I’m okay, but you might want to ask Annie if she’s okay

I have a dog in my bathroom. (that’s not a euphemism for any sort of bathroom behavior…there’s actually a real dog in there)

I haven’t co-habitated with an actual dog-dog in 10 years. Mercy me, after the hellacious past two days, I much prefer drag queen kitties.

While I should write the tale of how I’ve come to have a dog in my bathroom, I also have at least 5 unfinished, unrelated drafts collecting blogdust, each of which I was too damn lazy to finish. So, I’ll give those to you quick and dirty. Ready?

Aaand, we’re done. Did you blink? Was it good for you? I know I’m exhausted. I should really start hitting the gym.

Ok. Quick, but not too quick, yet still dirty.

• An entry regarding the twins’ 6-month check-up last week
  • Both kids looking good, plumping up (ethan 20 pounds, alani 17 pounds), impressing the doctor with manual dexterity (alani picked up a monkey rattle from the table, passed it from hand to hand to mouth, and, judging from the doctor’s reaction, you would have thought she was bending spoons and starting wastebasket fires with her mind) and a hot-to-trot circumcision (that would be ethan, not that you really needed the clarification…every visit, when checking out the boy goods, the doctor exclaims, “Excellent circumcision!”…makes me wonder if he sees a lot of bad hack jobs).
• An entry regarding my apparent crazy vibes last Friday
  • Ventured to the library with the twins, Gab, and Gav last Friday (yes, last Friday, in case you missed that). While it was exhausting and everyone lost their shit in the library, I felt like I, more or less, had the situation under control and didn’t feel panicky or overwhelmed. However, upon loading everyone back up in the car, the woman parked beside me repeatedly asked, “Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay?” I kept answering, “Yes, thanks, I’m fine.” She rattled off something about having 4 kids herself and how everyone constantly needs to go to the bathroom and “Are you okay? Are you okay?” Umm, 3 of my kids go freely in their pants and the oldest thrives to make it into The Guinness Book of World Records with his limited bathroom visits (i exaggerate, of course…don’t worry that he’s giving himself uti’s or impacted bowels….he’s just good about ‘going’ before we leave home…yet another check in the ‘gav rocks’ column). Am I okay? Either the Troll doll hair I sport caused concern or the sheer sight of the baby limo or maybe the woman herself is.not.okay when she’s out with all 4 of her kids. I don’t know, but it really had me wondering what sort of vibes I give off these days. Don’t mind me over here wearing my panties on my head and eating dog food (because i now have a huge honkin’ bag of dog chow in the pantry…i could eat it if i wanted…don’t tempt me…i might just be crazy enough to snack on it). Woohoo, crazy lady on the other side of these words you’re reading right now.
• Do you think I’m okay? What about you? Are you okay?
• An entry concerning the broad umbrella of ‘animal’
  • E’s sister was recently camping with her 4th, 5th, and 6th husband (all the same guy…no one is sure as to why she married him 3 times over the course of 3 weeks in 3 separate states…perhaps mr. springer can enlighten us…or maybe that would be more up mr. povich’s alley…or are those alleys one and the same?) and ended up with a nasty bite on her uhh end. I haven’t seen the bite, but the juicy grapevine informs me that it’s a doozy. An oozy doozy. Yum. E’s mom was describing the wound to me; it sounds like some nasty spider had his way with her buttock. Only, E’s mom (who, between canada and the u.s., has been in english speaking lands the past 21 years) says to me, “I think it animal bited her. Animal. Yes, animal bited her.” I say, “Probably a spider or some sort of insect” to which she squints her eyes, bobbles her head side to side, “Animal.”
    • Animal – When you tell me an animal attacked your butt cheek, I imagine maybe a chipmunk, a raccoon, maybe a squirrel (that squirrel would have to intake quite.a.few screwdrivers before becoming a literal butt-muncher). I tell E about the exchange and how I’m guessing his mom couldn’t come up with the English word for spider or mosquito or insect whatever. ::buzz goes the buzzer::

    Those are animals.

    No, no, no, she just couldn’t come up with the word for spider.

    No, she’s right. It was an animal that bit my sister’s ass. She’s not wrong to say animal.

    Oh, give me a break. I don’t say, after spending 2 seconds in the mosquito-filled backyard, “Man, my arms are covered in animal bites.” Nor do I say when annoyed by the fly that just landed on my dinner plate, “That bastard animal keeps landing on my food.” Nor regarding the creepy eeby-jeeby spider working its way along the wall, “Ehhh, somebody give me a shoe so I can kill the animal on the wall.” (reads like i live in a landfill, eh? man, check out the animals swarming)

    No, my mom’s right. All animals. In the Animal Kingdom.

• Lastly (finally…i should look up the definition of quick, huh?…at least, i didn’t promise to give it to you animal and dirty), a blurb from a few weeks ago on proper attire for c0stc0 shopping trips
  • As c0stc0 is the only place thus far I can comfortably shop when alone with the twins and Gab, we have a buttload of gallon-sized shampoos and at least 5 loaves of bread on the kitchen counter at all times. (anyone have a good recipe for bread pudding?) On a recent solo trip but still dressed in my usual get-up (fashion savvy folks, close your eyes for this one…swishy black track pants, baggy black t-shirt – this particular one sporting Prince and the NPG on the front and “Bringin’ Tha Funk” on the back – oh yeh, i bring that funk all up in the wholesale warehizzouse, hair in a frizzy bun, and black faux-crocs…i admit; i’m begging to be accosted by the fashion police for a mom make-over…but, come on…i’m shopping in a warehouse for pete gallagher’s sake!), I caught some snarls in the parking lot from an alabama belle daughter/mom/grandmom trio. They were all dressed immaculately, pressed capri pants, perfectly fitted tops, bracelets matching their strappy sandals, hair and make-up ready for the pages of Southern Elle. But, yes, the youngest of the trio, probably my age, actually snarled at me in the parking lot. What the f*ck ever. I meander about the store, browsing the books (i was surprised to find david sedaris’s new book in the pile), rifling through all the bread to find the furtherest expiration date, pissing off my stomach with the hodgepodge variety of food samples (ahoy! here comes a bit of jamaican burger, yogurt, bagel bite, pomegranate juice, aged something cheese, fruit roll up, spinach ravioli, fuji apple wedge, ice cream, my middle finger), and what not. I roll up to the front and load my shampoo and bread at register number eleventy bazillion. And, lo, I turn to find behind me the Belle Trio, Alabama’s Best Through The Years. Only instead of being greeted by a young snarl, mom in the middle grimaced to her companions, and I shit you not, “I can’t believe she left the house looking like that.” I guess she didn’t expect me to turn at the exact moment she was running her face, but still. Sorry to disappoint, but I failed to strike back with any sort of biting remark. But, I did stare at her with my best “Wtf?” expression for a few seconds. Seriously. Couldn’t she have simply asked me, “Are you okay?”