That’s what Lewis said about his trip to Costa Rica.
His ears are peeling. That’s how much fun he had.
Meanwhile, I got an e-mail from his Latin teacher that said that he got a 41 on the last test.
Ego non amo is.
Maybe I should care more. Maybe, I should get him a tutor. Or take away his Ipod, or his Xbox…
…or his supper.
Maybe he won’t be able to get into a good college.
Maybe I’ll save mucho dinero on tuition.
H and I took the Chinatown Fung Wah bus from Boston to NYC for the weekend. Fifteen bucks ($15!) and the bus didn’t explode. So, I guess the trip was a success.
Call me out of touch, but I was surprised that everyone on the bus …everyone was on their cell phone the whole entire time.
“Hi, I’m on the bus.”
“Can you hear me, I’m on the bus – yeah, the Chinatown bus.”
I am not distracted by someone talking on their cell phone in Chinese. But if someone is speaking English- even if it’s an asinine conversation, I am riveted.
“Yeah, I’m on the bus… the bus. Yes. The Fung Wah bus.”
Translated, Fung Wah, means Magnificent Wind. And while the ride wasn’t exactly magnificent, it didn’t blow, either.
I am really, ready for winter to be over. The snow is dirty, my backyard is covered with frozen dog poop and the sidewalks are icy. I could break a hip, for God’s sake. I’m glad that I don’t have to go out. Although, I am having a good hair day and it is kind of a waste to stay inside and not share it with the world.
Lewis asked me to make more butterscotch brownies last night and I did. But, now he’s at school and I am home alone with a deadline and an almost-full pan of brownies. So
fat far, I have exercised restraint and cut only tiny little squares from the corners of the brownie pan, but haven’t taken a stab at the new writing job.
I really should get away from the brownies. I need to get some actual exercise. The pool was closed for the past three days, but today it’s open. I could go, right now, work off the brownies, and be home in time to still get some work done….but I’d have to sacrifice my good hair.
The pea soup that I made for dinner last night received less than stellar reviews from Harris and met with retching noises from Lewis, who ate raviolis, instead. I know that a bowl of pea soup is a risky entrée to serve to men who expect a nightly diet of grilled meat on a plate. Tough. I like it. I even used yellow peas and added butternut squash so that it was golden— not at all Linda Blair-esque.
Speaking of which, I read in the paper today that the Catholic church is training more priests in exorcism. One Polish priest is quoted as saying that “Internet addicts and yoga devotees” are at especially high risk of demonic possession. Geez-us.
According to the thermometer outside my kitchen window, it is twelve degrees in my backyard. But, I am putting on my coat and boots and schlepping to Target. Why? Because Lewis is going on a school trip to Costa Rica and needs sunscreen, a new bathing suit and watershoes.
Over February vacation, I don’t get to go anywhere. I get stay home and to care of Lewis’ gecko.
I think geckos might be indigenous to Costa Rica.
S. has returned. She claims to have been at a yoga retreat. She looks well-rested, but not suspiciously so.
Okay, I have tried to call my friend S. for three days. There’s no answer at her house and she doesn’t pick up her cell. She doesn’t call me back when I leave a message. I don’t think she’s mad at me. So, the only plausible explanation for her disappearance is that she is having “work” done (by “work,”I mean a procedure like: liposuction, an eye lift or micro-dermabrasion) and that now, she is in seclusion, swathed in cotton bandages, waiting for the swelling to go down.
My friends and I sometimes gripe about our gray hair, our muffin tops (mine’s blueberry), our varicose veins and our laugh lines. We rest our elbows on the tiny tables at Starbucks and gently pull on our faces. until we look like we’re in a wind tunnel. “How’s this?” we ask. “You don’t have any wrinkles,” is the correct response.
We also have a pact, at least I thought we had a pact, that no one will do anything to enhance their appearance (this includes lifts, tucks, resurfacing or buying cosmetics that can’t be found at Walgreen’s) without giving
everybody me advance warning.
Surprise! A package from UPS! Last week, in a moment of disgust over the living room chair that is ripped and covered with dog slobber stains, I ordered a slipcover- and then totally forgot about it. Until just now.
“Tuck, excess fabric into arm and side crevices to create smooth lines.” If only it was that easy.