Alas Poor Chubby

October 1990 - March 8, 2009

Jasper Louise, aka Chubby Ann, died this past Sunday evening, after a rapid decline in health this past week. She was never the prettiest or the most lovable cat, but she was loved nonetheless, for her quirky sense of humor and her assertive personality. She was buried in the front yard, in a private twilight service, and laid to rest with a peanut donut between her paws, and a Japanese maple overhead.

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It's just been one of those weeks, you guys. I'm sure you know the kind: dying animals underfoot, requiring round the clock attention; children on a bad brat kick, because you're not paying attention to them (grrr); I've caught Bea's cold, or something like that, and to top off the fun here at the Edge, my left eye is all red and swollen up. Pink eye? Pollen? Excessive crying messing up the tear ducts? Who the hell knows.

Plans for Bea's Not My Birthday Party/Vernal Equinox Celebration are moving ahead. If you're going to be in the RDU area on March 21st, and want to come, let me know. The more the merrier! After Ms. Q's visit this past weekend, with a rainbow of Izze fruit sodas in hand, we've decided that Izzes might be the perfect mixer with vodka for the big day.

Apologies all around from me: I've been a bad blog friend this past week, what with all the hoopla going on. Forgive me, I will be trying to catch up this week.

Bea, the girl who used to blog, is armpit deep in beaus right now. I know - she's all bemused by this turn of events as well! I keep telling her that she should spill the dirt with all of us, via writing a post (hint, hint, Bea!), but she's keeping her cards close to her much sought after chest these days. Tell her you want to know all the dirt, won't you?

You Think, You Worry

"You worry, you think - it's a vicious cycle." -Victor/Victoria

As my appointment with a real doctor gets closer (as opposed to the Doc-In-The-Box variety, which could well have been imaginary - I was hanging with both the Care and the Swear Bears that day, remember?) I find my stomach unexpectedly performing gymnastics routine, in spite of the fact that the Olympics were last winter. Dude!

I'm always afraid of going to the doctor's office. I'm paranoid that somehow they can look at me and see every bad thing I've ever done; at least the ones printed on my face, the rest are tattooed elsewhere, like on my ass, or in my lungs, and they know.

(I'm sorry, did I not mention I was completely insane today? My bad - yeah, uh, heads up, the girl is kind of batshit today, m'kay?)

I tell myself it's all going to be fine, even if it isn't fine. Bea tells me the same thing, when I'm on the phone with her, telling her how my stomach did a perfect split in it's routine the other day.

Bea: It's going to be fine, stop worrying.
Me: I know it's going to be fine, you don't have to reassure me that it's going to be fine. You don't have to say anything, you know.
Bea: Jesus! So, what am I supposed to say? Nothing? Just let the silence hang and fester?
Me: Yeah, something like that. Or tell me a joke - something!

She's so patient with my batsa crap, but then it is a two-way street, isn't it Bea?
Isn't it?
Bea?
(Damn, I forgot she was on hiatus from the blogosphere. I'm just in here, talking to myself. Neat. Does this post make my ass look nuts? And please, don't be honest!)

Ain't No Sunshine

"You junk punch him in his man business, then when he's writhing on the floor, crying "Why?", you point your finger at him and say, "YOU know why!"
- What Happens in Vegas

I don't know what that quote has to do with anything I'm going to write, but ever since Ms. Q brought that movie over we've been saying it. It just makes me smile, and I need all the smiles I can muster right now.

The Professor is home sick this week - the usual fever/sore throat/runny nose crud found in the ever incubating petri dish that is public school. Yay.

I have a genealogical consult on Thursday, that I've put off finishing the charts for, because the data for this one family branch went on for a week and a half in a tee-einy font. Turns out it looked that long because some of the same data was plugged into more than one spot, making one guy both 7th and 8th generation; uncle to himself. I spent my morning yesterday researching everybody in those two generations, in between nursing my pasty, hacking, snot machine of a child. Because that just enhances my ability to focus, see?

Can you tell I'm cranky? Yeah, maybe just a teensy bit. It wouldn't have anything to do with going to two grocery stores, buying just the basics and having 70.00 left for the next two weeks. The cost of eating real food is ridiculous anymore, and doesn't leave me any cushion for the necessary Runaway Mama Sushi Night Fund. That's bad people: mothers who don't get a break are far more likely to have their heads explode, causing trauma to their children and pain to their spouses (see above quote).

Brother can you spare some sushi?

Well Look Who Just Crawled In

Darlings!

Forgive me for leaving you all hanging for over a week. I did indeed encounter the Senator at Ms. Q's this past weekend, and let me tell you - the air positively crackled with sexual tension!

In light of the recently discovered brain tumor, his time has become something rare and precious, but when two storms collide like we did, nothing can stop them. He swept me off my feet and into his arms. By Sunday night we were in his car and headed for Cape Cod for a few storm-tossed, star-crossed days of unbridled animal passion.

Umm...

...or at least that was the fantasy scenario in my head; maybe not so much the truth, but a girl can dream, can't she? Especially when that girl can't sleep at night, due to a certain precipitously acquired upper respiratory infection. Bronchitis may sound like a dinosaur, and I'm working hard on kicking its ass into extinction, but so far, its been kicking mine!

Yeah, we're some party animals, aren't we? Except when I say, "Party Animal", its more like a decrepit old elephant on his way to the graveyard, to mingle his nearly fleshless bones with those of his ancestors. Not exactly a scene from "Bachelor Party", but we didn't start off that way.

Saturday afternoon found us (Bea and myself) at the always effervescent Ms. Q's house, and we were all in one of those "Hakuna Matata" kind of moods; dancing around, eating bugs off of leaves and stuff, and singing; chile - we were some singing old broads. (Oh, What-Ever; you know you sing and dance around the house in your underwear too! And besides, we had to kill time while we waited for the Senator to show, and everyone knows he likes girls who uh, sing, uh, and dance, yeah, that's it!)

Check out that party nosh - and its all good for you too; well, except for the drinky-winkies.

At one point this Neil Diamond/Babs Streisand duet came on and we just HAD to sing along, paraphrasing the sappy lyrics, of course.

Ms. Q opened her presents
Later the Senator and his wife came over for cocktails - thats the official story, anyway - and we all made nice with the wife in a photo-op.

The Senator and his long-suffering wife
Later, the Senator snuck off to the computer to book us a room. Oops! Hello wifey!
Many apologies again, for taking so long to get back to post this - I'm still fighting the rising tide in my lungs with this horrid bronchitis, so sleep is a thing of the past, as is simple breathing. Unfortunately, as moms all over the world know, there is no sick leave for mothers, and with the end of school looming closer the demands on my time seem never ending. Have I mentioned I am so over school right now? Sheesh! I am so beyond ready to be done for a few months.

Addendum: I just heard that the real Senator Kennedy's brain surgery was very successful. I'm not only glad for him and his family, but it sure wouldn't be that funny to talk about MY senator, when the real one was kaput.

Also, Bea had to go and ask where all the pictures of her were from this past Hoop-de-do at Ms. Q's. Well Bea, here you go, in all your blurry glory. This is what happens when friends let friends drink and shoot photos. It isn't pretty, is it?

Ugh

I was so proud of how good Friday's post looked, and feeling like I was getting back into the groove (pause for a little funky dance step, a la Madonna, in Desperately Seeking Hooters, uh Susan - it's a long story, and I just tripped over my bathrobe. I know it's 1:30 - don't judge me, dammit!) and then my little cold revealed it's dark and chunky underbelly.

Ahh...Choo!

I have been languishing on the couch - dying, I'm sure - for most of the weekend. You would think that not only would I have been nominated for some kind of Oscar, for my interpretation of Camille or La Dame Aux Les Camellias as a modern housewife, but that I would, at the very least, be feeling better. I even got the hubster to do the housework and make dinner - now that should clinch the nomination!

Alas! I am yet upon my couch, dying slowly, as an ocean of snotuli slowly oozes from my head.

I know, I'm breaking your heart.

Wait- step back- I have to sneeze again...
Ah...
Ah...
Ah...Choo!
I'm going back to bed kids - see you tomorrow.

Sniffle, Sniffle, Sniffle

Yep, that's right - the Tapdancer is sick as a dog, which is bound to stir things up, in an all cat household.

And just like mothers everywhere, I am not allowed to be sick. Oh, I still feel like shizzell, but as far as the menfolk are concerned, it doesn't register. Dinner had better be on time, even if Honey Bunny isn't (Oy! Don't get me started!).

It's been that kind of week, really. The kind of week that starts out with the tease of snow and all we got was rain, though in Raleigh they had a bit of ice and all the idiots with SUVs went spinning around on the Beltline and 540, because they think 4 wheel drive means it's Ok to drive fast on ice. I told you - they're, statistically speaking, idiots.

The kind of week, where I locked myself out of the house Tuesday morning, and had to break a window to get back in (I tried to call the aforementioned HB at work, for a rescue, but you KNOW how that went. That's right - he was unavailable. Story of my F***ing married life.) Before I broke the window I went up the street to a neighbor's house to use the phone, and was accosted by her tiny, vicious dachsund/pit bull-looking little creatures, who assured me, quite vocally, that they were going to bite the hell out of my ankles, because they were bad-asses. They didn't, but it was touch and go there for a minute. And from the safety of Thursday morning and my own house, may I just say, those were some Fug-Lee damn dawgs!! But she was very sweet, letting in the crazy, wandering lady, wearing slippers, to use the phone, so ok, nice doggies! Sorry I called you Fug-Lee!

On the bright side (because there HAS to be some good, come on), I've been reading The Hobbit to the boys this past week, and we are almost finished - just three chapters left - and they are so into it, we might have to start the Fellowship of The Ring (once I get my voice back, hack, hack hack!). Anything to get my youngest into reading - he's been a slow starter. I gave him the Spiderwyck series to read a while back, but he wasn't interested. I made him go sit and read yesterday, until dinner, because he and his brother needed some separate time, and guess what? "Mom, I read five chapters! I didn't even know I had read that many." Oh Happy Day! Dare I hope the hump has been passed, and he will take his place among the rest of the voracious readers in the family? Cross your fingers....

OK, I'm am now going to go drink some Gypsy Cold Care and have some lovely NY rye toast, that my mommy brought me from Buffalo, and be a giant baby,...until it's time to pick up the kids, anyway.