Eighty-one

Happy New Year to all.  We missed you at our party.  Well, Mike probably didn't, considering he spent it in bed, but I did.

Mike came home from work at 5:30, made a fire, took a shower, and disappeared. I went upstairs looking for him, and he was huddled under the covers with a bucket. I swear to you, we have never had a party when someone in our family didn't get sick.

My sister's doctor husband suspects Munchausen by Proxy.  Anyway, I told the invitees "anytime after six".  At 6:00 exactly, fifty people came in and by 6:30 all the food was gone. I hadn't even finished putting it out on the buffet. The artichoke dip was supposed to have toasted bread rounds with it, and it was eaten, apparently with people's hands, before I ever pulled the bread out of the freezer.

"Where's Mike?" Someone finally looked up from thier plate to mumble.

 "Sick in bed."

"Huh." (gobble gobble slurp.)

This news might send normal people home, but the lure of free beer is far too strong for my friends and family. I suppose the thinking is if you drink enough, you'll kill off any germs that might wander by.  And poor Mike, trying to do his business while his mother-in-law pounds on the bathroom door.

(BANG BANG BANG) "Is someone in there? This door is locked!!"

"Uhnnn.  Yes, someone's in here......."

"WHAT?? WHY IS THIS DOOR LOCKED? IS SOMEONE IN THERE?"

Meanwhile downstairs, we partied like it was 1999.  Where were the kids, you might be wondering?  Well, they were there of course, along with everyone else's.  We took all comers. People were literally hanging form the rafters. The music ran the gamut from Barry Manilow to Outkast to Abba, topped off with a rousing sing along to Brother Love's Travellin' Salvation Show. Things finally ended as they usually do at my house, someone spotted Uncle Conlin peeking through the front windows.  I'm telling you, it's like being haunted by someone who isn't dead.

So I turned off the lights and and went upstairs.  I woke up two hours later and puked hard for the next four hours. Lest you think it was drink related, it wasn't. The white wine ran out at about eight-thirty, and I don't like beer. So I got out of bed at 10:30 the next morning, kids are still sleeping, and assessed the damage.

I have never seen anything like it. There were holes in the walls. Someone pulled down the curtains. I mean, 'trashed' does not even begin. And in my sore-chest-muscles, dehydrated, dizzy state I simply couldn't consider cleaning it up. Mike, who'd finished his barfs long before I had and had gotten some sleep, came down and sent me back to bed before I belly-flopped onto the dredges of the chicken wing platter. I woke up again at 3:30.  

The kids were staring at the tv like zombies, still in their jammies.  The house was spotless.  So here's a guy who paid for a huge party he didn't get to attend and then cleaned it all up after spending the whole night sick. It's going to take until next Christmas for me to pay that one back.

So we spent New Year’s night eating chicken soup and playing Scrabble, which is really the perfect way to spend it, you know?

Here’s to a great year!

Eighty-two

 2:01:37.  My half-marathon time was 2:01:37.

ARGGGGG!!  Which means, of course, I have to run another one ASAP, because that's just way to darn close. Honestly, though, having JP run with me was a Godsend. If I hadn't been there slowing him down, I'm sure he could've run it between 1:30-1:40. I kept telling him he had my blessing to take off, but he knows me well enough to know that if he hadn't been there barking at me like Sargeant Hulka, I would've hailed a cab and gone home. 

We were on pace the whole race for about a 1:49 or so, and at mile ten I stupidly surged, thinking, "Three miles! That's a run around the lake, I can sprint that with my eyes closed going backwards carrying Molly."  At mile eleven, my legs quit working. I actually had to stop. Had to stop! I drank two glasses of Gatorade and practically crawled the rest of the way.  JP shoved me across the finish line. I have more respect than ever for anyone willing to take on an actual marathon.  Billy told me that fat ass Joanna Dalton, who ran track with me in high school and who was constantly asking everyone how much they weighed and who pointed at me and yelled in a very loud voice after senior prom, when we were all at Mike Kist's house eating pizza, "Oh, my God, Katie ate four pieces!" ( I wanted to yell, "Fuck you, Joanna, your date's gay and has a crush on Kisters!" except that that was me,)  and who, the last time I saw her, looked like a potato with legs, ran a 4:05 marathon. That chaps my hide.

But it was super fun. Part of the race was through a pretty rough neighborhood, lots of angry looking mexicans on the sidelines probably thinking, "I haven't eaten in a week, and you payed 50 bucks to go running. I hate gringos."  It made everyone go faster. And at one point in the race, the marathon course met up with the half course, and we got to watch the leaders breeeeeeeeeeeeze past us all. Very cool.

Spent the rest of the day sitting in the barcalounger under a blanket.  Every time I stood up for more than two minutes, I'd get all shaky. Very similar to how I felt after having a baby. ("Speaking of babies", you're probably thinking......)  Could barely muster the energy to hate The People's Choice Awards. Seriously, could anyone sit through that?  If the best they can do for presenters is the gal from Trading Spaces, wearing a dress that highlights her aversion to situps, you should really just cancel the show.

Back in MN now, just got the young'uns to bed. I think I'll go myself.

Finbar turned six yesterday.  I can't believe it.  I'm not a huge fan of birthdays, they make me weepy.  I just want everyone to stay little. 

For his special dinner, he said he wanted cheeseburgers, french fries, and salad, but without red peppers, broccoli, or craisins in it, and double chocolate cake with fudge frosting.  So Molly and I went to the store and got all the stuff, then hit Target where  I had to ask someone what the heck a Thunder Dino Megazord was. It's a giant plastic monster that turns form a dinosaur to a big robot with a power drill for an arm. It is pretty cool.

Then I went up to school and read stories to his class and he got to pass out treats. Toy sunglasses Reading to Kindergartners is hilarious.

"And Ferdinand was in the field..."

"Mrs.  McCollow?"

"Yes?"

"My brother stepped on a frog once!"

They're so cute.  They all put on their sunglasses and started tackling each other.  The teacher was looking at me like, thanks, when are you leaving?

Gramma and Grampa came over for dinner. My mom said they had to get home by seven because Chariots of Fire was on. 

“I thought that was dull,”  I said.

"Dull… WHAT? Oh, fer… I suppose you don't like A Man for All season's, either!"

Um.....What's the price of tea in China?

"Well, I've never seen it....."

"YOU'VE NEV—UHH."  She didn't bother to finish, just crossed her arms and shook her head and stared off for a while, like this is not my daughter, this is not how you were raised. My dad 's shoulders were shaking. We all ate in awkward silence for a minute, and then she said "Well, it's a wonderful movie, just a wonderful movie."  I promised to rent it.  I'm actually reading A World Lit Only By Fire, which has nothing to do with anything, but if mom can do it, why can't I?  Just throw it out there and sound all smarty-pants.

We ate the cake, they gave Finbar a big plastic silver saber which he LOVES and two giant candy bars. Molly immediately grabbed one and took off into the other room.  Start cleaning the kitchen, kids go upstairs to watch Lizzy McGuire, and they get into a WWF smackdown BRAWL. Crying, screaming, punching.... I run in to break it up, and while I'm yelling at them, Molly takes the opportunity to throw all the clean towels and every stuffed animal she can reach into the tub and turns it on.  For the love of all things, why?

Do you have any idea what a basket full of sopping stuffed animals and towels weighs? A lot. No one gets tv all weekend.  Nice way to end a party.

Mike's in L.A. at a race expo, we'll celebrate again when he gets home........Finny's having a friend party and his dad can be in charge of that.  He called me last night from The Viper room.  The Viper Room.  Can you stand it? He better not leave me for Kate Bosworth.  She's all, "I love a man in a golf shirt." Step back, bitch!

Last night I went to an 'intimacy-toy' party.  Absolutely insane. Nothing like perusing  a display of gigantic rubber let's just call them mildews in front of people you see at the bus stop every morning. There were three distinct camps there, also:  The hurumphy "well, I never’s, the "I'm pretending this neither shocks nor amuses me because I'm extremely mature and down with all facets of human sexuality", and the " I just want to get out of the house and laugh"-ers.  Guess which one I was?

The gal who did the presentation was really cute.  Very bubbly and fun and let's not take it all so seriously, had the good humor to laugh at the merchandise while trying to sell it, too.  She gave a little speech about each product, explained what it was for, then she'd pass them around so we could  hold them and say all professionally, "Why yes, the girth of this motorized butt plug is substantial enough for my anal needs.....however, I don't think three volts is strong enough. May I please see the Ass Auger ten-thousand?"

There was everything from lotions and potions and board games. There were manuals featuring men with really long hair and mutton chops and women in pigtails that covered everything from soup to, well, nuts. One of them had a whole chapter devoted to threesome etiquette......how to approach someone ("Excuse me, kind sir, would you care to  join my wife and I in a ménage-a-trois? It will only make you sort of gay.") to the actual execution.  Yelling  "I got backsies!!" is apparrently  frowned upon.  The crowd favorite was the mildew with  a suction base that could be attached to anything. So the next time you thought to yourself, "My God, I love this washing machine/frying pan/laptop computer," you could actually prove it.

When it came time to order, the salesgirl went into a back bedroom so no one had to say "I'll take a jumbo tube of Stay Hard for my limp dick husband and oh, as long as I've got my credit card out, umm............nipple clamps." Everything was packaged in plain brown paper.  How do you face the neighbors after that?

So now that I've scandalized and probably alienated you all, I'll change the subject.  Finbar has OCD.  Seriously. Every time I give him something to eat he asks, "Is this plate clean? Did you lick this fork?  Did anyone? This cup looks dirty. Your hand touched the sandwich and now I can't eat it."  He always has to put on his clothes in the exact same order, and if something goes wrong like he misses a button, he has to strip down and start over.  This morning, his mitten rim kept popping out of the sleeve of his coat. Instead of just stuffing it back in, he had to take everything off and start at the beginning. He did it four times and we were late for school.  The whole car ride he complained that his hat was crooked.  It's one of those ear flap hats and in his peripheral vision he could see one side a little bit more than the other.

Eighty-five

Brought Molly to the doctor yesterday when she got up from her nap and looked like she was auditioning for the sequel of Twenty Eight Days Later.  Both her eyes were glued shut.  She was yelling, "Mommy!! I can't see!!" I had to hold a wet washcloth on them for a few minutes, and when they finally opened they were both scary red.

Took her in, the little desk sign said our wait was an hour, so we went in to the bathroom.  Four little old ladies with walkers came in right behind us.  I'm pretty sure they were all together.   

Anyway, Molly starts yelling all happy, "HEY! LOTS OF GRAMMAS! HI GRAMMAS!!  MOMMY, LOOK AT ALL THE GRAMMAS! I LOVE MY GRAMMA! I DON'T LOVE YOU, I LOVE MY GRAMMA!!" Then, she went up to each individual one and loudly yelled that she didn't love them, she loved her gramma. Charming. Just what a person wants to hear when they're recovering from hip surgery, and from a little red-eyed monster no less. The good news is I don't think they could really hear her. They all just smiled and kept shuffling.

While we were waiting to get her prescription filled, we went down to the coffee shop. I asked the girl behind the counter if I could buy some beans.  She had no idea what to do. I finally said, "Look, I usually pay about eight bucks for a pound.  You guys buy in bulk, I'll give you five." She scooped out the beans and put them in a bag I'm pretty sure she brought her lunch in, (I didn't care, I needed it and I didn't want to make another trip) all the while looking over her shoulder to see if her boss was around.  I may have just started a black market coffee ring at Centennial Lakes Medical building.

"See how easy......now just think what all those prescription drugs upstairs could fetch,"  I whispered as I left.  Not really, of course I didn't do that.  That's not even funny.  Maybe everyone should just delete this.

You know how important coffee is to me and everyone concerned. I like to think of myself as a flower slowly unfolding with each sip.  Others may not see it that way. They might see a Charles Manson clone gulping down scalding hot liquid then wimpering about a burned tongue.  I guess they're perfect, is that it?

Down in Arizona, there's no coffee maker, just this little plastic camping device that makes one cup at a time. I don't know why I haven't bought a proper pot yet, it just seems like too much work. But when JP's down there with us, we have to take turns with the dang thing.  One person makes a cup while the other sits and stares and thinks bad thoughts. It takes all morning, too.  Billy and Mike are like, "That stuff'll kill ya!" as they both gun down six Mountain Dews apiece.

Back to today. I'm halfway through the first cup and nothing.  Keep staring at the paper, nothing.  Now, our paper is terrible, it's more like a pamphlet and normally takes fifteen minutes to read, tops.  But I cannot even focus on it. It dawns on me that that little and I'm quoting Roger Clyne here, (Feb 13 at the Fine Line, drinks and appetizers at our house first, everyone's invited,) double-crossing- narco-snitch has sold me DECAF.  I thought to myself, "Oh no, this is decaf. What shall I do?"

What came out was "Fuhhh. Fuhhhhh."  By the time we stopped at Caribou, my head was pounding so hard I wanted to rip open a bag of Sumatra and start snorting.

 I'm just beat. Mike’s been gone for eight days and everyone's been sick and Molly gets up ten times a night. I honestly don't know how working mom's can do it. If I had to get dressed and do my hair and all that, I'd be in the loony bin. That wasn't very pc, I meant the nut hatch.  And guess what? My eyes are starting to itch.

© Katie McCollow, 2004 • katie.mccollow@mac.com