Daily Diatribes

Some women are called to be girl scout leaders. They are the women who can patiently lead a group of 7 year old girls through a craft involving pine cones and pipe cleaners. They radiate wholesome goodness, a sense of fresh air and high moral values. They are the sort of women and mothers all of us aspire to be. The girls in their charge become better people because of their contact with them.

Then there’s me. I took my girls on a fabulous camping trip, true. However, on Friday night, the tents were all up and we were bored, waiting for everyone else to show up, so we decided to cruise on into town. Helen Georgia is a Bavarian style village, nestled in the piney woods of North Georgia. It is possibly one of the cheesiest places in the continental United States, but the people are so friendly and the scenery is so beautiful you find yourself enchanted even though you know secretly, deep down, that the whole concept is unbearably schmaltzy. However, the girls were loving it and we strolled the sidewalks, peering into shops. They spied an old time photography shop and begged to be allowed to go in and have their picture made.

Being the softy I am, I agreed and in they trooped. I sat down, smiling, appreciating the wholesome goodness of the whole trip. Imagine my horror when, moments later they all emerged from their dressing rooms sporting fishnet hose and plunging scarlet dresses. They giggled merrily as the proprietor fitted them with hats, guns and tequila bottles. Then they perched on the bar and assumed murderous poses for the camera. “Mom, I love this, I feel just like a WHORE!!” my fourteen year old daughter squealed. Inwardly I groaned, imagining Juliette Lowe, the founder of Girl Scouts, rising up in her grave and shouting “This is NOT what I had in mind!!!!!” Especially when they all three pointed their guns at the camera and scowled fiercely, looking like Thelma, Louise and Bonny ready to go on a rampage. Good, wholesome fun.

Saturday we went tubing down the Chatahoochee river. Perhaps this sounds like fun to you. It even looks like it should be fun. You sit in a brightly colored inner tube and float lazily down the river. Until you hit a boulder and become so tightly wedged you have to flop out of your tube and slip around on the boulder until you manage to dislodge your tube, trying all the while not to slip down into the space between the boulder and snap your leg in half. This happens approximately every 17 feet, so a thirty minute float down the river turns into a two hour work out in hell. If you’re not stuck on a rock, then you are floating to one side of the bank or the other, into murky, smelly water that is likely filled with water moccasins waiting to inject their venom into your unsuspecting toes. Prehistoric mosquitoes buzz around you, withdrawing your blood and depositing encephalitis and lyme disease. Almost immediately I fell behind and watched my girl scouts float away, one by one. They have smaller butts and don’t get hung up on the rocks like I do. Brats. The water hovered just above the freezing mark; I felt like an extra in “Titanic” as my extremities slowly succumbed to frostbite. At the end of the trip, I slogged up the bank of the river, mumbling and cursing. Twenty minutes later, Kiki’s mother drifted into sight. As she floated by me, she yelled up “I had an experience; I nearly died!!! Bwahahahahahahahahaha………” I was immediately ashamed of myself. If Judy can face death and laugh, I thought, so can I.

We went back to camp and managed to cook our lunch before the rain started up again. The girls made s’mores and we relaxed and I thought “this is what girl scouting is all about.” I looked at my co leaders and said “let’s go out in the woods and kill an animal and roast it for lunch!!” They looked at me like I was crazy, so I subsided back into myself. As the rain started up again, we decided to go back into town. It was MA’s birthday and I had promised we would go out for dinner to celebrate. In town, we looked at the restaurants and I let her choose. Naturally, she chose one called “Margaritas”, a fine establishment which sported a frozen margarita/daiquiri bar and a dance floor. All the girls ordered daiquiris and all the moms got margaritas. Except me. I got water because I was still trying to attain perfect leader status. After the girls finished their nutritious hamburgers and french fries (where is the girl scout stew?? the camp goulash???) they wandered up to the dance floor and requested “Friends in Low Places.” As the band played raucously, they all piled onto the dance floor and gyrated wildly. As MA and her friend Grace danced by, one of the moms whispered urgently “do you think we’re making them into lesbians???” The highlight was when the drunk couple joined them on the dance floor and the woman taught them all to do the Texas Two Step. Line dancing and girl scouting were made for each other!!

Sunday we went white water rafting. The outfitter was about a ninety minute drive from the state park where we were staying. We drove straight up and over a mountain and then back down again. By the time we stopped in Booger Hollow, two of the girls were carsick. Yes, I said Booger Hollow. I spoke to a local (and I swear to GOD I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP…I’m not that creative!!!) and he said it got it’s name from a man who wandered up and stepped on a booger, which made a noise. When his companion asked what the noise was he said “oh, did you hear the booger holler?” Wow, just wow. So yeah, we went rafting and had an absolutely fantastic time. The weather was perfect right up to the moment we stepped off the river. Then the skies opened and it poured on us all the way back to camp.

And it was not an uneventful trip. About halfway back, we decided to stop and grab some food. One of the many girl scout leader attributes I lack is a sense of direction. As I turned out of the Burger King parking lot, I went the wrong way. I turned around and went in another wrong direction. I stopped for a moment, let the GPS get its bearings and then headed out again. It took us on a little side jaunt through town. I was eating a Whopper. I took a bite and a gooey splat of ketchup, mayo and mustard landed all over my hand. I tried to wipe it off on a napkin, but it didn’t work. Somehow I got it all over my face and, more importantly, up my nose. I know lycopene is good for you, but I don’t think there is any added benefit to snorting it. I was so consumed with getting all the goo off my face while driving, eating my Whopper and following the GPS that I wasn’t really paying attention to the road. Suddenly, the car was airborne.

It was one of those surreal moments where we were suspended in time and space and I was outside of myself, watching it all happen. What happened was we hit a speed obstacle…bump is really too tame a word….and everything in the car went flying up into the air. The girls screamed so loudly the group in the car behind us heard them. French fries and ketchup flew up into the air. Drinks tipped over. Girls were gibbering in fear. And me? I started laughing so hard I choked on a piece of Whopper. Then I was laughing and choking and crying and peeing. It sucks to be a forty year old woman with bladder control issues. I really thought I was going to have to pull over so Judy, who is a nurse, could administer the Heimlich on me. Fortunately, the whopper dislodged itself and headed on down to its final destination, but it was hairy for a few minutes. Of course the phone rang almost immediately and when I answered, we could hear the screams of laughter in the car behind us. They were able to avoid careening over the speed mountain and accurately predicted the flying food scenario. Bitches.

So yeah, that was our camping trip. It was lots of fun but I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience. I need to get the suspension in my car fixed, the dent in the top knocked out and check my daughter into a convent. I will say this: I may not be the most kosher girl scout leader but no trip that involves me is EVER dull!!

I just got back home an hour ago. I spent the weekend in the woods with the girl scouts, a lot of spiders and a marauding squirrel bear. We went tubing down a river and white water rafting. I have enough material for twenty blogs. However, I will start with one. It’s all about my ridiculous inability to sleep in strange places. I have had sleeping issues since I became an adult. I don’t sleep well unless conditions are perfect. I don’t like to sleep in the same bed with my husband or even the same room. I need it to be perfectly quiet, the pillow has to be just right, I have to have the right noise level and it has to be dark. No snoring in the room!! No moving the bed at all!! In short, I’m a freak. When I travel, I obsess for weeks about how I am going to sleep.

You can imagine how much I worried about this camping trip where we would be sleeping outdoors in less than favorable conditions. We planned to be gone for three nights and I did everything I could to prepare myself.  I went out and bought a battery operated fan. White noise helps me sleep. I packed my Xanax and my Tylenol PM. I figured one or the other would do the job. If I died of an overdose, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping anymore. I brought two pillows and an inflatable camp pad. I was as ready as I could be. It started raining that first night and it would not stop all weekend. It always rains when I go camping, that’s a given. I took a whole Xanax and climbed into my sleeping bag. I couldn’t get comfortable. I am a side-sleeper but either way I turned, my hips hurt. The pad between me and the pea gravel under the tent might as well have been made out of paper for all the padding it provided for my arthritic hips. It’s a terrible thing to cross the Forty mark!! Also, I couldn’t get the fan positioned properly in the tiny space I was allotted. First it was blowing in my face. Then I had it too far in the corner and I was afraid it would spark and set the tent on fire. Do battery operated fans even do that? Finally, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

And woke up coughing because it’s allergy season and I am plagued with post nasal drip. I had intended to bring water into the tent with me but of course I forgot it. I coughed as quietly as I could for a few minutes, then I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would have to leave the tent. I hauled myself up and crawled toward the front, trying not to bump into Lucy who was sleeping on a cot next to me. Naturally, I socked her in the head as I tried to open the tent, waking her up quite rudely. I apologized and gingerly reached for the zipper.

Have you ever unzipped a tent in the middle of the night? It sounds like a pride of lions roaring on the Serengeti. There’s no way to do it quietly. Red faced with embarrassment and woozy from the Xanax, I stumbled over to the picnic table and gulped some water. Kiki’s mother, Judy, heard the commotion and roared out “WHO’S OUT THERE????” I guess she was picturing someone from “Deliverance” lurking around, looking for victims. “Just me,” I said, hanging my head in shame. I took a few more sips of water and then went back to the tent. I tripped over the rope and hurtled in head first, narrowly avoiding landing on top of Lucy. I knocked over the fan as I plunged face first into the floor of the tent, waking everyone up with my crash. I crawled into a corner and laid awake, burning with shame at my inadequacies. That was the first night.

The second night, I decided to sleep in the car. The campsite was very small and we were unable to accommodate everyone in the tents. One of the other moms had slept in her car the night before. I offered stoically to take my turn. I figured it would be quieter and I might actually sleep better than I had in the tent. Just in case, I took two Tylenol PM. I lowered the back seat and found that if I positioned myself diagonally, I could stretch out full length. That’s one of the few perks of being short. Happily, I climbed in and settled myself in, reveling in the sensation of NO ROCKS under my body. I drifted off to sleep, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. (Did I mention it rained the ENTIRE weekend??) At 1:30 in the morning, I woke up coughing again. I had left my bottle of water in the front seat, so I crawled over into the middle section of the car to get it. After I calmed the cough, I decided it was a good time to visit the bathroom. As I reached for the door handle, I realized opening the door was a bad idea, but my sleep fogged brain couldn’t quite comprehend why. To my horror, as the door released, the horn started honking intermittently and the lights started flashing.

Because I had locked it from the inside, the car now thought it was being invaded. Being a loyal sort of car, it decided to warn me by courteously blaring its horn as loud as possible. Do you know how loudly a car horn echoes in a perfectly quiet campsite filled with sleeping families? I fell out of the car and realized I would have to get the keys to turn off the alarm. They were currently in the trunk area with my sleeping bag. No shoes, no glasses, I hobbled over the rocks to the back of the car, opened the door and groped around for the keys. I grabbed them and started pushing random buttons until the horn stopped. Weak with relief, heart pounding, I slumped against the car for a moment. I closed my eyes and envisioned an angry mob assembling with camp shovels and smore forks, ready to put me to death for waking them up. Too weak to even make it to the bathroom, I peed on the ground by the truck and climbed back in. And not a moment too soon, because headlights came around the corner and stopped. Apparently a park ranger came to investigate the source of the sound.  I huddled in the back and stayed perfectly still until he moved on. I didn’t sleep much the rest of the night.

The third night, I was convinced I would sleep like a log. We had gone white water rafting that day and I was exhausted from the long drive and the exhilarating trip down the river. By now, everyone who could do so was sleeping in a car. The endless rain had rendered the tents less than hospitable. Three of us headed to the parking lot that night. I didn’t even take anything for sleep, so convinced was I that sleep would not elude me. And indeed, I fell into a deep and peaceful sleep very quickly. At 1:30 a.m. an elephant jumped on the roof of my truck. At least that’s what it sounded like to me. I sat straight up so fast you would’ve thought someone had rammed a poker up my butt. I was instantaneously wide awake, ready for danger. Gradually I realized I had parked under a tree and a limb must have been dislodged by the heavy, persistent, annoying rain that was falling. It was almost certainly not an elephant or even a team of hillbilly commandos trying to force their way into my car to eat my brain.

‘Just a branch,” I reassured myself, looking wildly left and right. ‘Just a branch…not a bear trying to open the car to eat the tasty morsel inside. Not a serial killer. No, just a branch….’ Not much sleep after that little incident either.

I was out of the truck by 6:30 a.m. (5:30 central time) and heading to the showers. By 9:30, I had the campsite completely cleared and we were on our way home. I was so exhausted and all I could think about was my own dry bed. Tonight I will sleep the sleep of the righteous. No rain will pelt me, no horns will wake me and no limbs will fall upon me. I plan on sleeping for at least ten hours. Then I will regale you with tales of girl scouts gone wild!!!

I am having that problem again. Constipation of the mind! I need to take a mental laxative or some verbal Viagra so I can perform here!! I’ve started four blogs this week and abandoned them all in disgust because they’re stupid. I know part of it is because I have a camping trip looming on the horizon and I am anxious about it. I hate camping. I hate sleeping outdoors. I hate setting up tents and dragging endless amounts of equipment all over the country. I’d rather stay at a Holiday Inn Express. But I am dedicated to my volunteer profession of girl scout leader and by GOD we will camp!!! No matter how much I hate it. I am selfless and dedicated. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but selfless and dedicated!!

Yesterday I was saddened to see the new sex theme park they were building in China is not going to be built after all. Which really ticks me off since I have non refundable airline tickets. I guess we’ll have to go see the Great Wall or something lame like that instead of riding the Orgasmo coaster. Dammit. Here is just a bit of what we’re missing out on: “The park manager, Lu Xiaoqing, had planned to have on hand naked human sculptures, giant models of genitals, sex technique “workshops” and a photography exhibition about the history of sex, according to China Daily. The displays would have included lessons on safe sex and the proper use of condoms.” Who wouldn’t benefit from technique workshops? Another brilliant idea sacrificed to the prudery of modern society.

And speaking of condoms, here is an anecdote that reveals way too much about my personal life. Feel free to click away if you don’t want to know sordid details about my sex life….yeah, like anyone is going to disappear after THAT teaser!! We have always used condoms as our preferred method of birth control. Yes, I know I’m Catholic and “every sperm is sacred….yadda yadda yadda” but until the church offers to foot the bill for my rugrats, I’m using birth control. God can deal with me in the after-life! I can’t take the pill because I have an anxiety disorder and I am convinced taking the pill will cause killer blood clots in my legs that will break off and travel to my lungs. That happens at least three times a week on “House” and since he doesn’t have an office in Birmingham, I would rather avoid blood clots altogether. Besides, condoms are cheap. The only problem is neither one of us wants to be the one to buy them. It’s ridiculous that we have been married for 18 years and neither of us wants anyone in the world to know we’re “doing it”. Even though the presence of our three biological children generally clues people in to what we do in our spare time!

Well, we were at Sams which is the best place to buy condoms (buy in bulk so you don’t have to buy them as often!!!), and I casually strolled over to the pharmacy, grabbed the economy box and tucked it under the bottles of lotion in my cart. Then I went to check out. There were two youngish people in front of us with a bunch of party food in their cart. I smiled at them and said “are y’all having a party?” They looked at me suspiciously and said “yes we’re in charge of the graduation party at the Bible College.”I said “oooh, I love parties!”They smiled politely and turned away. Afterwards, Hugo informed me they were completely creeped out by the condoms. “I was hiding them,” I said. “No, you could see them clearly,” he told me. Great, with my “I love parties” line, those kids probably thought I was referring to orgies. As in “Let’s go to the Bible College and have an orgy!!” Nothing creepier than a middle aged woman with a jumbo box of condoms leering at you in the checkout line at Sams. Poor kids probably went back to school and held a prayer vigil for me!! Or jabbed pencils in their eyes.

When I got to the cashier, I laid all my stuff down, with the condoms on the bottom. Naturally she fished them out and then CLUTCHED them in her hand as she rang everything else up. I wanted to die. Literally, she was waving them around at one point. I know everyone in the whole store was fixated on the damn box. I was, anyway. I wanted to grab her microphone and scream “Yes I’m buying condoms but it’s because I cannot POSSIBLY reproduce right now because I am taking too many medications!! We are NOT having orgies with the neighbors or anyone at the Bible College!!!! It’s bad enough I have to do it with my husband; do I really LOOK like I want to be doing it with anyone else?????” 

Yeah, condoms. That’s all I’ve got for you today. But at least you know we practice safe sex here!! I’m going to go away now, back to planning day camp. I’ve bared my soul for you. Hope you appreciate it!! And remember, ALWAYS pay some kid $5 to go in and buy the condoms FOR YOU!!! 

I see my numbers are dwindling here, so I guess I better post. Things have not let up around here; in fact, I have been busier than ever. I had an interview on Thursday to be admitted to the graduate program at UAB. I haven’t heard anything yet. I think I really wowed them however, especially when I scratched my leg during the interview and came up with a handful of blood because I scratched off a scab. That’s me, always the consummate professional.

And let’s not talk about my chin. In spite of my murderous schedule, I cooked for my family twice in the past week. That’s two times more than I’ve cooked in the past month. One night I made Italian sausage and one night I made black beans and rice. I dearly love beans and rice. I could totally be a Mexican and not just because of my skin color or my passion for tequila. I love all aspects of Mexican cuisine!! Black beans and rice is Cuban, so that’s close enough for me. I’ve had a mix in my pantry for months and Wednesday night was the perfect night to make it. I even had a package of smoked sausage in the refrigerator. Easy dinner!!!

I started the beans and rice and then sliced up the sausage and threw it in a frying pan. The sausage looked a bit funny to me, but it’s sausage, right? Considering what it’s made of (lips and assholes, to quote John Candy) it’s no wonder it looks funny. Still, it seemed a bit off. Pretty soon, the kitchen filled with cooking smells, and there was a hint of something different. Not necessarily unpleasant, just different. And I was convinced it was the sausage. It was sizzling in the pan and I leaned closer and sniffed, but it smelled ok. I puttered around in the kitchen a bit more, my mind still on the sausage.

It’s smoked, I thought, so it can’t go bad. And it was vacuum sealed for freshness. Still, it had been in the refrigerator for awhile. And just what WAS that smell? Was it sausage gone bad? Or was it the seasoning in the beans and rice? I kept going back over and sniffing, but I couldn’t identify the source. Finally, a little light bulb pinged over my head. I needed to PICK UP the frying pan with the sausage and smell it. That way, I could get it really close to my nose and really get a sense of what the problem was.

The problem wasn’t with the sausage. It was with my brain. Why does my brain send me stupid signals like “pick up the frying pan and sniff it” when my brain knows full well just how incompetent I am?? The fact that I was having an argument with myself regarding the fitness of the sausage should be indication enough that I am not quite right in the head. Why does my brain egg me on??

I picked up the pan and brought it towards my face while simultaneously lowering my head for the BIG SNIFF. Naturally one of my multiple chins rammed into the side of the frying pan and the strange smell was immediately replaced with the smell of my searing flesh. I dropped the pan back onto the stove and howled. At least it hurt, so I knew it was only a minor burn. Small consolation for the woman who just burned her chin on a frying pan. What a dumbass.

At first, I didn’t think it was going to be too bad. It was right across the bottom of my chin, so I thought the natural fat roll there might mask it. Unfortunately, when it scabbed over the next day, it was (and still is) clearly visible across my chin. Causing everyone who meets me to ask “what happened to your chin?” I have concocted the following story to explain it: I was out shopping when I witnessed a commotion. A very large man threw an old lady to the ground, snatched her purse and ran away. Without a thought for my own safety, I sprinted after him. I closed the gap between us and flew at him, tackling him and bringing him to the ground. In the process, I slammed my chin into the pavement. However, I was able to hold him until the police came and the old lady was reunited with her purse, which contained her social security check and her General Motors stock certificates. I have been labeled a hero and will receive a commendation next month.

Doesn’t that sound MUCH better than burning my chin on a frying pan? So if you meet me on the street, please don’t ask about the chin. I’m trying to maintain a modest and humble demeanor about my heroics.

I’m taking a moment from coordinating the 8th grade celebration day to write SOMETHING so Nancy will get off my case. I am literally gasping for air, so overscheduled am I right now. I am running on Diet Coke, nerves and not much else. I’ve gotten to the point where I am not answering emails or phone messages because I can’t process any new information. There is a backlog of data in my brain to process. So if you try and contact me, I promise a representative will get back to you in 4 to 6 weeks.

Why am I so busy? It’s a combination of life events and my complete inability to say no to any volunteer opportunity. Life events have included: Napoleon’s Eagle Scout project, MA’s silver award project, MA’s confirmation, the goddess’s First Communion and my 40th birthday. The things I can’t say no to include: the 8th grade celebration, becoming Service Unit Manager for the Girl Scouts, planning back to back camping trips at the end of May and planning a day camp for 150 girls in June. Oh, and a picnic for the Brownies next week.

I could use an intervention. I envision a large, sterile room. Me in a chair with electrodes attached to my head. A man in a long white coat and black rimmed glasses consults a clipboard and asks me a series of questions in cool voice. “We need someone to plan the celebration for the second grade; can you help?”

“Yes,” I say eagerly, envisioning cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles and tiny cups of homemade lemonade. He frowns and flips a switch. Electricity courses through my body. My body jerks with the voltage and a line of spittle trickles down my face.
“Now,” he said, consulting his clipboard again. “How about chaperoning a field trip to the zoo?”

“Oh….O…kay,” I murmur, still dazed from the electricity.He frowns again and flips the switch. I jitter and jive like a crack whore in detox. As the electricity subsides, I slump back in the chair, panting heavily. He murmurs into a tape recorder about the difficulty he is having with this subject; she is not responding to the therapy. He adjusts the dials on his machine. He then asks “Will you come and re-alphabetize all the books in the library in reverse order?”
“Sure….” I murmur faintly. Again, the electricity courses through my body. The researcher throws up his hands in despair. My will to volunteer is too strong and cannot be zapped out of me. You see??!!! Even aversion therapy can’t help me!! I am a lost cause which is why I am spending the whole day at the middle school serving Chick Fil A and brownies to 350 8th graders. I know you are all jealous and wish you could be here with me making sure every one of the little darlings gets enough sugar and caffeine to get him or her through the day!

I have not been blogging. I have not been reading blogs. Every spare moment is consumed with planning things or implementing plans. There is nothing left for the blog. I can’t even summon the will to write a good blog about swine flu or about the complete hissy fit I threw at the goddess’s First Holy Communion. It was a good hissy fit, by the way. The choir director pissed me off and I let her know it in front of God and everyone. Not proud of that, but sometimes one just has to let it all out. And I did.

I hope you will all keep checking. I promise to try and do better, but there are only so many hours in the day. And I promised to host a soccer party here next Saturday, I am answering phones at the school on Monday and I’m sure I’ll get asked to do about thirty more things to which I can’t say no. Please love me and don’t leave me!!! I need someone to wipe up the drool after my therapy!!