In today’s installment of Carol Burnett as Nancy Drew, I’m up in my room folding clothes, alone in the house, when I hear this really loud, eerie, staticky noise that sounds exactly, EXACTLY like a walkie talkie emanating from a satchel bag on the floor in the corner. This is the bag I use to tote around my books and laptop, a bag no one else ever touches. I know there are no electronics inside, but still I double-check that my computer’s on the desk and phone’s on the bedside table. And because everything’s scarier in an empty house, it feels like a horror movie as I edge, against my better judgment, toward the bag, creeping up on it as if it’s white-flecked and rabid. Crossing the room, I grapple with the certainty that someone is listening, tapping, spying, planting surveillance equipment throughout the house. Sinister humans in sunglasses, or possibly some sort of alien surveillance. Or it could be a bomb. Lots of nuts out there waiting for the right time to take down a middle-aged American housewife folding clothes. You can’t say for sure.
I reach gingerly into the bag, eyes asquint, teeth gritted, face cringing, body half-turned to deflect the impact, and pull out…a half-drunk Arden’s Garden juice, bloated like a drowned corpse, probably around 2 weeks past expiration. I lift it up to the light, peering and bewildered as the plastic container chatters back at me, whistling and crackling and screeching white noise like a radio turned up full-volume, dial stuck b/t stations. As I’m trying to process this animated inanimateness, the bottle explodes all over me, raining down pungent strings of rotting citrus punctuated by the occasional clump of coagulated furry brown mold spores. The smell, never again to leave my bag, nose, or hands, is reminiscent of a pair of sweaty athletic socks, balled up and discarded after a particularly humid summer soccer practice, soaked in a stagnant drainage ditch, and left to fester in a mothball-filled car trunk for several weeks.
I’m still swiping at fruit flies in my bathroom, but I think I’ve finally solved “The Mystery of the No-Drink Rule at Airport Security”. That shit is dangerous.

In today’s installment of Carol Burnett as Nancy Drew, I’m up in my room folding clothes, alone in the house, when I hear this really loud, eerie, staticky noise that sounds exactly, EXACTLY like a walkie talkie emanating from a satchel bag on the floor in the corner. This is the bag I use to tote around my books and laptop, a bag no one else ever touches. I know there are no electronics inside, but still I double-check that my computer’s on the desk and phone’s on the bedside table. And because everything’s scarier in an empty house, it feels like a horror movie as I edge, against my better judgment, toward the bag, creeping up on it as if it’s white-flecked and rabid. Crossing the room, I grapple with the certainty that someone is listening, tapping, spying, planting surveillance equipment throughout the house. Sinister humans in sunglasses, or possibly some sort of alien surveillance. Or it could be a bomb. Lots of nuts out there waiting for the right time to take down a middle-aged American housewife folding clothes. You can’t say for sure.

I reach gingerly into the bag, eyes asquint, teeth gritted, face cringing, body half-turned to deflect the impact, and pull out…a half-drunk Arden’s Garden juice, bloated like a drowned corpse, probably around 2 weeks past expiration. I lift it up to the light, peering and bewildered as the plastic container chatters back at me, whistling and crackling and screeching white noise like a radio turned up full-volume, dial stuck b/t stations. As I’m trying to process this animated inanimateness, the bottle explodes all over me, raining down pungent strings of rotting citrus punctuated by the occasional clump of coagulated furry brown mold spores. The smell, never again to leave my bag, nose, or hands, is reminiscent of a pair of sweaty athletic socks, balled up and discarded after a particularly humid summer soccer practice, soaked in a stagnant drainage ditch, and left to fester in a mothball-filled car trunk for several weeks.

I’m still swiping at fruit flies in my bathroom, but I think I’ve finally solved “The Mystery of the No-Drink Rule at Airport Security”. That shit is dangerous.

I’ve finally hit rock bottom. Walked downstairs, kids down at last, tired and ready to sit down in front of the tube w/Rick. I notice Floyd standing on the rug w/his back to me, head down, Blair-Witch-style ignoring my calls. Seriously, I half-expected him to turn around and be green or a demon or something (I don’t really know - I closed my eyes for the last part of that movie). Anyway, he wouldn’t move, and then I thought maybe he was somehow dead standing up, so I went over to check and then the smell hit me, and I realized he was busy eating his own vomit. And I was just so tired, and before I could think, found myself saying, “Floyd threw up…wait…can we just let him eat it back up?”

Chill bumps all up and down my arms, having just heard the voting news from NC. Go home, you f*ckers, and read your kids a bedtime story by Sendak, who had a partner of 50 yrs, or show them an old Disney film, painstakingly, beautifully illustrated by some poor soul forced to keep love closeted, and tell yourself you’re human.

World’s Biggest Baby Exhausted:
Groomer: “I’m sorry, but Floyd’s front mane and paws are still a little wet.”
Me: “Oh, yeah, that’s fine - he’s hard to get dry w/all that fur.”
Groomer: “Well, he seemed like he was tired of standing up. I didn’t want to push him.”

World’s Biggest Baby Exhausted:

Groomer: “I’m sorry, but Floyd’s front mane and paws are still a little wet.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, that’s fine - he’s hard to get dry w/all that fur.”

Groomer: “Well, he seemed like he was tired of standing up. I didn’t want to push him.”

With the steely determination of Darcy crossing the field in dewy purple-darkness, Fudge hazily emerges in the dawn light, seeking the heart that is rightfully his. He shoves aside the covers, collapsing into me, instantly, effortlessly at rest in the arms of his one true love.

Why is my life always like this? Aud lost her “Hunger Games” pin somewhere in the 50 ft. b/t the living room and the trampoline. After trying patiently to help her, I slowly reached a boil watching her hysterically screech at everyone and half-heartedly search in literally the most insanely improbable places (the refrigerator, a satchel hanging from a high hook, one of those expandable, pop-up tube things toddlers crawl through, and a box of Goldfish). Finally, I lost it. I mimicked her cries, postulated that it must’ve been carried away by a flying saucer, and screamed that if she’d stop acting like an idiot and look for the damn thing, she’d’ve found it by now. At that hideous instant, torn between relief at unburdening myself and creeping guilt over my tirade, I notice the little green line at the top of my phone - “return to call?”. I’d pocket-dialed the psychiatrist mother of one of Aud’s friends, who specializes in childhood trauma.

If you’re 13, this is a sane question.

Brooks [from upstairs]: “Mom?” “Dad?” “Are you coijgdbsgfkf?”

Me: “What? We can’t hear you!”

Brooks: “Are you cooking something?”

Me: “What - yes - why?”

Brooks: “IS DAD COOKING SOMETHING DOWN THERE???”

Me: “YES! WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

Brooks: “Oh good! I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t me that smelled like chicken!” 

I think the mother/daughter group “Puberty” session went well. Sadie and Lylah stuck maxipads to their foreheads on the drive home.

Adieu, oh modern nomad, the foosball table. You gathered dust in an empty nester’s home before joining us via Craig’s List. We too walked around you, occasionally impaling hips on your rods, til the time came. Have fun at that 20-something’s bachelor pad bday party this Fri. night, then bide your time as a beer rest til he gets engaged to that girl he was with and relists you to cover moving van expenses, thus setting in motion the next leg of your journey.