Thursday, May 27, 2010

I Lost My Keys...and My Mind

If you've been here to MommyLand over the past month and did any of the following:
  • laughed at all
  • read any Facebook messages
  • received emails signed "xo, K&L"  
  • didn't defriend or stop following us
  • snorted coffee out your nose
  • posted a comment
  • read a comment
  • elbow'd someone and said "listen to this"
  • ROFL'd, LOL'd or anything involving your ass falling off
you can totally thank Lydia.

Mostly because I suck. Because for all my frothing at the mouth about working and mommy'ing and balancing, something always goes horribly awry. And this time, it was that I lost everything. In the car the other day on our way to get Starbucks Lydia made me SWEAR on all that is Tenacious D in the world that, if I found the crisp hundred dollar bills that I was going to use to have my hair striped (but now can't because they've gone AWOL in my house)  -breathe-  that I would declare to all of MommyLand that Lydia is awesome and I suck balls.

[Editor's Note: Starbucks does NOT sell Self Esteem by the way, Lydia asked. You'd think with all the whips, frappes and crappes, they'd create a "Selfy Steam" concoction that would make us all happier know, a regular coffee with a Xanax or two tossed in to dissolve into all that caffienatedy goodness. - Kate]

So far this week, I've lost money, a parking ticket, my phone (twice), my keys (three times) one shoe, Happy for about 15 minutes and - oh yeah - my mind. And that's not even including all the things I didn't actually lose but merely sucked at...

Shall we re-visit?
  • I posted something on this very blog that wasn't ready to go. Like, still had all the misspelled words HIGHLIGHTED. In bright yellow. And I'm all "done and done...let's POST." And, Lydia had to do complete damage control and fix it all. Because I'm stupid.
  • I spent 4 hours looking for money. That I wasn't bright enough to put away where it belongs. Which I say to the IHPs all. the. mur.thur.fur.kin.time. Which means I didn't write, or fix dinner, or play with the kids, or do anything but tear my house apart, trying to convince myself that I wasn't Sybill.
  • Lydia forgot her pashmina at my house; I forgot a sweater at her house. The sweater was back in my possession the next day. Her pashmina is still at my house even though I've seen her 672 times since she left it there.
  • She graciously offered to take Happy to school for me one morning when I had to work early. The kid across the street was sort of bridging the gap between when I left and she arrived. She showed up to a hungry, pajama-ed, unbrushed teeth, wet pantsed kid because I was running too late to get him all Happied up for her arrival. I'm anticipating an egg salad sandwich upside my head any moment. And make sure it's a big one...extra mayo. Maybe even leave it in your car for a day or two...
  • I've gone out of town twice, worked a ton, fixed crap dinners and generally checked out of doing pretty much anything the moment I've gotten home from work. Ummm, guess what Jackhole? (I'm talking to me, by the way) Lydia has a husband, and kids and stuff she has to do. Does she really need you acting like she's your wife too? Calls like this: "Ummm, Lyd, can you update Facebook, I'm running late." And texts like this: "LC - i'm not funny you have any ideas for tomorrow?? xo K" And in general needing an ovarian fueled launch into orbit via her clogs?
(Editor's note: I'm not mad and I'm not going to square up.  For like the eleventy-thousandth time, it's all completely fine, Kate.   Just...  Ummm....  Can I please have my pashmina back? xo, Lydia)
[Oh, can I totally digress for a minute? So, the one Alabama thing I have to share. So one night my co-worker (the German Photographer) and I got invited to go Flounderin'. So of course we were like, hell yeah. And then people would ask, "well, are you giggin' or fishin'?" and I was all "I don't know - let's say giggin'!" because that sounds way better.

Anyway, turns out you need REALLY smooth calm (and preferably, non oil infested ones...ugh) waters for giggin' (in which you pretend you're Tom Hanks in Castaway - the skinny version - and harpoon flounders.) Which sounds mean but it's like impossible to do and the fish are thinking "stupid humans think they can gig us" and then they flounder away. SO the point is, we couldn't go, and the guys who invited us were all bummed because they were all ready to pull this AWESOME practical joke on us - you know, let's get the Yankees - kinda thing (For the record, a Yankee is anyone north of the basically, Earth.) The plan was to take that dead alligator they'd come across earlier and put it in the water and then gig it when we were in the boat.

And then watch Kate LOSE. HER. MIND. Wouldn't that be the funniest? So they were sad we had bad water.

Yes, please, go back and re-read that. And what I couldn't get out of my head while I was listening to my Bayou friend Dom tell me this story is that while the practical joke in itself was gonna be a good one, it was that they had the necessary supplies to carry out such a prank. Dom: "You know? What we need here is a dead 'gator." Ken: "OH! 'Member that one we found down over by Pete's?" Dom: "Yeah, that'll get her...let's go get it."

So thanks guys. It would have been And I think I need to live somewhere where dead 'gators are just as funny and prop-y as whoopie cushions.

Anyway, damn that was long...]
  • And if all that isn't bad enough, I hit Lydia with all this right as she's weaning MiniMiniMe. No, she's not dealing with whacked out emotions or hormone levels, right? Or no sleep. Or doing all the already awesome stuff she already does. Now she's doing it vampire-style (creepy, not Cullen) and with sore ta-tas. I'm thinking about lining myself up with a travel coffee mug and a stroller in front of the Tampon and tell her to hit the gas. I can hear the Cap'n: "You ran over Kate with the BWT didn't you? Well, it was bound to happen..."
Oh yeah:

I gotta go make an appointment to get my hair striped. And buy Lydia something awesome. Woot!

xoxo, Kate

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