10.06.2006
No Photo Friday -- And Boy am I Uncomfortable About It.
Y'all know I still don't have my broken camera back, right? That it's been gone for 12 WEEKS NOW! And that when it comes back it will still be broken, right? Yeah.
And Kristin's got a fancy dancy Nikon digital SLR that has more buttons and bling that I can handle. And I've got a BAD reputation with cameras... so I only touch her camera when I'm desperate for a shot. And NEVER when I'm in a rush. So, though I have the perfect picture in mind for uncomfortable, I was in a rush this morning and didn't take it. So, how about some uncomfortable stories instead?
Uncomfortable Story #1
Julia goes to a very small in-home daycare. It is run by A*. A needs to leave to take school-kids to school by 7:45 ON THE DOT. And I was running late this morning. So I knew that I was pushing it. Cutting it close. She might even have left already. And if I didn't catch her that meant either waiting the 45 minutes until she returned. Or driving to the first school she drops of at and getting snarled in school-traffic (the WORST!). So sped down the alley to her parking lot, bouncing over the pot holes and through the puddles, Julia squealing in the background at the rough ride and pulled in right behind her (as she was starting to pull out) so she couldn't go anywhere. Then I remembered that I hadn't written a note for her to be able to give Julia her cough syrup, so I hurriedly grabbed an empty envelope and a pen and started scrawling on it as I pulled Julia out of her car seat and walked to where A was standing, tapping her toe, at the open door of the van. "You've just made all these kids late for school." She said, and I finished putting the flourish on the signature of the illegible note. I looked up at 4 sets of accusing child-eyes, and looked down, as I handed A the cough syrup, the note, and the baby. "I'msorryIwon'tdoitagain" I muttered as I slunk back to my car. But... I probably will.
*Daycare provider may not be as annoyed as portrayed. It could all be my own issues and projections...
Uncomfortable Story #2
Tuesday I came home from work. Kristin and Julia were playing in the library. I walked into the bathroom to, uh, go to the bathroom. And I looked into my (normally sparkling, so clean you could eat off it -- snort! no, never mind, I can't go through with the lie, it's never that clean) toilet only to see... greenish brown clumps in the midst of yellow-cloudy water. It looked like diarhhea, AND IT HADN'T BEEN FLUSHED AWAY! OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M BEING FORCED TO LOOK AT THE PRODUCT OF KRISTIN'S (obviously diseased) BOWELS! HOW INCONSIDERATE OF HER NOT TO FLUSH HER DISEASE AWAY! "Gaaaaahhhh!!!!!" I exclaim, in a tone of pure horror, and I look over at Kristin accusingly, my face pale and tight with disbelief and disgust. Kristin sighs, rolls her eyes, and says:
"Julia threw dog food in the toilet."
"Oh. Ok. Nevermind." And I flushed the toilet and went about my business.
And here you thought I was going to talk about my fissures. Now THAT would have been uncomfortable...
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damn! that was better than any photo could hope to be. brilliant!
& um, dude, get yo camera fixed. Because you might just want to take photos & stuff. um. cough. um.
& another thing- what is with your icon lady on the right in the trench coat? Is that you? Are you going to flash us?
just wondering.
Dude.
HAHAHAHAHA
And you know, Trista already told us about her broken ass, the least you could do is tell us stories about fissures.
No, actually, please don't.
I have fissures.
Dude, J, I think you're getting Brooke and I mixed up. Easy to do... easy to do...
Cali, just so you know, I'm not wearing anything under this trenchcoat...
Bri, you do?! Yet one more thing we have in common! And does Wes give you that look when you come limping out of the bathroom, that look that says "PLEASE don't tell me anything more about your fissures!"? And then you do anyway, because heck, that's what marriage is for?
I am firmly of the belief that marriage's main purpose is the detailed sharing of one's poop stories (and accompanying pain/blood/etc). Luckily, we both really adore hearing about repulsive things, so the grosstalk extends from sharing details about what poop was like to actual displaying of what came out of one's zits or ingrown hairs.
Sometimes, it is enough.
I am sharing entirely too much here. This is why he thinks I am crazy. Please don't tell him I did this.