Saturday, June 9, 2012

Only the Good Die Young, Which I'm Not. (Good, not Young.) So Don't Worry.

The arsenal at Camp Miklasz is even more well-equipped for impending combat than before. You know, just in the event the government is cracking down on mouthy bloggers and snide 12-year olds. It's funny that one of my friends, a psychiatrist, has recently gotten into the habit of buying air assault rifles online, as a means of stress-relief. It makes perfect sense, really. He listens to people scream for a living and gives them medication to shut them the hell up. I'd be a rifle-enthusiast too.

Luke ordered this rifle that, I swear, weighs more than I do, as well as a pistol with silencer. Kindly enough, they came with 800 BB's with which to shoot. In a nutshell? You have a problem with me? Take it up with Luke and DUCK. His aim's REALLY, REALLY good. "It even dents wood!" my son exuberantly exclaimed. "How'd you find THIS out?" I asked Luke. "Um...I shot my dresser." GREAT. Hello, Doofus Wonder? SHOOT THE SHIT OUTSIDE. FYI? Stepping on BB's hurts worse than stepping barefoot on Legos. I found this out taking a walk through Luke's room. Asstard!

Finally got the hot skinny on Luke's gifted shenaniganathon later in June. He's taking "Combustion and Pyrotechnics," where he gets to blow shit up and light things on fire. Awesome. He's taking "Creating Games from Scratch," designing computer games using an MIT-developed computer system. Finally, he's taking "Geometric Design and Construction," during which he'll create Escherian designs, construct a kaleidoscope (useful for when he starts doing LSD, I assume, in college), and learn other various geometry-rich thingys (read: For me? Yawn City, Population: Annie).

"Busy with family and more family," my guy friend said after I besieged his pockets with snarky texts yesterday, in response to the snark-a-thon my best male friend was delivering to me from abroad, including a picture of Best Male Friend on the cover of a Prominent Music Magazine. Trust me when I say that managing all 3 of our schedules, plus Luke's, is daunting. That and remembering that SuperJuls is standing up to her best friend's wedding today...and trying to figure out what the fuck my guitarist was doing at church at 4pm yesterday, when NO ONE else was there...I'm back to being a (literally, for once) hot mess.

Even having talked to my guy friend on the phone on Tuesday (er, Wednesday?), when I *do* remember telling him I'd been out in the sun too long, and that Best Male Friend and I had been engaging in lengthy shenanigans during his vacation, which he said he was "really happy" to hear (my ass). He said to me, "Only the good die young!" to which I seem to remember replying that I was neither.

I had utterly forgotten that his weekend was raft with college graduation funzies for one of his daughters and that he'd be chained (er, otherwise occupied) for the whole weekend. (Great. iTunes queue: "My Shit's Fucked Up," Warren Zevon.) Guy friend said, "Be back late Sunday," which means "Quit fucking texting me, ho!" whereas my internationally renowned best male friend could yack with me for days, across the GMT zones, about something as seemingly insignificant as me sitting on the back patio. (I sent my guy friend off with an "Oh yeah! Congrats! Mwah!" and fled for church, the Queen of Douchebaggery Interruptionessing.)

(Not that he'll recognize that "Mwah!" means I'm kissing him, but that's immaterial. Auto-correct kept trying to change it to "Much!" in text-speak.)

My wisdom from early last night, before I went to band practice, whereupon I *actually* produced a sweat (I showed up to practice in SHORTS! My band saw my LEGS! And gym shoes, since flip-flops are NOT drumming-friendly, due to slippage. I was full of dust from my almost-broken sticks as well as sweat...)??

I observed this and texted my best male friend, a fellow recovering alcoholic: "Drinking grape juice on the patio on a hot summer night is just like drinking wine. Only not. And not fun."

Best male friend's response? "Is your cardiologist 'friend' there, too?"

"No, thank God," I replied, actually being honest and not just pacifying his obvious disdain for the poor, hapless, sandal-wearing guy. (Earlier this week? "Ah, your 'Old Man's' back in town!")

Having absolutely zero recollection as to my guy friend's schedule, we joked back and forth about my guy friend perhaps having gone to see Roger Waters at Wrigley Field last night, which would be a douchey, suburban thing to do. "Coors Light cups for $18!" he said. I replied, "And commemorative hammer flags for $45!" (No hardcore Pink Floyd fan would seriously consider going to see ONE member of Pink Floyd perform something like "The Wall," but a novice? Sure.) We said this with all due reverence to a friend of ours, who's one of the road managers of this Waters tour. Well, it was funny to US, sheesh!!!!!  Because we're Music Snobs, and Rightfully So!

What was his suggestion, to make up for having interrupted Guy Friend's Family Hurrah? "Make him an e-card!" "Yeah, 'cause he'll get that in like 2 weeks when he checks his email again," I said. "So what? You can't text him again!" So I did. (I'll refrain from posting it online, but it said that *we* apologized for forgetting Guy Friend's weekend plans, and that we were off to Douchebagistan together. Love, US.)

Practice was, once again, kind of a clusterfuck last night, as a) we're randomly doing an Advent/Christmas song (a Negro spiritual), this one song that drags on fooorevvver, and 2 songs that are actually easy to play. We were un-directed, as Pastor Dave had to attend a graduation, which left, well, ME, in charge. Jake tried to get me to play rhythms that I wasn't used to playing, hadn't planned on playing and didn't want to play. (Suffering from Fussy Drummer Syndrome? I think I actually have a pill for that!) In summary, practice started at 7pm. I got home before 8pm. Practices under my direction are nothing if not expeditiously flown through.  We'll see how it goes tonight, when I'll no doubt play entirely different parts to ALL of the songs, because as I've said before, I'm honed at improvisation, ha ha ha...

Came home and called Kate, who is in the middle of her own shit storm in MA right now, which frankly is none of anyone's goddamn business. She couldn't talk very long, and I think she's going to call me at some point today, but I worry about her a lot. Soon, I have to return to the church and won't be home until later tonight. Hopefully, I'll hear from her later. I count my blessings, truly, I do. My biggest bodily worry today was pants vs. shorts for church, actually putting sunscreen on my ears and "Do I REALLY need 26" waist J Crew matchstick jeans? Seriously, the 28"'s are getting roomy?" (Sassy Pants Alert!)

Which begged the question, which I know would humor Kate amid her struggling, "Why is it that so many of my neighbors WADDLE?" I mean it. There is a disproportionate amount of obese to thin people in our townhome community.

Hey, my kid's got some pounds to lose; we're not exempt at Camp Miklasz, though Luke did regale to his therapist the other night that one of the things he "loved" the most about his mom was that I wasn't fat anymore. And he loved that I am weird. And that my tattoos and piercings "are ok," he guesses. And that we're buddies. "But HE KNOWS I'M THE MOM!" I emphasized. He went all ghetto on me, and was highly animated and chatty for the rest of the session, geez, almost like, um, MANIC MOM! (Craig sat out this session, in the waiting room, with his Princess Leia-worthy headphones on and his laptop fired up. Sadly, he wouldn't pose for a picture and Luke missed it with his obvious iPod.) Afterwards, I asked Craig if Luke was *that* hyper during THEIR solo session, to which Craig said, "Not particularly." I think Luke was trying to be deliberately cool with me in the room, and trying to illustrate to the therapist that our dynamic is very different than the way he acts with his father.

This stumbled onto my iTunes just now...a Ringo favorite from when I was pregnant with Luke....let's let Ringo take us out of this one, in a video where he shares a scene with Joe Walsh and Joe Walsh manages to keep his mouth shut. Bonus? I TOTALLY want to run into Ringo on a busy street in the rain some day.

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