Life in these damn burbs.

There are few things more depressing or stultifying than municipal buildings built in the 1970s. God. What was wrong with people? Cocaine can only be blamed for so much.

*******

Oh, my god, I DO NOT CARE that your kid is an honor student. NO BODY CARES. Your kid doesn't even care. Especially the middle school one.

PS Your dog is not smarter than that person's honor student. Your dogs eats shit - its own, other dogs', even people's. That is not the sign of intelligence. Just stop it. You lost in the Parenting Capades. Stop trying to overcompensate.

********

Yes, I will buy your Girl Scout cookies. Because I believe in what the Girl Scouts stand for - proudly LGBT-friendly, gender positivity, strength of character. And also because OMFG SAMOAS.

********

This Target isn't big enough for the both of us. Step away from the clearance rack and put down that bath mat. It's the exact green I need. Move it, or I will end you.

********

This construction on the direct route between my house and the nearest Costco and the market where I get my vegetables is going to be the final push that sends me careening toward murdering people who DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW TO FUCKING MERGE. I HATE YOU SO MUCH.

********

Nobody wants to be part of the block party. Stop making it a yearly thing.

********

Yes, the suburbs are monotonous and homogenous and devoid of interest, but very rarely do I have to avoid stepping in someone's vomit.

Medical Mysteries

Over the summer, I had to take the girl to the doctor for her physical, because school, and she had to get a TB test, because she'd gone to Spain [lucky, lucky child]. You remember how they used to give you those four-pronged electrical outlet TB tests? They don't do that anymore. Kids these days. They have it so easy.

Anyway, the thing that's still the same is that you have to go back to get the TB test "read" [which is in quotes, because there was literally nothing there to see, so you couldn't read anything, because the girl's arm was a blank page, and even giving you the modernist take on art and deconstruction, you can't read a blank page], so we went back to the doctor's office, where, I realized, I act like a goddamn toddler in constant need of entertainment when I'm in a medical facility with my kid. Here are my examples:

1) During the initial exam, we had to wait FOREVER, YES, FORGODDAMNFUCKINGEVER to see our doctor, who we LOVE except she takes FORMOTHERFUCKINGEVER, so the girl and I had a dance party to Iggy Azaela and Arianna Grande in the exam room, because why not? No one joined us, which kind of surprised me, because I had the music up pretty loud.

2) When we went back, the girl and I were giggling about EVERYTHING, most especially the following two things:

2a) The girl trying to exit the office, whereupon she PUSHED and PUSHED on a door clearly marked PULL, which had me nearly peeing my pants, and then,

2b) I sexually harassed an old lady in the elevator, when she told her husband to move toward the back of the elevator because "my bottom's going to get grabbed by the doors" and I said, "Hey, a little action in the morning never hurt anyone."

3) I took the girl to the eye doctor, and when I was filling out the forms, it asked for her occupation, so I put "Kid" because I figure that's as valid as any other, and we LAUGHED AND LAUGHED so hard that the office staff started cracking up at us.

So, if you ever need a date to the doctor's office, I'm your gal.

Casual Friday

I hate Casual Friday.

I know I'm probably alone in this, but I don't care. The rest of you are wrong and I am right.

People cannot be trusted to understand what they are supposed to wear. Sure, it seems very Big Brother-y to have to follow an HR dress code, but it wouldn't exist if people didn't think it was ok to wear leggings to work. IT IS NEVER OK TO WEAR LEGGINGS TO WORK.

Seriously. Stop kidding yourself.

Yearly Motivitation

Just had my yearly mammogram.

I can't stress the importance of this enough, despite the discomfort and the possibility that some old lady will try to steal your dress.

WHAT?

Yes, here it is again, an oldy but a goody:

That Time That I Actually Could Have Used the Fashion Police.

External vs. Internal Validation

I always get so proud and happy for people who get glowing reviews in the New York Times. (I die of shame for the ones who get the not so great reviews.)

But those who get great reviews? I mean - how awesome is that? That must feel incredible. I know, I know, you're supposed to NOT let externals validate you and your accomplishments, and sure, that's a worthy goal, Mother Theresa, but the reality is, we all feel a little better when someone or something says, "Hey, you know what? SUNIVERSE KICKS ASS." It's an ego boost and something tangible to look at and think about when you're feeling like you don't know what's good about your life.

And what a great way to shut people down:

Annoying Person:  Oh, well, yes, I've been lauded by the community free paper for my yearly recital of Dickens' A Christmas Carol. I do it for the children, of course, but it's nice to be recognized.
You: The motherfucking New York Times said I was luminous.
AP: . . .
You:  That's what I thought.

Or maybe I'm the only one who has those fantasies.