Dr. Strangemom (or, how I learned to stop worrying and love the blog)

The Life Of Pie

I've just spent Thanksgiving weekend with Mom which made it abundantly clear to me that I have an alarming dearth of joie de vivre. And not just compared to Mom, who is stinking lousy with zest. You could put me next to cadavers and I bet I still have less joie de vivre than they do. 

I mean, I love life. But I'm just not that into it. I love it, but I'm not ready to put a ring on it, you know what I mean?

I'm not unhappy. I am quite content with how I lurch and slog through my days, waiting out the hours after morning coffee until evening wine, and then, again, to morning coffee. I go to work. I write, I read. I walk Phila. I spend a lot of time thinking about my next meal. I cook, I clean. I try to do a few good deeds as long as they are in the neighborhood. I guess I have the joie but not so much the vivre.  But every time I spend time with Mom I see how dialed down I am. Dialed down to, like, a "2" when everyone else is living life at, I don't know, "8". 

Living life at an "8" sounds like a lot of work. It sounds like you have to buy season tickets to shit and be interested in shit and travel and pick-your-own apples in the Fall. Living life at "8" requires curiosity and abundant energy and a willingness to park downtown. You have to actually do things. Probably every day.

I honestly don't see the point in doing things when you can get everything you need from talking about doing things. Or listening to other people talk about doing things. For instance, why do we all need to see The Life of Pi? One of us can go see it and tell the rest of us about it. And then the rest of us can post it on Facebook and no one has to put on a bra and go out in public. Same with Zumba. Let's just send one of us over to do it, like a scout ant, only none of us follow. 

Same with going to Europe. Same with going outside.

I am not just an armchair traveler; I am an armchair everything. In fact, stick a couple of springs on my ass and I am pretty much an armchair. Although, if I were a piece of furniture, I believe I'd be more of a fainting couch than an armchair.

Or maybe a bean bag chair. HAH. Yeah, totally. A bean bag chair. With glasses and clogs. That will be my avatar.

Did I use that word correctly? I have no idea. I don't know what an avatar is. Because, you know, I didn't go out and see the movie.

When Mom is in town, however, I try to make more of an effort to live vivre. After four nights of playing BANANAGRAMS and picking at the leftover pies, I sensed Mom was itchy to get out. She had taken to standing at my front door in her coat and scarf with her leash in her mouth.  

So off we went to the movies, Mom and Karen and I. We saw THE LIFE OF PI.

Then we went home and ate leftover pie. 

Then Mom flew home to LA in time to hit a luncheon, a meeting, a movie and dinner with friends before the day was over. 

I am napping for the rest of the month. I will tell you all about it afterwards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Preparing For The Worst

Well, it's coming down to the wire. 

In a previous post I said that if Romney wins this election I am going to hit myself over the head with a cast iron frying pan until I lose consciousness for four years. However, it has come to my attention that in that event, I'll miss the season premiere of MOB WIVES. So I have recanted my threat. I mean, life goes on.

I will stay conscious in the event of a Romney win, but in a very, very bad mood. For four years. It's the least I can do for The Movement.

We all, however, have to survive whatever befalls us, be it space garbage or Mitt. So I've been planning.

Since Hurricane Sandy, everyone is talking about making an emergency kit in case of natural disaster. Well, I am going to make an emergency kit in case of political and existential disaster: A Romney win.

It will include:

1. A dictionary. I will have to learn waaaaay more words that mean "vitriol". Eloquence will be key in a world gone mad. 

2. A Tetanus shot. I expect to be doing a lot of throwing myself at the television and other rusty nailed objects during the four years. For relief.

3. Tweezers. The end of the world is no reason to grow a unibrow. No reason at all. Because if we are not a well-tweezed movement, then, truly, the Republicans will have won. They have so many blondes. They could go weeks without tweezing, I bet. Jewish gals grow a 'stach between bites of our morning bagel. That is why everyone hates us. That is also why Jewish men don't want to date us.

4. A new dental bite guard. They don't make  material strong enough to stop the teeth grinding I will be doing.

5. A new black friend and a lesbian wife. I will need to make a strong statement during a Republican administration. My old black friend Wade has been busy with his own life and cannot, evidently, make the time to hang with me and make me look progressive. I miss Wade. I looked good with Wade on my arm. People knew I was a liberal.

Too bad Wade's wife isn't into me. I could marry the both of them, raise our kids Communist, and totally ruin America for Mitt. Yep, I gotta find me a wife. Ooh, maybe I can find a black wife. Maybe Wanda Sykes. OMG, how bitchen would THAT be? Mrs. Dr. Strangemom Sykes. I know I am against taking on a married name but, for fuck's sake, it's WANDA SYKES. Who doesn't love Wanda Sykes? I bet even Robin would take her name.

Oh. Right. I am veering from the point of this post: My emergency kit. It needs one more thing.

6. A full layette and diapers, in case I am illegitimately raped.  I just hope my rapist will know which kind of rape he is performing. My luck, I'll get a low-information rapist who didn't listen when Aikens explained it. 

And that ought to do it. 

Now, I am going to climb into my binder and wait.