Coconut Balls

Have you ever had one of those periods in life when everything you touch, look at, or think about turns into a sh*tstorm?  Greetings from Sh*tstorm Alley.

This current sh*tstorm is so oppressive it's bordering on comical.  I roll out of bed in the morning and am immediately walloped by the myriad of problems I have to solve and relationships I need to repair.  And that's not including the houses; the first floor of the house in which we live is currently draped in plastic. Fear not -- it's for a large drywall project, not a disease outbreak.

The house looks exactly as it did the day before we moved in eight months ago.  Progress?

Before the downstairs was rendered inaccessible by plastic and dust and plaster, we had to identify all essential items from downstairs and shuttle them upstairs.  We decided on the dog food, the espresso machine, a toaster, a basket of scarves and a case of wine.  You discover what's truly important when you're forced to whittle down the contents of an entire floor.

It's pretty cramped, messy living up here on the upper floor.  We make our morning espresso in our bathroom.  It's convenient to have a coffee in your hand less than thirty seconds after rolling out of bed so maybe we'll keep it there.

I have set up a temporary "desk" on the floor of my bedroom which necessitates me sitting cross-legged for hours at a time.  When it's time to get the kids from school, I must drag myself out to my car using only my arms, my legs dragging uselessly behind me and making funny patterns in the sheetrock dust on my way out the door.  Mama's apparently too old for that cross-legged crap.

Al and I went to watch the Super Bowl with a handful of friends at a sports bar.  Nobody in our group cared much about either team (GO SEAHAWKS 4-EVER!)  but the bar patrons were overwhelmingly in favor of the Ravens.  So Alex, because he's a contrary sort, began cheering loudly and obnoxiously for the 49ers.  I don't know why that man has to nearly get me into a fistfight every time we leave the house.

It was a close game but the 49ers lost.  A man seated nearby, obviously chomping at the bit to kick Alex's ass all night, came over, threw his arm around Al's shoulders and yelled, "49ERS SUCK!" into his face.  Alex, once again his usual football-ambivalent self, just shrugged, smiled cheerfully and said, "Oh, I don't care, I'm from Canada!"

The Ravens guy looked pretty confused and disappointed by the response.  He just stared at Alex with furrowed brow, then dropped his arms to his sides and walked away.  It was awesome.

I was recently a chaperone for another first-grade field trip; this one lasted over five hours and involved walking downtown's International District with a large group of children. 

The teacher stuck me with a group of four crazy boys, one whose hand I had to hold because he's known for wandering off and/or kicking people.  Early on my group declared, "Lucien's mommy is an enchilada!" and spent much of the day trying to take bites out of my arms as I led them safely from one location to another.  I tried to defend myself, told them not to eat the chaperone, that it was one of the safety rules, but did they listen?  Not really.

At the Asian grocery store, my group took the words "don't touch the seafood" to mean "touch ALL of the seafood and by all means wipe your nose first." I heard myself saying things I've never said before such as,  "Drop that geoduck and step away from the tank."

Chaperone masochists

Speaking of boys, I think Seattle Mom's son looks like Anne Hathaway in Les Miserables when he plays dress-up with Coco.  Judge for yourself --

He dreamed a dream in times gone by

We went to a charity auction over the weekend, the same auction we went to last year at which Gumby made an appearance.  Alex must have been in the mood for coffee this year because he bid on every coffee item in the silent auction and unfortunately won them all. Our kitchen is currently inaccessible so twenty crates of coffee are now sitting on the landing at the top of our stairs.  They're in the way and I trip over them daily but oh, sweet heavenly aroma!

Say bye-bye to all your money, suckers

During the live auction, I bid on and won a belly dance lesson for eight.  It seemed a great idea at the time due to the influence of my good friend, wine.

A young man seated at the table next to us must have been even more tipsy than I was -- he bid nine hundred dollars for a puppy.  You could tell by his eyes he really wanted that puppy but as bidding went up and up, it looked like he was about to bow out.  Our table egged him on, took up a collection and threw some money at him.  It worked; we helped push that nice young man into buying a puppy for way too goddamn much money.

There's a good reason why the raffle tickets are dollar sign-shaped bling

At charity auctions, you learn an important life lesson -- you learn that true friendship is a friend screaming "BID! BID! BID!" in your face until they break you and you cry.

There was a priest seated at our table of friends, which hardly seemed a good idea.  He was a great guy and good sport, though, and managed to sit with us most of the evening without announcing we were all doomed and about to burst into flames. He finally stood and excused himself after our friend, Seattle Dad, put his hand inside a tasty dessert jar for the hundredth time and said seductively, "I can never get enough of these coconut balls..." 

Seattle Dad also posed with a pricey bottle of wine down his pants --

We are adults who act as children

I told Seattle Dad to enjoy his pricey bottle of wine.  He replied, "Oh believe me, I already have."

And finally, here's a picture of Alex's muscles --

 

Thanks for helping me forget the sh*tstorm for a minute, posse.
OH GOD I JUST REMEMBERED,
MJ