and (3) there is no 3. Oh wait, yes, there is. I got distracted. Hit lots of balls and see if they travel further, say, on a course in Colorado than they do on a course right at the beach.
It is going to be a tough project, but I think he’ll be up for it. I know DW will be, in the name of good science, and I’ll do my utmost in a supporting role of hanging out on the beach or in the mountains, reading and sipping a drink, sunning my flawless, airbrushed glowy skin, while they conduct their experiments. SCIENCE!
I’m doing that arm thing that Thomas Dolby did in his video. Can you see me?
I have this disturbing new development: I get bored easily whilst fucking around wasting time. I WANT to be engrossed in the worthwhile and/or billable. Ha. Billable. I slay me. My Sudoku (or as I call it, S’dookie) habit has lessened, and I’m whipping through the stacks of procrastinated-upon paperwork on my desk, and finishing up LG’s homework taboot.
What’s next, I wail, shaking my fist at the sky? Will I lose my entire personality to the false god of focused productivity? Will I become one of…one of THEM? You know, the productive members of society who do real work for a living?
Y’all remember I sent my brother the DVD “O Brother Where Art Thou?” for his birthday?
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The thank-you note I got in the mail yesterday.