Flu Shot or Not

No, don’t need it, don’t want it and not hoping to get the flu, you see. It’s not even that effective and last year not only did I get sick but the half-wit who thought she was a good candidate to give flu shots, hit me with an 18 gauge in my bony arm … crack (head).

So I stomped my foot, yelled Nooooo! Big Pharma! Not scared of biologics! What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!

Now my husband has it or maybe even smallpox, the plague or the consumption and it is a guarantee that he will die. He always does. Every year. Every time he gets sick.

He’s one lucky man to still be alive. He’s not even a vampire.

We will keep you informed as to the development of this horror movie because winter is indeed coming.

The Holiday Feels

I try to avoid one thing at all costs, every day, every hour, every minute. And no, it’s not Costco.

It’s those dreaded annoyances called feelings. I vehemently hate the Hallmark channel. So unrealistic, full of the pseudo- cheerful people who despite their sad lives and the dreary weather somehow still believe in the Christmas spirit, the goodness of others and Macy’s.

People need to stop wasting time on emotions.

Do I hurt your feelings? If I didn’t mean to, I don’t see how that constitutes a reaction on my part. Watch Hallmark’s ridiculous sap story of the day and eat chocolate, drink wine, cuddle your dog- whatever you do to raise your oxytocin levels and deal. You’ll be fine.

Whenever I’m feeling sad, I consider some important things. The most important part is your mascara. Do you love it? Is it waterproof? Is the scary clown look your go-to aesthetic? No ? Then suck it up. You are not sad, you are fine.

Also, go to the mirror. Look closely at yourself. Now- be sad. How do you look?

Remember this, if you have a round face, crying will make you look like a puffer fish. Not a good look for anyone. You are an ugly cryer – so stop.

So out with TV’s glorified idea that Christmas is not Christmas if you are pitiful, alone and drinking hot tea with your thirty cats.

So that’s it, really. I can’t stand the Hallmark channel. It doesn’t mean I’m heartless. I’m just not going to sit in an old, fat guy’s lap and whisper what I want for Christmas in his ear ( except for one time, don’t judge – I see you behind me ).

It just means that good mascara is hard to find and I don’t like clowns.

The Terror of Thanksgiving

I wrote a sweetly sentimental piece about being thankful but I’m not posting it. I shouldn’t have to tell anyone that every day has something in it that we should be thankful for. Also, I don’t like sappy. I like sarcastic. Tastefully sarcastic. Because I’m always socially and ethically conscious.
Before we get to the festivities, I’m proposing a drinking game. One shot for every time my mother talks about her online dating, herself or anything relating to her proclivities as of late. My husband is going to need a lot of alcohol but sadly for him, we live 2 1/2 hours away and I need a designated driver.
Mom is always late. Today, she will be even later because she has wasted the morning on the phone with her latest interest. I know because I called her three times to ask if she had sage. Three times. She ignored me, pretended that call waiting was not happening and she never knew she had a daughter who needed her. Right now.
It’s like I don’t exist Except for subjects relating to her looks, her life and that kind of thing, mom is a vacant space.
This is my latest favorite text from her. I thought my answer was spot on. I mean, when you wait until the 11th hour …. what can you expect?
Good advice, isn’t it? I think so. So over the river and through the woods, to my brother and his family’s house we went. I spent several hours trapped on a trampoline with my tyrannical twin nephews, aged 6. After the discovery that Aunt Amy could jump was made, the party was on. I had forgotten how weird boys were. Somehow, I felt right at home. We even formed our own club called the “Weird, Annoying and Dangerous Dummies Club .” To join our club, you had to do something that was fittingly dangerous. I don’t know what I did but I guess being barefoot in skinny jeans and a cold shoulder shirt (that my nephews put hot wheels down the sleeves of) was enough to guarantee my acceptance. I felt guilty by hanging with the kids and avoiding the adult conversation but…
Fast forward to the early afternoon. Mom is late. No one is surprised but low blood sugar has caused temporary insanity and a bit of unhappiness so I immediately go back to my happy place – the trampoline.
Everything I missed about childhood and holidays I rediscovered between fart jokes, googling monkey butts and chalk drawings on the driveway ( no one was fooled by our faked crime scene). My nephews are really smart and better company than most adults. They didn’t care how I looked, were never critical except to tell me I was a bad artist, and very informative. I never considered that some Pilgrims might have eaten fish ( if they lived by the ocean and didn’t like turkey ).
And just like that, this became a “Why I am thankful ” post. Because, after all, Thanksgiving – duh.