The Runaway

The cat was  physically
unscathed during the incident.
(Shut up! I'm Scandinavian...
and Minnesotan)

I failed as a parent.

Technically I only failed as a stepmother but I didn't see it coming. Worse still, I didn't even report her missing. I didn't notice she was gone until I stepped outside and heard frantic noise in the bushes.

Gabby ran away from home.

The screen was missing a screw and she smushed her fat ass right out the window. I'm not sure if she was headed for Catillac Ranch or Pussypalooza, but she made it to the gas pipe six inches outside the living room window, where she stood yowling in terror.

No food bowl out here in the wild!


No toasty warm radiator on top of which to nap!


No soft laps to nestle into!

WHAT IN THE NAME OF < INSERT DEITY'S NAME HERE> WAS SHE THINKING!?

The moment she caught sight of me she hurtled herself off the pipe toward my face...and kinda missed.

Despite looking like I'd been mauled by a baby bear, I forgave her instantly and coddled her after her traumatic time in the wilderness. I could tell she was shaken and not her usual self. She'd been stranded out there for at least twenty minutes, my poor stupid stepkitty.

That was when I feared I'd hopped into the shallow end of the crazy cat lady pool, but I took a poll on Facebook. I'm totally cool, we only have one cat.

I'm a Sellout

Considering how often I win the Nigerian lottery, you'd think I could afford to print my own books...but you'd be wrong. I spent all my lottery winnings on hookers and blow. It was an epic three weeks, but then I was broke again...with nothing but a book and a dream.

Thank fuck for Kickstarter and all my amazing friends who have joined in on the fun - without you guys, I'd still be stranded in Nigeria with a bloody nose and a suspicious rash in my undies.

I am humbled by the support and so very grateful.

But funding closes on Saturday and in addition to being humble and grateful, I'm greedy and delusional - and there are still three days left to pledge your support of the project.

KICKSTART CONFESSIONS!

A lot can happen in three days - just ask Mama Bird. She went from upright to crippled, and that took only three seconds. And now from her deathbed, she asks only one thing: pledge a buck or two in support of her daughter's book.

OK, that was a lie. Nobody dies of a broken ankle.

But if she were on her deathbed, I'm sure it's what she'd ask.

Nurse Tricia

On Friday, Mama Bird was complacent. OK, if a nursing home makes sense...

Saturday morning my phone rang.

Mama Bird: Fuck this! I'm not going to a nursing home, I'm coming home...today!


Me: OK, and what does the doctor say about this?


MB: And I don't need physical therapy before I leave, either!

Click.

So here we are at home.

I slept on a mat next to her bed and cleaned out her commode without retching. I'm keeping her fed and watered and she's only bitched seventeen times about being bored. I'm impressed with her progress, actually. She's been choosing Advil over Dilaudid  (maybe I'm NOT her daughter) and she can reach to point at dirty spots to wash off the walls from her wheelchair. I'm sweeping and dusting and the only reason she wants it all done is because it drives her crazy that she can't do it.

To relieve her boredom, I suggested a walk around the block. I thought maybe the fresh air would knock her out rejuvenate her, so I tucked a blanket in around her polka-dot pajamas and off we went.

Wheelchairs aren't really that easy to steer.

We were taking a corner by Starbucks and I got too close to the curb. She's just paranoid because she can't handle curbs without multiple breaks and extensive surgery.


Mama Bird: Jesus! Watch out for the curb!


Me: Calm down! You're fine, I know what I'm - SHIT! (Swings wheelchair sideways, nailing Mama Bird's casted ankle on the table leg.) Sorry...


I'm totally qualified for this nursing job.

Please don't worry. She's in capable hands.

Pony up the Xanax

Gabby has filed a complaint of negligence. She feels I've spent way too much time at the hospital and not enough time being her cat bed.

I've been away from home so much that Mark is dating other women, but mostly for the food I think.

Meanwhile, I have wedding duties and a book to edit and family flying in from everywhere in a month. Last week the other half of my department decided not to come back to work after maternity leave. I have cream puffs to bake and shower favors to make, and I have to finish the flowers for the little girls.

Most of it's good stuff, but WOW - there was a lot on the docket before Humpty Dumpty fell off the curb.

She's a bit better than she was yesterday and (AGAIN) they're talking about springing her. Because we can't cover her care 24/7, they may send her to a nursing home for a quick vacation before releasing her to Nurse Me.

This?

Makes me feel like a steaming piece of shit.

Mama Bird did not ship me off to a home after my surgery. She sucked it up and fed and watered and bathed the beast.

Last night I baked sweet potato pecan muffins with whipped cream cheese frosting. Off I go to the hospital with my peace offering.

You go to a nursing home, OK?  But here - take some muffins.

Karma is a Bitch

I want so badly to believe in karma, but I'm just not sure I can.

My mom volunteers as a reading buddy at a school for ESL kids. She goes and sees her kid, a second grader named Diana, every week and they read books together. Yesterday was their year-end lunch, so they had cake and Diana presented my mom with a handwritten letter of thanks, decorated with rainbows and butterflies.

Diana's grasp of the English language isn't quite there yet, 

but it's the (sweet) little thoughts that count.

So, it was as my mom was walking out to her car after her volunteer lunch that she fell off a curb...and broke her ankle in three places.

It took nine pins to put her ankle back together but today she made it a few feet with a walker. Rather impressive since her left ankle - the one that is only sprained - has to hold all her weight now. It was painful just watching her try to move.

Which brings us back to karma.

It really doesn't seem fair that this happened - to her at any time, but right now specifically. This leads me to the sinking realization that she is only the helpless victim in my own karmic payback. I was a lunatic and a monster after my surgery, and she took care of me faithfully and thanklessly. 

And now she's broken and it's time for me to step up.

We've got the commode and the shower chair ready to go. My bag is packed so I can stay at least through the weekend and I won't even steal any of her pain pills because she'll really need them.

God be with us both.

Who Stepped on a Black Cat!?

It's been a rather unlucky day for my family and I'm gonna have to throw some garlic over my shoulder and go get some rabbit head keychains or something.

Yesterday my brother's face felt swollen and it hurt and he was diagnosed with a sinus infection. He went home, popped some antibiotics and woke up in the middle of the night looking like an assault victim. So off to the emergency room he went to make sure his head wouldn't explode.

They aren't sure what the hell is wrong with him but I'd say they'd better figure it out before the wedding because Reena ain't gonna marry him looking like that.

Then today I received notification that my mother fell off a curb.

You wouldn't think one would need to be notified of such a small thing - and yet, when she fell off the curb, she dislocated her right ankle as well as breaking it in three places while spraining her left ankle at the same time.

No.

I'm not kidding.

These are my bloodlines.

I should probably be spayed immediately.

So my mama is in surgery right now and won't be weight-bearing for twelve weeks which is super convenient since we're hosting a shower and a groom's dinner and then have Neil's wedding in a few short weeks. If, that is, his head doesn't blow from whatever mystery infection he's contracted.

Uh-oh.

Bad things come in threes, don't they?

If I go MIA, call the cops - I probably got in a car crash on my way back to the hospital. And if I do make it back there safely...well, Dad...hope YOU have airbags in your car.

Good evening and Godspeed.

And Here Comes the Crazy!

I may be overly emotional, but I think that just comes standard with a vagina.

Suddenly the realization has hit me that Kickstarter works. I'm getting ridiculously and quite possibly disproportionately excited. This shit is happening - I'm having books printed and then I'm going to the Book Expo of America to beg publishers to look at a copy.

And...and...and...

THERE'S GONNA BE A PARTY!

With champagne fountains, a Cirque performance and and beer pong. I'd really like Augusten Burroughs, Chelsea Handler, Ellen DeGeneres and Dane Cook to be there, but none of them are in my extended network on LinkedIn.

I probably ought to make a YouTube video - it got some celebrities to the military ball. I'm certain Chelsea would prefer drinking with me over a horde of single, buff soldiers. And also I'm pretty sure she could afford to pick up the bar tab, which would really help. Drunk people love things so it would be good if everyone at the party were really drunk so they'd buy my book.

Back here on planet Earth, the party is actually going to be held in a coffee shop and if five people who aren't blood relatives show up I'll be thrilled. The party is in June and I'll have the venue locked down soon - I figure if I give you a shit ton of notice you'll have fewer excuses not to make it.

Gotta run - I'm shopping for butt plugs. Luckily, I have an in - a thoughtful gay friend steered me to www.cheapbuttplugs.com - who knew there was a "no nonsense resource for cheap butt plugs"? Perhaps I should have offered them to all my backers.

Only TEN DAYS LEFT 

to claim your spot on

the WALL of SHAME!

Home Sweet Minneapolis

My last night in Austin was fantastic.

I skipped a Bruce Springsteen concert in a 2000-seat venue because my knee was swollen and went to bed - only to wake to audio terrorism. Some drunken asshat pulled the fire alarm and they evacuated the hotel.



I limped down seventeen flights of stairs in my pajamas and flip-flops. It hurt my knee.

I sleep in a tank top and no bra. It hurt everyone else's eyes.

We stood on the street until nearly 4:00 AM when they finally got the shrieking sirens silenced and we filed back in to our rooms.

I arrived home yesterday afternoon to a sexually frantic husband and a cat who'd forgotten me.

It's good to know where I stand.

But it's Saturday now. Hubs was already back to his video games last night and the cat has reasserted her claim over my lap.

All is back to normal in my world, other than this whole HOLY SHIT, I HAVE TO FINISH EDITING MY BOOK BECAUSE IT WILL BE PRINTED NEXT MONTH thing. I'm diving in, guys - I won't surface until Monday and only because of that whole JOB thing.

So have a green beer for me today, I've got a date with my laptop. Besides, I'm already feeling pretty lucky and I'm not in the mood to be kissed by drunken strangers just since I'm pasty and freckled.

Keep Austin Weird

Today I saw a two-headed chicken. And a guy deep-throating two swords at once.

Today I deep-throated a ghost pepper. And threw up.

Welcome to Austin.

It was the last day of the SXSW trade show and tomorrow I fly home to my babies. And also? I may be the lamest person IN Austin tonight.

It's 8:30 and I'm blogging in my hotel room whilst bands rock in every direction and people flood the streets. Bruce Springsteen is playing right now and I have a free non-transferable ticket but I am here icing a kneecap the size of a melon. I'm not sure which sounds older - staying in my last night in Texas with a sore knee or seeing Bruce Springsteen in the first place.

All I know is these bones are barkin', y'all.

Austin reminds me of a Nashville-New Orleans hybrid, which makes me think of the road trip with my brother two years ago and how much has changed since. I've gotten married, changed jobs three times, written a book and moved twice. He's getting married in a few weeks.

I wonder what will be different still in two more years? I'd love to be settled into a house with the hub and writing for a living. Two years ago I wouldn't have believed I'd ever have any of it - a husband, a house, a book.

Today I saw a two-headed chicken. And a guy deep-throating two swords at once.

Shit.

Anything can happen.

To Do

I'm a list-maker.

If I have ten things to do and I write none of them down, I might accomplish one of them. If I make a list, I take such joy in checking items off that I can often complete more than just one thing.

So in the name of feeling just a teensy bit overwhelmed with life right now, I'm making a To Do list to get me through the new few weeks.

1. Figure out how to walk from my hotel to the Convention Center without getting sunburned again. (It's three blocks.)
2. Figure out how to convince you that Item #1 is not a joke.
3. Fly home Friday because the cat really misses me.
4. Catch up on 72 loads of laundry.
5. Shit pants when the realization sinks in that my book will soon be published.
6. Do more laundry. See Item #5.
7. Throw bridal shower for future sister-in-law.
8. Throw bachelorette party for future sister-in-law.
9. Be sober cab at bachelorette party.
10. Try harder at Item #9.
11. Make all the things I said I'd make for said wedding.
12. Get skinny in time for said wedding.
13. Stop laughing about Item #12.
14. Finish editing book.
15. Shit pants again.
16. Do more laundry.
17. Buy wholesale gigantic butt plugs - for my readers, of course. I shit my pants enough as it is, thank you.
18. Sleep with cat. (Not in sadistic bestiality way - in exhausted, cuddly way.)
19. Find Valium in anticipation of book printing process.
20. Find more Valium because once I get it, it'll never last until the book is printed anyhow.
21. Figure out how to properly express gratitude for your support of my book.
22. Convince you to keep spreading the word like herpes:

 KICKSTART CONFESSIONS!

Bedazzling

I'm going shopping today with my Indian sister.

Yup.

You might not have known from my nut brown complexion but I'm part Indian. The part that really likes malai kofta and the part whose brother is marrying an Indian girl.

Technically, then, she's a sister from another mister, and you probably would not confuse us with one another.

She may be smaller and prettier but I'm craftier (GO ME!) so we're going shopping for the shit I'll need to make the accoutrements for their wedding.

Have you ever been to an Indian wedding?

I haven't, but I'm quickly learning. Mother of Holy Cows, everything is bedazzled. The color palette is ALL OF THEM and we'll be painted with henna tattoos.

So you can imagine my delight about making bouquets for the flower girls. And pillows. And favors. And little jeweled boxes. And...and...and...

Wow.

You know how zombies bite you and you turn into a monster?

It seems I've been bitten by a nerd.

Talk Therapy

I'm concerned about the cat's mental health.

She's sleeping 22 hours a day and she cries every night for dinner. Every single godforsaken night she howls as though she's gone hungry before. In People World these symptoms would certainly require medication, but I wanted to try talk therapy first.

ME: I'm worried, Gabby. You seem to be sleeping excessively.

GABBY: You couldn't possibly understand the depth of my despair.

ME: Are you kidding me? You lay on a warm radiator all day napping.

GABBY: It's made of corrugated metal and it's horribly uncomfortable.

ME: I put a folded towel on it for you while we wait for your handmade quilted cat bed to arrive.

GABBY: And by then I'll have another bulging disk!

ME: Er, disk? I think that's your gunt. From the pork we feed you by hand while you hold that radiator down.

GABBY: Don't speak, I'm angry. I heard you're leaving me.

ME: I'm going to Texas...for a week. I'm coming back.

GABBY: Pfft. And upon whose butt shall I slumber in your absence? It's not a life worth living.

ME: Yeah, Daddy doesn't have much of an ass, does he?

GABBY: I'll be dead before you return.

ME: You better not eat my sleeping pills, you little bitch. That's all I'm saying.

ME: And also, I'll miss you terribly. But don't tell anyone, it ruins my street cred.

GABBY: You have no street cred, this is St. Paul, Minnesota.

ME: Pass me those pills.

Ballers

This is me. With my husband.

Last night we got did up.

Mark blew the dust from his suit, I unearthed a cocktail dress from the bowels of our miniature closet, and off we went to the Taste of the Timberwolves - because we're money like that. Actually, I went to write about it for work. I'm supremely qualified to write about events like these since I know who none of the players are.

I had a regulation-sized Spalding, a Sharpie and a plan of attack that went something like this:

HAND THE BALL TO TALL GUYS...

 AND HOPE I'M NOT ASKING A BUSBOY

WITH A THYROID DISORDER 

FOR HIS AUTOGRAPH

My plan was going swimmingly until coworkers starting asking specifics.  "Did you get Kevin Love's autograph? How about Rubio? Pekovic? The coach?"

Um...who?

This is me. With a guy who plays ball.

I approached one guy and handed him my ball. He was tall and looked bored, so I figured he was a player.

"Could you autograph this, please?" I asked sweetly.

He gave me a funny look.

Him: "I autographed your ball 20 minutes ago."

Me: "Oh, whoops. I don't know who you are." And -  with that sweet nothing, I scurried away and left him bewildered.

It was around that point that my ball was snatched by other, more edumacated members of our party.

There was a silent auction and if I had thirty large to drop, I could've purchased a road trip with the team. But I'm broke so hopping the team plane would just make me road beef - and probably fast food, at that.

Besides, I won a case of vodka. Who needs European ballers when you can have Russian spirits?

I am definitely a winner.

Monday Marvels

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, March 5th

10. I'm thankful that the snowmageddon predicted last week by the weathermen turned out to be overhyped, as measurements tend to be...by any men. We didn't get ten inches. We got FOUR.

9. I'm grateful for neighbors who force feed us pulled pork sandwiches and clam chowder, and for mothers who make wild rice soup. Mmm....feeders.

8. I'm pleased with how my roast turned out so I shared it with friends and family. FUCK! I'm a feeder. And also, I'm turning into my mother.

7. I'm relieved to know that there are feeders out there. Because if there are feeders, there are people who watch feeder porn. So if I don't raise the money to print my book, I can start cooking mass quantities whilst wearing a shmexy girdle and sell video footage to lonely pervs.

6. I'm super grateful to the people helping get this book project off the ground. My coworker made the video embedded into my Kickstarter page - watch it if you haven't yet. It's only 93 seconds you'll never get back.

5. I'm thankful that I didn't elbow any Indians in the face this weekend and I only spilled on two of em. At Reena's bridal shower it was all tiny bedazzled Indian women. I was like a hefty white giraffe in a china shop.

4. I'm grateful that one of my bosses printed some cool new hoodies because free clothes rock and I needed a wardrobe update. Perhaps I'll suggest he run some logo bras and undies next.

3. I can't wait to nail down the cover art for my book. Hubs knows his way around a pen and ink and he's sketched up a few ideas that are cracking. Me. UP.

2. I'm proud to present proof that I haven't yet succumbed to crazy cat lady syndrome - I wrote this entire gratitude list without mentioning my wittle bitty baby.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, March 5th?

1. Duh. I'm just a titch excited and thankful that - on day six - you guys have pledged $1985 in support of  my publication. Please, please, please keep spreading the word - just pretend until March 31st that I'm a rash you can't get rid of.

Angels

YOU GUYS ARE ANGELS!

I launched a pitch project on Kickstarter

to raise money to print the first edition of

CONFESSIONS of a RECOVERING CYNIC
Tales of Life, Love and the Seven Deadly Sins

The project launched less than 48 hours ago

and my amazing network has raised nearly

two thousand dollars

I am humbled and very grateful

VISIT THE PAGE - SEND TO FRIENDS - SPREAD THE WORD

THANK YOU!