August 30, 2013
Overheard conversation between my 15-year-old daughter and one of her friends:
Mack: Yeah, she was with me when I drank, like, four bottles of Mountain Dew.
Mack’s Friend: Well, that can’t be good for you!
Mack: I know, but, you know, that’s what all cool kids are drinking these days…
Mack’s Friend: No, the cool kids are drinking something else.
And B, is it strange that this quick, completely random conversation caused a sudden and unreasonably powerful surge of happiness within me?
August 20, 2013
Confession: Up until two weeks ago, I had never, ever watched an episode of Lost. Not one. Unless you count that one time years ago when Paige made me watch an episode with her, which I don’t, because it was like, the middle of season 5 or something and let’s face it– even with her stellar running commentary to guide me I had NO FREAKING IDEA what the hell was going on. I mean, honestly. What. The. Hell?
(Seriously. Are they in hell? NO! Don’t tell me! DON’T TELL ME! But is it hell? Seems like hell. Or purgatory. Or limbo. I need to brush up on my theology. But don’t tell me.)
It wasn’t a conscious choice on my part to shun the show or anything. No, indeed. I just hadn’t seen it from the beginning, so I missed out on a lot of the culture. You know how it is. Then I heard talk of polar bears and hatches and a bald dude named Locke– which, intriguing?– but by the time season three rolled around I was feeling super stubborn and just didn’t feel like being a joiner.
(Seriously. Why is there a polar bear in hell? I’m only asking. Wait! NO! Don’t tell me! It’s probably not even hell. I’m just spitballing here…)
So I totes missed the boat.
(Get it? Missed the BOAT? Like, “Yay! A boat! We’re saved! Just joking, evil people are going to steal our babies and shoot us and blow up our handmade boat! Nooooo!”?)
Then? THEN?! Along comes Netflix, with all the seasons of Lost, just right there, and BOOM. I’ve spent the past several evenings yelling “What the WHAT?!” and “Sawyer sucks!” and “OMG! What?! Just?! HAPPENED?!” and “Michael! NOOOO!!” at my TV. My throat hurts, my kids think I’m crazy(er), my dreams are FUNKY, but I can’t stop watching. For reals.
(Okay. It’s hell or an alternate dimension. I’m just saying. This is J.J. Abrams, after all. Hey. I’ve seen Alias. I’ve seen Fringe. Dude lives for that stuff. But DON’T TELL ME! Don’t even.)
So… tonight I’m watching the Season 2 finale. It’s a two-parter! Woot! There will be popcorn and chocolate treats involved! And a beverage of some sort! I hope Michael dies! Because he KILLED Libby! Hurley’s LIBBY! And Ana Lucia! Also, so I don’t have to hear “Waaaalt! Waaaaaaaalt!” anymore! Good LORD, man. S that D! Shut it down.
I know, I know. I need help, y’all. I’m utterly, irrevocably Lost.
Edited to add: TD is watching with me, and what with me asking him, “What just happened?! Huh?! No! Don’t tell me!” and punching him in the arm at the end of each episode yelling “WHAT?!”, I’m fairly certain it’s his favorite time with me ever! Yep. We’re building memories here.
August 15, 2013
August 7, 2013
Recent conversations, that when taken out of context, are somewhat perplexing. And freaking awesome.
Out of Context – Phone conversations with Mack.
Phone chat #1:
Cat: How was your day, Mack?
Mack: I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube about how to neuter a dog.
Mack: Yeah. I could practically do it myself.
Phone chat #2:
Cat: How’re things going?
Mack: I’m getting more responsibilities!
Mack: Yep. They send me for the drugs now.
Phone chat #3:
Cat: Did you have a good day?
Mack: Today I watched Gordon castrate a pig!
Cat: Sweet! Also, yuck.
Mack: I didn’t pass out this time.
Phone chat #4:
Mack: Momma, cats on drugs are so scary! But funny.
Cat: Right. Just say no.
Mack: They DROOL.
In Context – Hannah Mack is visiting my sister. My sister who lives with her cattle rancher husband on a large ranch in Super Small Town, New Mexico. My sister who has no freaking idea what she is supposed to feed my vegetarian daughter, who is volunteering with/shadowing the local veterinarian for the summer.
Right?! I know. You just can’t make up this stuff.
Out of Context – Conversation at dusk last night, between my son and Paige’s daughter, who were hanging out on the porch hammock watching our bunnies frolic on the lawn. (Yes, bunnies frolic. At least ours do. For reals. Frolic like crazy.)
Kate to TD, as TGIM rides his bike up the driveway and stops to say hello: (admiringly) “When I’m an adult, I’m going to wear an outfit JUST like that to embarrass my kids.”
Cat: *cough* nofilter! *cough*
TGIM: “Absolutely. That’s exactly why I put this on.”
In Context – Actually, even in context, that one is pretty darn hilarious. And squarely on-the-nose. Let’s see, how to explain, how to explain… okay, did you ever see that episode of Malcolm in the Middle, when Hal takes up speed walking?
Well, there you go.
August 2, 2013
Okay. I admit. I’m a worrier. I worry! About things! Okay, about all the things! You know how people can read a book and put it down. Me? I read the seventh Harry Potter book in one night. ONE NIGHT! That freaking book is a bajillion pages long! But I had to KNOW. Honestly. And don’t even get me started on how stressed out I get when I do an Alias or Veronica Mars marathon! (Cliffhangers are evil. I’m only saying.) It can take me literally hours to stop worrying about the characters in which I have invested my time. I feel their pain, their joy, their despair, their triumphs. So you can imagine the impressive scope of my worrying abilities when real people are involved.
All I’m saying is I may–perhaps!–be known to freak out on occasion. So, want to know what will for sure freak out the momma? But also totally make her proud? Effectively causing her to both freak the freak out AND fairly burst with pride?
Super proud, TD! Just remember, son. Myocardial infarction is no one’s friend.