Moving on

Writing. Every day. That is what I said. I have no idea what this is going to be about right now. We are going on total stream of consciousness here. I was going to write about Taco Tuesday, because, y'know, it's Tuesday and that's the day we have tacos. Purely for the alliteration, and because I know Things 1 and 2 will eat them, and because it requires zero creativity on my part to make happen. Fascinating.

Moving on. I am on page 22 of 31 of Black Hockey Jesus's blog. Don't get all impressed, I'm working backwards. I think I must have skipped a couple entries too because he's making references to stuff I have no recollection of reading and I just started yesterday. So, where am I? 8 posts per page, 9 pages read...that's like 72 posts right? I know that right away because I help a 4th and 2nd grader with math homework every afternoon. It's a gift. Don't even get me started on long division...man, I will own your ass. Anyway, still loving the BHJ blog. Beginning to feel wildly out of my depth in the writing arena though. Beginning...nah...still. Still feeling wildly out of my depth. He did actual research before he started posting. He's part of the whole "blogosphere community." And I sit here, very NOT in the blogosphere community but rather in gigantic pajamas on the sofa, crazyass ponytail on top of my head, face illuminated by the computer screen. I am transfixed.

I am bewildered, inspired, laughing, and at times completely confused. Is this guy making all of this stuff up? I get that the conversations with animals and dead people could possibly be imaginary...but...wow. Everytime I think I have him figured out...nope. Totally thrown. And inspired. He wrote about accidentally running over suicidal birds in the street...two years ago. I'm still in his August 2008. He writes a LOT. I'm thinking, I practically aimed for seagulls in the grocery store parking lot today, just daring them to wait til the last minute to escape their fate at the grill of my minivan. They lived. Eh. Anyway, still reading, still crushing.

Moving on. Thing 2 had a playdate with his new little girlfriend this afternoon. This evening they talked on the phone. He's a real player. After the phone call he locked himself in his room. wtf? I checked on him. He was off. Not looking right. Looking kinda down.

Me: What's up dude? I thought you were on the phone with Gracie.
Thing 2: I was.
Me: You okay? You seem a little, I don't know. What's going on?
Thing 2: I'm just tired I guess.
Me: What did you and Gracie talk about?
T2: I'll give you five guesses.
Me: [Great, a guessing game. I fucking hate these.] She said she loves you? She said she doesn't love you anymore? She wants you to be her boyfriend? She wants to marry you? [These are standard. He gets these a lot.]
T2: Nope (x4). You get one more guess.
Me: [Ugh] She wants to kiss you?
T2: [Not looking happy] Yeah. Next time we go outside she said she wants to kiss me on the playground.
Me: No.
He looks confused. Slightly relieved even? I run like hell with this.
Me: Babe, no kissing girls in elementary school. You have a new girlfriend every other week and I don't want you to be known as the kissing bandit before you're even a teenager. No kissing. Does that make sense?T2: Yeah. Okay.

So, I am not going to beat him to death with the no kissing rule. I am going to let this one marinate in his newly 8 year old brain for a little while. We will definitely be revisiting this topic again though. He is an irreverent, front-hand-springing skater dude with twinkly eyes, a razor sharp wit and the cutest little freckled nose you ever saw. Ever. I could kiss that nose every day, in fact I do kiss that nose every day.

So, I totally get where these little playground-chasing, boy-tackling girls are coming from...but no kissing in elementary school. Good grief. Don't make me call your mother.

Moving on. The X update. Poker game. Today. Not even 24 hours after the hospital release. Who needs Dionne Warwick? I am your psychic friend. Apparently he tried to go out last night but passed out after getting out of the shower. But he feels fine. [eyeroll] Fine?! Less shitty than last week does not equal fine. He lives with his parents by the way, so it's not like no one knows what he's up to. But nobody is stopping him. Nobody is saying to him, "No kissing in elementary school. And no drinking the day after you get out of the hospital for a severe complication of your cirrhosis. Does that make sense?" Nobody. stops. him. His mom is the one who tells me this crap on the phone. It is my job to NOT go batshit crazy on her for this reckless-beyond-all-human-understanding behavior so she'll keep me informed. Let the Academy know they can mail me my Oscar. I've been looking to redo the mantle anyway.