Daily Diatribes

My friend Sylvia, who lives in Germany, contacted me a few weeks ago and asked me if Napoleon would be interested in corresponding with a German pen-pal. The daughter of a friend of hers was looking for an American pen-pal because she wanted to practice her English. Since Napoleon is taking German and has a passion for all things German (including German girls!), I gave her his email address. And promptly forgot about it. However, few days ago, Sylvia contacted me again and said her friend had not heard back from Napoleon. I asked him about it and he told me he had not received her email. I decided I had probably screwed up the email address because he recently created a new one, disdaining the one I had started for him when he was ten, the one that was so locked down all he could look at online was Disney Channel. Ahhh….those were the days of wine and roses….the days when I still had COMPLETE control…

But I digress. I emailed Sylvia again and told her to just have the girl send her letter to me and I would make sure Napoleon got it. And so, on Saturday, I got this:

From: mechtatvoiya
Sent: Sat, Jun 26, 2010 6:50 pm
Subject: Hi my new friend!

Hi my new friend! (a nice start from a nice German girl!)
My name is Tatyana I hope my letter will find you in good mood. (Tatyana? I would’ve though Helga or Ursula, but what do I know about German girls?)
I for the first time try such a way of dialogue, and I really don’t know what to tell
right now even though I understand that this first message have greater importance. (awww…first time she’s sent an email to a foreign boy!!)
But I have decided to write to you and maybe you will answer. (well, yeah….that’s the point, right??)
I sincerely hope that you are looking for the same as I. (Whoa….he’s looking for a pen-pal…what are YOU looking for???)
Once upon a time, the loneliness has come into my home and since then does not want to let me off. (ominous turn here….LONELINESS???)
The loneliness establishes own laws of life and life filles with sadness and disappointment. (WHAT???? HUH????)
I freeze from loneliness. (Well put on a jacket, Fraulein!!! My kid is NOT going to warm you up!!!!)
Every evening I look at a sundown and I try to absorb all warmth of day, up to last drop. (What?? Like Folgers???)
I am looking for a partner in life to share simple pleasures and together take off from the soul the weariness and sadness given birth by loneliness. (Partner??? Partner???? I thought this was a pen-pal relationship, not a MARRIAGE!!!)
I am looking for a man to become friends first of all and to go together along the road of life, (HE’S SEVENTEEN!!! NOT A MAN!!!!!)
to have common joy, together enjoy autumn magnificence, together build the future. (FUTURE MY ASS!! WTF IS THIS????)
I do not know if it is really possible to find it in such a way. (Trust me, IT’S NOT POSSIBLE WITH MY SON YOU GERMAN HUSSY!!!!)
But I know that many people not been able to find happiness in the usual life, have found happiness in this way. (Getting more and more freaked out here!!)
I am happy where I now, and my life is a good life, but happiness has no sense if you cannot share it with person dear to you. (NO!!!)
I could not find here a man who will make me blossom like flower. (My son is not going to make any German hussy BLOSSOM LIKE A FLOWER!!! NO NO NO!!!!)
That is why I took this courageous for me step. (Step back bitch….leave my son alone!!!)
As speak, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. (Again…step away from my son and no one gets hurt!!!)
To tell about itself briefly is impossibly, therefore I will not try to do it now. (That’s right…don’t try it NOW or EVER!!!!)
I will wait for your letter and if you are really serious in your search, maybe we will find interest in each other. (Nope, no interest!!! You’re gonna be waiting a LONG TIME!!!)
Neither of us knows to where this path will lead but I am willing to walk it and see where it takes us. (Let me assure you fraulein that it will take you NOWHERE!!!!)

Luckily, I read it before I forwarded it to him. Because….well….ummmm….the first few sentences were fine. Kind of sweet even. “I hope this find you in good mood”….such a sweet thought! But then she got to the “loneliness”. I thought she wanted to practice her English. “Loneliness” sounds like she wants to practice her French…kissing that is!! And she says she is looking for “a partner in life” and I thought all she wanted was a freaking pen-pal!! And “blossom like a flower”??? I’m telling you right now that my kid is not going to make ANYONE blossom like a flower, especially some German hussy pen-pal who is not a pen-pal at all, but apparently a sex-starved maniac looking for a date!!!

I read it through a couple of times. I read it out loud to my friends who were over to watch the USA lose their World Cup bid. We all agreed that she sounded like a girl in search of a green card, not a pen-pal!! Filled with righteous indignation, I contacted Sylvia and told her about it, upset that she was apparently pimping out my virtuous American boy to German hussies! She asked me to forward her the letter, which I did. Here is her reply:

I am rolling on the floor laughing.

Sorry, Jenny, but this is NOT from my friend Patricia over here.

lenta.ru = ru stands for RUSSIA.

I have NO IDEA who that might be and NO, I didn´t give her Napoleon’s email address!!!!

But if you would like to have a russian daughter in law who is sad and lonely, go for it ;-))

I can give you the address of the girls parents who wanted to contact Napoleon so you might want to get in contact first.

Well alrighty then!! Apparently Sylvia is NOT a Trans-Atlantic Madame, brokering out German girls to unsuspecting American boys. *blushses sheepishly* SORRY SYLVIA!!! Apparently….and how freaky is this??….it was just a COINCIDENCE that the letter came as Sylvia and I were trying to establish the pen-pal relationship between Napoleon and the nice, non-LONELY, German girl. I was beyond relieved. I love Sylvia and hated to think she had been reduced to pimping out kids!!

And so ends the love affair between Tatyana and Napoleon. She will have to try and hook another unsuspecting teenage boy!! Then again, maybe Tatyana was soliciting my husband. In which case, she BETTER LOOK OUT!!! Because I might just let her have him!!!

It’s been a long time since I had a good fall. I think it’s because I’ve gotten so old an fat that I move more slowly and therefore, more cautiously. I step very deliberately, with great care, hoping to avoid plunging gracelessly to the ground. In my misspent youth, I was constantly falling. I have bad knees, bad ankles, bad balance and bad bladder control. It’s a recipe for disaster as this old post proves. But I seem to have grown out of it….or so I thought.

Yesterday I was folding laundry. This is an alien task for me. Usually I just let it pile up on the dining room table and invite my family members to rummage through it, foraging for clean underwear on their own. I am a very busy and important woman. I don’t have time to fold underwear. It cuts into my World Cup viewing. And my Facebook stalking. And, God forbid, my Pogo playing. I have rediscovered the joys of Pogo and it turns out I’ve missed a whole year of badges. So I have a lot to catch up on and I don’t need to waste time folding laundry. Oh, and sometimes I do schoolwork. When I absolutely can’t put it off any longer.

But sometimes, when the mountain threatens to push through the ceiling, I guilt myself into folding some of it. I can piously tell myself that my family comes first, even though we all know that Pogo comes first. June Cleaver NEVER let the laundry pile up. Of course, she also had a hired woman come in three times a week to help with the housework, thereby freeing up June to starch her aprons and buff her pearls. I don’t have such a luxury; thus my aprons go unstarched. Carol Brady had Alice. Mrs. Jefferson had Florence. If my life really was a sitcom, I would have a maid; instead, I AM the maid!! I guess that proves my life is more of a docudrama, even though it has a laugh track.

I reduced the mound of clothing quite a bit yesterday. When I get into the groove, I am actually fairly productive. I folded all my clothes and even spirited them away to my bedroom. I divided the children’s clothing into three separate piles. As I moved around to add some clothing to the goddess’s pile, disaster struck. I believe this happened in slow motion. It felt slow motion:

I pick up a stack of clothing
I begin moving around the table
I step on a large bouncy ball
As I step, my right ankle twists and excruciating pain shoots up my leg
The clothing flies up into the air
I begin to fall, arms flailing, mouth open, the word “FFFFFFFF****************KKKKKKKK emerging in a balloon above my head
One arm hits the table and several pictures fall over
I come down squarely on my left knee and now pain is shooting up both legs
I come to rest on the floor, both legs sending signals to the pain center

I lay there for several moments, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Ball….Ankle….Fall….Knee…..OUCH DAMMIT!!!! There was pain. So much pain. Ankle was swelling, throbbing. Knee was on fire. Butt hurt. Arm hurt from striking table. PRIDE HURT!!! Minimal urinary incontinence, THANK GOD!! I was prone for several seconds, cursing like a sailor. Finally, gingerly, I tried to get up. The pain was intense, but I managed to get to my feet. And promptly picked up the ball and threw it away from me as forcefully as I could.

It would make an even better post if the ball had hit the wall, bounced back and hit me in the head. Or if I had stepped on it again, twisting the other ankle and crippling myself for life. Alas, these things seldom happen in real life. Suffice it to say, I was wise enough to pick it up and stick it in a laundry basket, neutralizing its damaging powers. I spent the rest of the day hobbling around, cursing life in general and bouncy balls specifically. And the moral of the story? It’s far safer for me to sit on my butt and play Pogo!! Laundry is a dangerous occupation and I don’t get combat pay!!

So friend Nancy called me today and read me a blog post about soccer from a site called “The American Thinker.” I am going to see if can link it but you know how challenged I am by technology: Socialism

The author, one C. Edmund Wright, derides the assertion that soccer is the world’s favorite sport, challenging that is played primarily in countries where “starvation, archery, and badminton were the alternative activities.” Ouch. One wonders what those fans in first world countries, where soccer reigns supreme, do for their “alternative activities”? Darts? I can suggest an admirable target in Mr. Wright. Can an American be any uglier??

Oh, his post was entertaining enough, clever and well-written, but it was so incredibly snide and snarky that it was impossible to actually enjoy it. His post is the sort of thing that makes it easy to see why the rest of the world considers Americans such clods. Because soccer is a sleek, measured, sport played by athletes in top condition, a sport that requires all of its players on the field to participate actively, it’s apparently too boring for Mr. Wright to endure. After all, when you compare it to American football or basketball, it does seem like a silly sport.

I love to watch American football, but let’s consider the physical attributes of the players. Soccer is played on the largest field of any sport, a 110 yard field is the minimum length in international matches. The players never stop moving. They are constantly in motion, up and down the field, cutting, twisting and turning like fiends. American Football is played on a 100 yard field and the offense and defense take turns playing in short bursts. And let’s face it, American football is a celebration of our obesity epidemic, with 300 pound players being the norm, not the exception. They seem to topple over of heart attacks at an alarming rate…when they’re not being arrested for rape or dog fighting. I love American football, but in terms of sheer physical fitness and athletic prowess, soccer wins every time.

And I love that Mr. Wright claims soccer is only popular in dirt poor countries. In the US, it’s a somewhat elite sport, because there aren’t any city leagues. If a child wants to play soccer, he or she has to play with a club. Trust me, I pay big bucks for my kid to play. And if we’re going to make assertions that soccer is popular with the poor, how about basketball? How many players on US basketball teams come from privileged backgrounds? Oh, right, basketball FLOURISHES in graffiti-ridden neighborhoods, where lay-ups and gunfire go hand in hand. Soccer and basketball….two simple ball sports that don’t require a lot of fancy equipment or even a lot of specialized training. Two sports which one can find in any area where kids don’t have a whole lot of anything other than time and a desire to work out their frustrations on a court or a pitch. If you’re good, you’re good, and training will only make you better. Either you can do things to a ball with your feet that would make Pele cry, or you can’t. You can sink a lay-up or you can’t.

Mr. Wright assures us he is not a “redneck soccer newbie” because he played soccer in his prep school, which was one of the first places to embrace soccer. Wow, now he sounds like a real snot. So glad he clarified for us that he went to prep school and knows what he’s talking about. My kids only go to regular old high school, so I guess that’s why they play the hooligan, socialist sport of soccer. Yes, Mr. Wright claims soccer is a socialist sport and he’s absolutely right. It’s one of the reasons I love it so much and encouraged all three of my children to play. It’s one of the few sports where every single player can make a difference. It teaches kids about teamwork and patience, because yes, soccer IS a low-scoring game, although the North Koreans might beg to differ. It’s a heartbreaking, frustrating, nerve-wracking, nail-biting 90-plus minutes of agony, waiting to see if the ball is EVER going to make it into the net. And frankly, versus football which entails a whole lot of sitting around, or basketball, which only plays five at a time, the workout my kids get playing soccer is a whole lot better.

Mr. Wright is also scornful of the National Team ideal, saying that “they are the main sports focus of a nation” and that “it can’t get much more socialist than that.” Really? Nationalism is a bad thing since when?? Frankly, I find the idea of any sort of national team refreshing. It’s nice to see the nation come together and pull for a single team, even if it is a team playing a socialist game. Usually it takes a terrorist bombing to stir up our patriotic pride. I think cheering on Bradley’s Boys is far preferable to a 9/11 style bombing. But that’s just me I guess.

I know soccer is not everyone’s cup of tea. Neither is football, baseball, hockey, wrestling, etc. Each sport has its devoted fans, those who even as they die, will be proclaiming their team’s superiority. But what I do know is that Mr. Wright sounds like a snarky, self-important, whiny little frat boy who is missing college football right now, so he is taking it out on soccer. My suggestion to Mr. Wright would be “Change the channel and shut the hell up. I can’t hear the vuvuzelas over your big mouth!!”

Our sweet friends sent us a box of products from Omaha steaks. It’s the nicest thing anyone has done for us in a long time; we are usually the senders, not the recipients!! The steaks came in a nifty little cooler packed with dry ice. I removed the steaks and put them in the freezer. Then I picked up the bag of dry ice and squinted at the instructions, which read “DO NOT PICK UP DRY ICE”! Oops. I tossed it back in the cooler and set it on the back porch.

Also enclosed in the box was an envelope full of coupons. The outside of the envelope advised “It’s COOLER to recycle” and informed me that the styrofoam cooler could be reused. WHAT?? ReUSED??? You mean….gasp….when the dry ice melts I can….put things IN the cooler??? I mean, I had no idea that styrofoam coolers could be reused!! It’s like an environmental breakthrough!! Someone call Al Gore…no, wait, he’s on the line with his divorce lawyer!! But I can practically hear that hole in the ozone layer closing up!!

And there are TESTIMONIALS on the envelope from satisfied customers who have reused the cooler in new and exciting ways! This is extremely helpful because I’m not very creative and I would never be able to think of fun new ways to use a cooler. In the past, I thought they were just for beverages, but apparently I was very wrong. Styrofoam coolers: they’re not just for beer anymore! Awestruck, I read the comments.

“Perfect tackle box: It’s a great box for fishing trips; I stick my hooks in the lid!” Wow! You mean I could take the cooler and fill it with my FISHING GEAR??? And maybe even stick the dead fish in it after I’ve caught them?? Why am I only just now hearing about this STYROFOAM COOLER??? Another satisfied customer says “Great sewing kit: I use mine as a sewing box!” And she can stick her pins and needles in the lid! Brilliant. Simply brilliant! It’s as if a new world has opened up before me, a panorama of empty styrofoam coolers begging to be filled with my stuff!!

“No moths here,” a customer reports gleefully. “I store off season clothing in mine!” Oh my, what a cunning idea, one that appeals to my sense of irony: keep your SWEATERS in the COOLER! I GET IT!!! One extremely creative customer shares A REALLY GREEN IDEA: “We turned ours into a planter!” What a FANTASTIC idea!! I would totally turn mine into a planter except I think we have restrictive covenants in our neighborhood regarding the usage of styrofoam coolers as planters, even if you do decorate them with Barbie stickers and magic markers. Well, and I kill plants, but that’s another story. Another customer calls her cooler “A gentle toybox: it’s an ideal toy box for my grandson [because] the lightweight lid won’t pinch his little fingers!” Oh. My. God. That is soooooo precious!!! Let’s hope little Jimmy doesn’t discover he can wedge the cat into the box and hold down the lightweight lid, thereby suffocating Fluffy to death. I think that’s how Charles Manson got started.

Actually, now that I look at the envelope, one customer uses the cooler as storage for feral cats. “Keeps the Kitties warm,” he says, and then goes on to share the following charming anecdote: “My wife and I care for the neighborhood feral community of cats and have been using your shipping cartons as shelters in the rain and in the wintertime. The cats and we thank you!” Ok, so lemmee get this straight. They catch the wild cats and shove them into the coolers when it’s raining and the cats are good with this?? I’ve never met a cat that would willingly submit to being placed into a styrofoam cooler. Let’s call this what it really is: kitty genocide. Omaha Steaks is actually subsidizing the murder of millions of innocent cats with it’s free, reusable styrofoam coolers. Monsters!!!! That might just make that last bite of steak just a little bit harder to swallow!!

So, Chad and Amy, we thank you for the steaks. It was a thoughtful gesture and greatly appreciated. But the styrofoam cooler!!! That was just way too much! You shouldn’t have! We’ll have that cooler for years to come and think of you fondly every time we murder a stray cat!!

I have gotten out of the habit of writing and it hurts. Sometimes I feel the desire to write pulsing beneath my skin, my observations on humanity crying out for release, begging to be shared with the world at large. Mexi-Mullets!! Bad Drivers!! Mary Kay salesmen!! They are all there in my head, dying to be poured into a blog. Why DIDN’T I write about the woman at church who approached the altar dressed in an outfit that would have made Julie from “The Love Boat” jealous?? Or what about me breaking the IPhone and the blender within twenty four hours?? I should have made the time. Well, dear readers, it’s not just a question of time management. I have allowed my obsession with Bejeweled Blitz to distract me from my writing. Well, that and my full-time class load and the mountains of laundry my family produces on a daily basis. Sometimes, it’s all too much!!

So, in an effort to re-connect, with myself and with my readers, I am going to share the trials I have endured this week. You’ll laugh! You’ll cry!! You’ll THANK GOD that you are not nearly as stupid as I am! And maybe…just maybe….you’ll come away with a new appreciation for those people who have a sense of direction and can manage NOT to get lost in a square block.

Tuesday was the first day of summer semester. Mind you, I took a class during the mini semester, so I never had a break. The mini class was “Introduction to Theatre” (and make sure you spell that THEATRE!!!) and although it wasn’t a difficult class, it met every single day for two and a half hours. By the end of the three weeks, I was barely capable of coherent thought; it nearly broke my spirit. I had a whopping FOUR DAYS OFF and then started classes again yesterday, albeit in slightly better spirits because I am taking graduate classes again. The theatre thing was very humbling because I was by far the oldest student in the room. The professor kept inviting us to “PLAY”, because that’s what theatre is about, but it’s kind of hard to “PLAY” with people who could have watched “Blue’s Clues” with my own children. I felt a lot ridiculous. Although I did write one hell of a ten minute play about one student’s quest for the last gallon of milk. I heard Steven Spielberg is trying to option the production rights…

So while I enjoyed the class, it was a relief to get back into upper level classes with people who were closer to my age, 24 and 25 year olds. You see, I have developed a coping mechanism to ease my fears about going back to school. I am 41 years old, but I FEEL ten years younger, which makes me 31; therefore I am really only seven years older than most of my new college friends. That’s the great thing about being an English major: you can spin anything!! Actually, in the Master’s program, I am in the middle as far as age goes. There are twenty somethings and there are fifty somethings. As a forty something, I am neither the oldest nor the youngest, which suits me just fine.

Ok, back to the first day of class. Before going to class, I had to take Napoleon to the doctor for a recheck. He tore his ACL a few months ago (did I tell y’all that???) and he is still under the orthopedist’s care. This is a major pain in the rear for me because the doctor practices out of a hospital downtown and Napoleon does not like to drive downtown alone. I guess it’s because he’s my oldest, so he’s very cautious, or maybe it’s just his father’s genetic material, but the boy will NOT drive downtown alone. Stalin shares that aversion for the metro area, having taken a solemn oath to never cross the Shelby county line; after all, everything we need is in Shelby County! Why go anywhere else? Unfortunately, the hospitals disagree and they are all located downtown, in Jefferson county. Since Stalin has the paying job, it fell to me to take the boy to the hospital.

I got up early, made myself super-cute for my first day of class, and then Napoleon and I struck out for points North. Actually, that part was pretty uneventful. I did get the orthopedist to lecture the idiot child, telling him why playing soccer when you’re two months post-op from ACL surgery was a bad idea. On our way home, I called and made him a doctor’s appointment for that afternoon, because he needed a physical, and I reminded him he had ACT tutoring at 4:00; these were places he could drive himself to. I dropped him off in the driveway at home, then turned around and headed downtown for school, mentally congratulating myself for my efficiency. I arrived to class in plenty of time, and greeted old friends. The class was fine, but the professor kept us for the full two hours, and just as class ended, the skies opened up and it began to pour.

I’m not just talking about a summer drizzle. No, this was akin to the monsoons that sweep across China, or wherever it is monsoons sweep through. Rain was coming down in sheets and blankets and down-filled comforters, and naturally, I had no umbrella. Looked super-cute though!! With dread, I approached the door leading outside, stood for a moment staring at the downpour, then placing my backpack over my head, I rushed out into the deluge. Stoically, I trudged toward my car; no point in running while wearing flip-flops because that’s a recipe for a broken leg and traction. One of the many great things about UAB is that it floods immediately. In places, the water was already ankle deep. By the time I got to the car, I was drenched. Well, my head was dry, thanks to the backpack, but the super-cute outfit was soggy and dripping.

I sat in the car for a moment to compose myself, then roared away. The rain was still coming down very hard and driving was white-knuckle, since visibility was almost non-existent. It was while I was attempting to navigagte in these treacherous conditions that my phone rang. I saw that it was a call from home, so I answered it.

“Mom, my truck won’t start,” Napoleon told me.

“What do you mean it won’t start?” I asked, trying to see the taillights in front of me through the driving rain.

“It won’t start,” he repeated.

“Did you get gas?” I asked.

“No, I told you I don’t have any MONEY!” he said.

“WHAT??” I screeched. “Your father has been telling you for three days to put ten dollars worth in; you have that much in your account!! Why didn’t you do it when you went to the doctor’s office?”

He muttered something incoherent. “I’ll be home in a few minutes,” I snapped. “Tell MA to get ready for soccer and you better be ready to go when I pull up.”

I hung up and tried to concentrate on driving, but I was seething. It was already after 3, so we would be scrambling to get there on time. This was not how my afternoon was supposed to play out. Idiot child. I roared up the driveway, everyone got in the car and we roared away again. I immediately launched into a screaming session about the truck.

“I just don’t understand WHY you didn’t fill it up when you went for your physical!!!” I screeched.

“I didn’t GO for the physical today,” Napoleon said. “It’s tomorrow!”

Reader, my eyes rolled back into my head. His life flashed before my eyes as I contemplated ending it right there. I’m not proud of the way I handled it, but some moments defy self-control.

“WHAT THE *^*&%&^( DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T GO TO THE (^()#&)$*#)$*%*(^&(*& DOCTOR????????” Really, mere written words cannot adequately capture the depths of my rage.

“You told me it was tomorrow,” he said.

“NO…I….DIDN’T,” I panted, using heroic strength not to throttle the life from his body right then and there. “You HEARD me make the appointment and I TOLD you what time it was at!!!”

“Well, I thought it was tomorrow!”

Here I was, super-cute outfit drenched, make-up running, tense from having been in the car driving all day, and now THIS???? I could actually feel my blood pressure escalating into the danger zone. It was like a little cartoon playing in my head; I could see my heart pumping harder and harder and the needle edging up into DANGER: HEART ATTACK IMMINENT!!! Muttering, I called the doctor’s office back, apologized profusely to the receptionist, Jessica, (who loves me!! and I love her!!) and made him a new appointment. Then I concentrated on making it to the library in Mountain Brook, where the ACT tutor was waiting.

Fortunately I have a GPS, so I just entered the coordinates and followed the directions. But let me tell you something about the city of Birmingham: all the rich people huddle together in one little suburb together and defend it with their lives. Sorry my Mountain Brook friends, but you do! Imagine a fortress of old, complete with moat and turrets; that’s not really what Mountain Brook is like!! Instead, it has tiny, narrow streets and NO street signs, a feature which functions like a modern moat. Because if you don’t live there, they don’t want you to know where you’re going. You might get comfortable and decide to overstay your welcome. The city is designed to repel intruders; all streets lead AWAY from it. The fact that I drive a Ford was a further indictment of my character; I pointed out to my children that all the Fords we passed were coming OUT of the city. It was clear that we did NOT belong.

Anyway, the GPS got us within range of the library and that’s where the trouble started. Because I didn’t SEE a library. I turned where the GPS told us to turn and it took us down a narrow, residential street. Frantically I turned around before someone called the cops to report the strange Ford driven by the wet, stringy-haired, white lady with wild eyes. We drove back up toward the Main Street and tried to follow the GPS but there was NO library. I drove around the block two or three times, searching in vain for any building that looked like it might house books, but they all looked the same to me. And there were NO SIGNS!! Because frankly if you don’t know which one is the library, you clearly don’t have any business being there!!

As we passed the political polling area for the third time, I started to roll down my window. “NO MOM,” my kids shrieked. “Don’t you DARE ask for directions!!!!”

“What?” I asked innocently. “I was jest gonna axe ‘em ‘Hey!! Where y’all keep that ol’ LIBERRY??” We all started giggling because I was too pissed off to scream anymore. Finally, in great desperation, I called my dear friend Larry. He lives in the fair city of Mountain Brook and had agreed to pick up MA for soccer practice….if we ever FOUND the damn library.

“Larry,” I said when he answered, “WHERE IN THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE KEEP YOUR DAMN LIBRARY??????”

“Where are you?” he asked.

I described my location and he started giving me directions. I finally pulled into a lot and he said “Now you should see a brown, Tudor-style building to your right.”

“Larry,” I said with great patience, “I don’t KNOW what Tudor-style means. What I KNOW is that to my right is a brown building with yellow, pokey-outy, sides. Is THAT what you mean???” In Shelby County, we don’t say crap like “Tudor-style”; we say things like ‘it’s that building right there next to the restaurant that serves the all-you-can-eat catfish buffet with those hushpuppies that would make your Maw-Maw cry!!!!’

Larry thought about it for a minute and then said “Yeah…yeah….I see what you mean. Yep, it’s the one with the ‘yellow, pokey-outy sides’. That’s the library!!”

I thanked him profusely, nearly sobbing with relief, and we leapt out of the car and rushed toward the building. Only we couldn’t find the door. That was when I dropped the F-bomb. “Where in the F**K do these people keep the F***ING door???” My kids started howling, and I looked around nervously because I am willing to bet there was some sort of city ordinance against using the F word in public. We finally found the door and got Napoleon up to his tutor. MA and I went back out, because we had an hour to kill. As we walked around who should we bump into but LARRY, my knight in shining armor!! The one who helped me find the “TUDOR STYLE BUILDING” that housed the library. I started to throw myself into his arms, but I restrained myself since there is probably also a city ordinance about PDA’s. He took MA with him, since they were going to soccer practice, and I grabbed my Kindle and went into the library to read.

It was when Napoleon was done and we were walking toward the car that I noticed the big sign at the entrance of the lot in which I had parked: MUNICIPAL LOT; CITY VEHICLES ONLY; ALL OTHERS WILL BE TOWED. Napoleon guffawed: “oh man, mom, it would be SO FUNNY if your car got towed!!!” I stared at him; was he really so stupid he didn’t realize he was flirting with certain decapitation???? However, it was the one small break I caught that day. Apparently all the cops were busy keeping the voters in line and couldn’t be bothered to tow my Ford. We got in and drove away really quickly before they noticed their oversight.

And so the day ended without me having a heart attack, being arrested, or killing my children. I know you’re all jealous, but let me tell you, that’s just a day in the life!! Every day with me is a new adventure in incompetence and sheer ridiculousness. Luckily I will always have my sense of humor because, without that, I probably WOULD be dead!!