go here ^ She’s awesome.
Last week I participated in JustWrite, which I try to do a lot because it’s friendly and no-pressure and don’t-even-try-to-be-perfect. Perfect rides my butt like one of those remora thingys who hitchhike on shark backs. Perfect has always been my parasite of choice.
But JustWrite isn’t about Perfect and it isn’t Vuitton–it is your favorite hoodie, hugging your shoulders so you feel loved. Getting to kick Perfect into the litter box for a while almost makes me believe in God. So I justwrote and made a huge wonker of an error (apologies, Judy Blume), which a gentle reader alerted me to almost immediately. Readers, you rock my world.
The Perfect immediately hissed in my ear to edit like quicksilver and nobody would be the wiser, but that’s not what JustWrite is about, so I fixed the copy but left my errors in. It just felt like it was the right thing to do. It’s also a solid reminder not to believe everything you hear in a public restroom.
And then Heather did what she always does (that troublemaker) and some emails got slung around and within a day, #JudyBlumeProject was an actual possibility. Thank goodness for adults who haven’t forgotten the Wrath of Adolescence. So we’re going there. I hope you’ll go there with us.
But that’s not what I’m talking about today. I’m talking about the 7 Days of Owl Shit *swear jar* and weirdness that ensued after last week’s JustWrite.
~Foot fungus. Nasty, feral foot fungus. I don’t know who brought it back from the rec center pool, but I am royally torked, because guess who got it? My feet smell like I’m baking a sourdough loaf down there. Stank! I am also doubting the efficacy of over-the-counter foot fungus medications, because I bought them all.
~Any white witches or voodoo doctors out there with a cure? Seriously. I’m about ready to drive to the ER, stick my feet in some doctor’s nose and say, “Treat me now or you smell this for an hour.”
~Blizzard. It snowed all day Saturday. Eventually, everything was too wet to stick, so hey, raise the roof for weirdo weather in March, because my lazy backside totally didn’t want to shovel that load.
~Three kiddo birthday parties. Simultaneously. On the blizzard day and the one day we actually had plans.
~My awesome (truly) husband decided, out of the blue, to refinance our house. Five minutes later, as I’m having a nervous meltdown at my desk trying to figure out if #JudyBlumeProject is a go, he presents me with a list of hideous home improvement crap *swear jar?* that we need to get done before the appraisal.
~Miss M. stumbled across this YouTube series–it’s this dude trying to teach you tips about Minecraft, which I have no interest in, so I had no interest in what she was watching. Until she accidentally turned up the volume and I heard “Holy Fucking Shit!” streaming into my first grader’s ears. *and no this isn’t a swear jar because I am quoting. Fine.*
~Miss D. exclaimed, with much enthusiasm, “Hey Mom! Look at me! I’m hugging the pole!” Please let that be the first and last time she says that? Poor hubby almost choked on his breakfast.
~I have a zit on my earlobe. Whaaa? Come on! An ear zit and sourdough loaf feet?
~I cannot believe how, when something kinda exciting happens to someone, people extend hugs and hands and encourage you to GO.
~ I also cannot believe how, when something kinda exciting happens to someone, some people aren’t happy about it at all.
~But that’s okay. I’m excited and a lot of others are excited and I’m so excited that you are excited! (Allrighty…I think my IQ just dropped 30 points with that sentence, but I haven’t been sleeping, so forgive).
~When this jackalope doesn’t sleep, she does the unforgivable. Like forgetting to feed children or notice bedtimes or cook dinner or feed the cat or do laundry. In all earnest–who can I pay to do my &^%$ laundry? And my home improvements?
~JustWrite, you brilliant, witty, rockstars. #JudyBlumeProject is waiting to hear your voice.