Friday, March 4, 2011

Confessions of a Stalker

I hate Costco. I bought a bag (75,000 lbs) of Hershey’s miniatures, thinking I would use them for something.

I am.

That something is called: shove them in my face as fast as I can before Hal figures out where I’ve hidden them.

Self control is so over rated.

So is sharing.

Actually, I’ve been very good at sharing. I’ve given Hal all the “Special Dark with Almonds” and all of the “Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate”. Those are nasty. Hal doesn’t realize they’re nasty. He thinks I’m being generous. Silly, silly Hal. Generous? With chocolate? Not unless you’re female. Women appreciate chocolate. Men think of it as just another food item. It is not “just” anything. It is the pinnacle of civilization, the sign that we, as a group, have risen to the Everest of food.

I really need medication.

I friended an old friend on Facebook, one I haven’t heard from in 20 years. This is the first search I’ve done, except for the initial friending of my siblings, who don’t count, since I did the whole “expose yourself on Facebook” thing just for them. Actually, just so I could see pictures of them and their children. Okay, mostly their children. So, I did this search and found one of my dearest High School friends, who happens to be a man. This poses moral questions for me. I have no feelings for the gentleman. I truly just wanted to find out if he’s well, happy, yaddah yaddah yaddah.

So, we chatted a bit, and come to find out, he’s well, happy, yaddah yaddah yaddah.

Now what?

What do you do once you’ve binged on a 20 lb. bag of Hershey’s chocolates?

There’s that whole after-feeling, that thrill and letdown all at the same time.

If I had bulimia, I’d go purge. But I don’t like Facebook purges, and certainly I don’t want to unfriend a friend I asked to friend in the first place.

The right answer, of course, is moderation in all things. A few chocolates a day (under 20) will bring joy and not sorrow. But I’ve proven that I am not good at moderation.

I don’t think I can be trusted with Facebook. Already, I’m thinking of tracking down a friend I had when I was 8. Her name is Cameo. I don’t know her last name, but really, how many Cameo’s can there be in the world?

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Booger Fairy

There must be a booger fairy running loose in my house. Today was “wash the walls” day. I understand fingerprints, I understand food smears, I understand shoe swipes. I do not understand crusty booger-colored bits stuck to the wall that need to be scraped off. I don’t wipe my nose on the wall. I’m pretty sure Hal doesn’t wipe his nose on the wall. And yet, somehow, we get boogers on the wall. This disgusts me and makes me despair that my children will ever grow into normal human beings. Unless, scary thought, normal human beings do wipe their noses on the wall and Hal and I are the bizarre ones.

Strange things happen at our house. Who wiped all the paint brushes off on the walls? Couldn’t have been my sweet cherubs. They were busy composing sonnets to my beauty. Who played Prairie Family and rolled all the dress ups in mud, then washed them in the tub and left the whole lot sitting there for 5 days? Not my children. They were contemplating the relevance of String Theory. Who took every single cup outside to make magic potions and then forgot about them, even when I asked where all the cups had gone? No idea. Cups wander around. It’s a strange, strange world. These are the things parents of famous people never admit.

Question: “Did you know at a young age that Tom was destined to become a famous yet seriously deranged actor?”

Response: “Why, yes, I did. He often pretended he was a snot monster. We’d find boogers all over the house. Under couches, inside the fridge...”

I bet Einstein’s parents never had to re-wash his prairie girl costumes.

I want to know where the Massage Fairy is. I wouldn’t mind a no-strings-attached visit from her. And if she washed the walls on the way out, I’d send her a Christmas card.