I am feeling much better today, thank you.
Not so much better, mind you, that I am capable of delivering a super-coherent blog entry or anything. I've yet to venture beyond Saltines, white rice and strawberry Jell-O, which means the best I can do for you today are some semi-deranged blood-sugary bullet points. Aren't you excited NOW.
1. Remember the tree that fell down after The Tornado That Apparently Happened While We Were In The Mall? This is what it looks like today:
No, actually, it's really not. A crew came by last week, hacked off all the branches, removed a couple of smaller trees that this one had taken out on the way down, and then just...propped it back up. And left it. You can still see the separation all around it on the ground, like a giant Christmas tree skirt, the only indication that this tree is NOT ACTUALLY ATTACHED TO ANYTHING, like it used to be. You know, like it was on the day it BLEW THE FUCK OVER.
Things That Could Possibly Go Very Wrong Here:
a) Another storm.
b) Another EARTHQUAKE.
c) Some goddamned wind.
d) Passing texting/drunk/mascara-applying drivers and/or bicyclists.
e) Birds. Fat ones.
f) Vicious regenerating zombie trees of the apocalypse.
Things That Could Possibly Go Very Right:
a) FRIENDLY regenerating zombie trees of the apocalypse.
2) I got a mosquito bite that looks like the devil. Or possibly a very angry bull.
Oh, come on. Don't pretend like you don't see it. Just ignore my alarmingly knobby knees and turn your computer screen upside down. It'll come.
3) Robots, take note. You are NOT WELCOME at Noah's summer camp.
4) Blogher. I KNOW. The pre-conference freak-out posts on other blogs start earlier and earlier each year, usually ending just in time for me to realize that:
a) Oh shit, it's Blogher! and
b) There are Christmas trees at the mall already, MY LANDS.
In honor of our 12th wedding anniversary, I am dragging Jason (hereforeafterever known as Poor Jason) with me this year, and to several of the parties. If you see or approach us, please to be prepared for:
a) Me to hug you, only in a horribly spastic way that might trigger your instinct to protect your head, and...
b) Jason to look at you with wide eyes full of terror, and possibly slip you a note promising you one (1) slightly used purse dog or child (your choice) in exchange for safe passage OUT OF THIS CIRCLE OF SOCIAL HELL.
"But it's our ANNIVERSARY," I said to him several months ago. "We CAN'T spend it apart. Blogher will be FUN. You can learn about ISSUES. And MONETIZING. And WOMEN."
I won that argument, so he's coming. Poor Jason.
5) I don't really have a number five. Here is a picture of my baby going down a slide.
I feel like there used to be a lot more slide, and I don't quite know where it went.