I know you think I’m probably dead, because anytime someone inexplicably disappears that’s the logical, go-to explanation. I’ve been gone from Blogtopia since last Wednesday, which might be the longest time ever for me, and I’m pretty sure some of you have already
forgotten I exist been searching the local hospitals and obituaries.
The Taiwanese porn link that was waiting for me here when I got back was a nice “welcome back”, I have to say. I’m not clicking the link, because I don’t want unsightly lesions, or burning of the retinas, or whatever, but it’s good to know I’m making new, international friends and it’s not all grim news in the world of foreign relations.
Anyway. Remember how I was on the Grisworld family vacation, and when I last reported I was being violated by my mother’s poodle?
Well, I’m home now. There was more stuff that happened, mostly involving additional freak injuries. For instance:
1.) My daughter was stung by a yellow jacket on the hand while we were visiting my Squirrel n’ Dumplin’s Grandma. The hand promptly inflated like a huge hand-balloon and stayed that way for the rest of the trip, all burning and swell-y, but providing hours of entertainment for the rest of us. We coated the Gargantu-Hand in baking soda paste, which drew out some yellow stuff and also made it look like a kindergarten paper-mache project, but still the hand didn’t deflate until well after Sacramento.
2.) While riding dirt bikes with his cousin, my son accidentally mistook the house’s partially-buried water line for an awesome bike jump and rode over it at a high rate of speed, thus severing the line and ending all hope of showers, flushing toilets, and pitchers of ice tea for everyone. He also drove straight into a hidden concrete block. The impact caused the handlebar of the bike to slam into his chest, leaving an angry-looking punch mark directly over his heart; this called to mind the story a teacher-friend of mine used to tell about a boy in her classroom who playfully hit another boy in the chest, accidentally stopping his heart and causing him to drop dead right there next to her desk.
We broke out the bag balm and I tried not to squeeze him.
3.) While at the in-law’s 50th wedding anniversary party, my husband hit me in the head with the car. Well, part of the car, specifically the hatchback door, which he held half-way open at the exact same level as my forehead. He claims he had a good reason, but probably this was on purpose. My forehead made contact with the open car door as I was carrying a bunch of helium balloons (none shaped like hands) in such a way that my vision was obscured right up unto the moment of contact with the car. My head made a hollow thunk sound, and a goose egg appeared. It felt like a serious injury, but the goose egg never developed the altitude and girth necessary for maximum sympathy, so I covered it up reluctantly with my bangs and went back to the party. Later, we broke out the bag balm.
We managed to leave town before any comas or amputations occurred, and the drive home was mostly torturously boring. Highlights of the drive home include stopping for gas on “Jibboom St.”,
and being shoved in the bathroom at a truck stop in Coalinga by a Spanish-speaking woman. She was wielding a baby like a shield with one hand and shoving me with the other. It seems she was in a hurry for the soap dispenser, so I totally deserved it for standing in the way of good hygiene.
Finally we were home, and then it was a house full of unpacked suitcases and madness. Also school starts here in two days, which means instead of reading blogs, I’ve been buying school supplies, and writing class syllabi, and thinking unkind thoughts about Governor Schwarzenegger, and buying three fifteen-foot palm trees for the patio outside my classroom. ( Yes, my classroom has a patio. And sliding-glass doors. Yes, it’s a little weird.)
We bought palm trees for the patio because it’s ugly without decorations, and I already killed last year’s plants. We had to lay the palm trees down inside the car and let them hang out the back about eight feet. They brushed the road all the way to the school, and now the car smells like manure. Here is what it looked like through the back-up camera:
I have to go to bed now. I promise to come by your blogs this weekend, and do some atonement commenting, if you’ll still have me.
Next time remind me to tell you about the bearded lady at Back to School Night. There was razor stubble. But that’s not all.