Have you guys ever had a day that was just so bizarre it seemed like someone may have slipped some magic mushrooms into your lunch? We’re talking crazy strange – like out of this world strange; and it never happens like just one weird thing and then it’s all over. It’s like twenty weird things in one day, and they just get weirder and weirder as the hours plug along until the moment you go to sleep questioning whether or not you will wake up in a mental hospital.
Today was one of those days for me.
It started innocently enough. We’ve been helping my dad get ready to sell his home, and the last step was to replace the carpeting. He garnered a nice discount from the realtor’s brother, so it was scheduled and we all hung out watching and chatting as his disgusting, old berber carpet was replaced with what I can only describe as walking on a cloud.
Around noon, one of the guys used my dad’s microwave to heat up his lunch and it smelled so good I had saliva literally pouring out of my mouth – that is the type of drooling we are talking about. When I checked the cabinets, though, I realized that I was being a fucking idiot by even bothering – my dad doesn’t keep food in the house. He eats with us at our house. Or goes out.
So I went to Subway.
While at Subway, I apparently gave off some sort of a moron vibe, though, because suddenly and without warning, these two bitches making our sandwiches called me a “stupid white bitch” in Spanish! It was crazy! I mean… really crazy, mainly because we live in California so you’d think these broads would realize that most people in California – Hispanic or not – know at least some Spanish.
In this instance, I’ve been called a stupid white bitch in Spanish enough times to know how to respond in their native tongue, which is exactly what I did: “fuck you, I’m going to the Subway down the street.”
The strange only got stranger from there.
About a half hour after we all finished eating and the carpeting was still being worked on, my daughter came running over to me crying that she had stepped on a nail that was sticking out of the ground.
Didn’t Mommy say to leave your shoes on? Of course Mommy did. Why didn’t you leave your shoes on?
Had this happened a year ago; two years ago… even a few months ago, it would have been no big deal. The kid would have still been covered under her last Tdap vaccine and there would be some Neosporin and a band-aid, and all would be done. But as I calculated the time and my husband called the pediatrician, we realized that she’s due for her Tdap in less than 30 days.
So to the pediatrician we went. The carpet still being installed. This dumb white bitch wondering what’s next to come up. It took us 30 minutes to get there, 15 seconds in the office to get the shot, 45 minutes to get back.
Then some non-strange things happened. I cleaned the toilets in my house. I baked some small cakes shaped like owls for my husband’s birthday tomorrow. I uploaded photos of the cakes to Instragram and invented the hashtag #happybirthdayjerkface. Non-strange things like this.
But then jerk face got home from work and the strangeness resumed.
He got me my Hot Men 2014 calendar.
Those of you that have not been around the blog for long, or who skip the majority of my posts may not know: I made an explicit list of requests for Christmas from my husband. They were pretty simple, and for the most part I got them. But I got no hot men calendar, which I had even taken the time to request specific men in specific months.
As Christmas Day, and the days that followed, drudged on, I made it clear that I was unhappy about the absence of my hot men calendar, until finally my mother in law yelled at my husband that he could order one from CVS for super cheap to get me to shut the fuck up already. I think the only thing he needed to hear was that there were options out there for cheap to get me to shut the fuck up, and he was sold.
Today he picked it up from CVS.
Among my favorite months are, of course, January (Wolf Blitzer), April (Vladimir Putin, topless with a horse), July (Hulk Hogan), and September (random nerd in the middle of a Live Action Role Play – LARP). Albert Camus, my motto towards men, and Jim Cantore are in there too. Also, December is FUCKING GANDOLF.
In the coup de grace of the strangest of days, we headed back over to my dad’s house after my husband ate his dinner to help put the TVs and computers and junk back into place. And to start doing some more free laundry.
Suddenly, and again without warning, I realized that my daughter needed her nails clipped. So rather than – I don’t know – go home and clip them later like a normal person, I decided to just do it with my dad’s clippers as she lay on his bed. She doesn’t like to get her nails clipped, though, and started crying, so for some ungodly reason, my dad thought it would make her laugh if he said the following:
“Hey, if you leave them on my bed, I’ll eat them in the middle of the night.”
Next thing I knew, he was asking if I would clip his toe nails for him. I don’t even know what to say about that, except that I usually say no and then start to feel guilty because he needs to have one of his hips replaced (he had the other done a year ago), and it’s hard for him to bend over…and I don’t know, I have a guilt complex.
So then he was laying on his bed, and I was clipping his gargoyle toes. Each one that came off included comments from me like “this one looks like petrified wood!” They just rolled off the tongue. Then for added measure, my husband jumped in and I clipped his nails too.
In the end, the only one whose nails were not clipped were my own. I’ll go to the nail salon for that. Tomorrow. That is, if I don’t wake up in a mental institute – which I’m starting to wonder if that will happen.
I mean this strange conglomerate of things today can’t actually be real, can they?