Sometimes I make notes on my phone, stuff I want to remember and randomly insert into a blog post. I use my version of shorthand- which is really not shorthand at ALL, nor is it terribly short- which proves confusing, occasionally.
Today’s note- vmpre bathroom. (See? That second word wasn’t even any different!) I was pretty sure I meant “vampire” bathroom, which made me feel good to figure out. Then I felt badly again, realizing that I still had no idea what a vampire bathroom was.
I was thoroughly, utterly confused for perhaps way too long. Was this a True Blood reference? Blade? A bathroom in my house? (No longer scary, but perhaps this was an old jot?)
Then it hit me. The night that we saw Avatar at Webster, I ran into the bathroom pre-3 hour long viewing. Have any of you ever been in this ladies’ room? I thought that there were only about five or six stalls with opposing sinks and mirrors. When I went to check myself out in the full-length mirror on the far wall- I saw nothing. No reflection. My first thought- obviously- was that I was a vampire. Yep. (Apparently at any given time I am one step away from believing something supernatural is occurring. Please do not ever ‘punk’ me.) So what really happened?
I was looking into a doorway. That’s right. What I thought was framing for a mirror was actually a pass-through for another identical set of five or six stalls and opposing sinks. And what’s amazing…is that this is not the first time I’d been to this bathroom. Or had this thought.
I’ve probably jotted it down before and been unable to decipher. Aren’t you glad we figured it out?
And now onto- pesticides.
I have never cared much about food additives, chemicals in beauty products- although I’ve always been staunchly against animal testing, unless it’s voluntary, or unless the animal looks REALLY pretty afterwards- or harsh things in household cleaners. Heck [one of ] my middle names is ‘Splenda.’
However, my mother sent me this article yesterday. It will haunt me forever. Basically, it concerns a number of household products that are slowly killing you dead. Like the rubber duck.
I’ve always thought mothers and fathers who were strictly organic and chemical-free were a little a)crazy hippie, probably a holdover from my Hampshire days, or b)able to throw around their copious piles of cash on the trendy new “green” product. (I put “green” in parenthesis, for most of these families do not recycle. Just spend money on expensive “green” cleansers. See? I did it again.)
I swore I would never be one of those But What About The Children parents, nor one of those who only bought free-range piles of meat to go with my macrobiotic side dishes. I guess I always felt that stating the only types of food my child could eat would kinda go hand in hand with PickyEaterdom, which- as everyone knows- is a one way ticket to anorexia. (I had a LOT of ideas before I had a child.)
So what happened? I had a child.
Suddenly, every rash is a chemical burn, every projectile vomit is a direct response to the second cup of coffee I ingested that morning (that one’s probably true) and the Clorox which, months before, was okey-dokie for (in theory) scrubbing the bathroom, was now slowly poisoning my kid’s lungs, brains and toenails.
I’ll admit it. Having a baby has made me certifiably insane about Products and Food. And not because I want to keep up with the Joneses nor turn up my nose at People Who Hate The Planet.
It’s because I’m madly in love with Nora. I get it now. I don’t want things around her that will stunt her growth (she’s already pretty short) or halt her brain development or give her a moments pain for even a second of her long, wonderful life. I get it. As it turns out, we are responsible for everything that happens to her up to and including the age of eighteen. This is in the booklet you get at the hospital. You nod and smile. Because she’s just a person- a wonderful person, mind you, but no more deserving of a clean planet or Egyptian cotton than anyone else you know. Right?
Oh, hah ha. How we are now laughing.
Okay, too heavy for a Thursday morning.
The other day on Facebook I feel like I really keyed into a portion of the general populace’s brain. Specifically, I mentioned that Mayor McCheese made me laugh until I pee. This is true. Something about that random figure with a sash (why the sash?) and ginormous burger-head gets me going every time. Especially when I think of the Hamburglar chasing after him and trying to steal his big ol’ head of meat.
That paragraph took me way too long to type.
However, the comments, emails and texts that started rolling in made me realize- the majority of us have a shared response to McDonalds and their cast of lovable, wacky characters.
We all think they’re flipping insane.
Apparently, everyone wanted a party at the Playland, no one gets why most of the characters run around trying to steal your milkshake/fries/burger face, and no less than two of my friends have gotten stuck in the throat of a metal burger head.
Seriously. Typing is hard when you’re Ugly Cry-laughing.
This is not the first time I’ve posted about Mayor McCheese. (Nor will it be the last. I could write forever about this.) Also- nothin’ organic in THAT last segment, eh?
I think we’ll all be okay.
As long as we size up the metal burger head accordingly and wait our turns.
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