Today is, "How many ways are there to completely piss me off to the point where I want to pick up an anvil and drop it on your head like you were Wiley Coyote?" day. "You," is subjective to whatever moment I happen to be in. It started at Tim Horton's where I finally figured out why half of my bagel is always sopping wet with butter and the other half is so dry it goes down like sandpaper. The idiots only butter the bottom half! Then, they put the top on, cut it in quarters and wrap it up. I wanted to say, "Listen, ace, butter both g.d. halves or I'm coming over this counter," but wisely kept my trap shut. It was early and I knew I could not have put the preceding politely. Then the top to my coffee leaked and I spilled some on my cream colored sweater and the very most sensitive part of my lap. By this time I was back in the car, where Mark swiftly hit the locks and began moving too fast for me to jump out and make good on my ugly (but silent) threat. We were heading to Rochester for an appointment, so I leaned my head back after making damn sure the freaking bagel was all the way down my throat. I didn't want to choke to death in my sleep. When we woke up I was, 'better.' Sort of. I read a book while waiting for Mark to complete his appointment and that was pleasant except for the guy to my right who couldn't sit his ass down for more than 15 seconds at a time.
"Little too much caffeine this morning," I asked. He seemed to have no idea at all to what I was referring. Moron. I drove on the way home as Mark was under the influence of some really good drugs that have a tendency to put grizzly bears to sleep. Mark kept insisting he was fine, that they had given him the, 'lowest dose possible.' OK.
"Did you feel anything," I asked.
"Not a thing," he said, grinning like a coked up circus clown.
"Then you got the full dose," I told him.
"No," Mr. Happy Face said. "No. I told them to give me very little."
"Okey doke." There was no sense arguing when I knew he'd be asleep two minutes into our ride home. We rode along in silence and I glanced at him to see if he was out. Not yet. He was staring out the window at the passing winter landscape with the silliest damn grin I had seen since early November when I received the same meds for the same reason.
"You know," he said on a great big sigh. "I do feel like I've got a pretty good buzz on."
"Are you tired," I asked.
"Not at all," he said. I nodded and turned to look at him again. He was still sitting straight up but was completely asleep, his eyes hammered shut. It was pretty cute and since I thought so, I figured my irritation was over for the day. I'd finally woken up. I was wrong. As we left the thruway a black VW tried to cut me off heading for the Easypass lane. I sped up (I drive a Chevy truck - puhlease), and went through the exit lane with this little bug riding my tail. She tried again to cut me off and all the irritation of the morning slammed back into my head in the form of murderous rage. Not a good place for that to happen, I realize. Luckily, the day a Chevy truck can't outrun a stupid little car like that is the day I go and get my Bobby Ewing Mercedes. I sped up with one hand on the wheel and the other one flashing hand signals at the b*$#@ driving the bug. She turned left the same as I did, in the lane next to me. I spoke some special words at the top of my lungs and might have given into my rage and followed her but I was hungry and there was a great big sign inviting me in to a fun place.
"Ooh," said I, all ten-year-old-happy. "Let's go to Friendly's." Mark just looked at me in his drug induced mellowness. "Yeah, shut up. I see the irony. Would you rather I follow the woman in the bug and beat her bloody THEN go?" He just shook his head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Who needs adventure? Rephrase. Who, among those to whom I gave birth needs adventure? Seriously. Now I know why so many mothers drink. Alot. My big idea of adventure is stepping from the California aisle at Premier Liquors to the Argentine aisle and trying a new red. Or maybe shopping at Forever 21 without one of my daughters (forget how gd big the place is - I just don't like people staring at me with that, "Isn't she a little old to be in this place?" look on their face. I know the look so well because it's usually plastered across mine as I follow the girls through the rows of clothing and watch the other women my age and older believe it or not, cooing over 80's stuff that I wouldn't even wear in the 80's. Breakfast Club anyone?), though that probably wouldn't qualify as adventure so much as an I really shouldn't have had that second shot of tequila before lunch-type lack in judgment.

I'm just really freaking a little over the thought of Kimmy going to South Africa in a few weeks. It's not like she's not going with people who've been there before. Her boyfriend and his brother are from there. They know where to go and what to do. It's not the 17 hour flight - after the 90 minute one from Phoenix to San Francisco and the 5 hour one from San Fran to JFK in New York - though, God, I cannot imagine wanting to go somewhere badly enough to fly a whole frigging day. I'm hoping to get my courage up enough one day (and procuring a valium prescription from my doctor) to fly to Europe. Kimmy said, "Mommy, what would you do if I decided to stay in South Africa?" Ha ha. Funny kid. I said, "It would be ugly, Kimberly Jean Josephine, damned ugly. Just imagine me flying for 17 hours. Imagine my state of mind getting off that plane, knowing that once I retrieved your sorry ass I had to get back on and fly home." She said it was a joke. I said it better be.

It's just - Africa. Lions, tigers, snakes that could eat my house, mosquitoes bigger than my head. At first I thought, well it's not like they'll be camping out. Yeah. They'll be camping out. Oh, and, "Maybe bungee jumping at Victoria Falls, Mom." Nothing like a close up look. Everyone whose children are NOT going to Africa keep saying it's a Once In A Lifetime Trip. For them maybe - the lucky bastards whose offspring are content to stay a little closer to home. This is my adventurer child, though and I know this is only the beginning. There's talk of teaching in South America, though I keep trying to pretend I don't hear her when she talks about it.

When I wonder aloud where Kim got this sort of desire, my husband (at his peril, let me tell you) states calmly, "Uh, this is your fault, Lorie." My fault? "Well sure. Who told her - told all the kids for that matter - that anything they want to do is possible. When Kim was 4 and asked why women can't be priests, who told her it was a stupid damn rule and she could fight to change it if she wanted?" heh heh...... "Who stood up to the principal at the junior high, in front of the entire office staff and a dozen or so students including our daughter, when she blamed Kimmy for some crap Kimmy didn't do and demanded that the old bat apologize? Who turned down a request from the same principal that Kim reciprocate, with the statement - and I quote - 'When hell freezes?'" point taken..... "Who has told her since she was born about the cross country trips you took as a kid and how much you love to travel." point taken..... "Who let her go to Hawaii and California and New York city before she was even out of high school?" Fine! Jeez, who can remember all this stuff..................

....And anyway, the point is moot. She's going. To Africa. I'll be drinking. Constantly. I told Kimmy that I am happy for her and, truly I am. It's just - I wish I could put one of those leash/harness things for toddlers on her and all her siblings so that when I think they're going too far I could sorta yank them back. She said, "No worries, Mom. You have your heart strings and we'll be tangled up in those for the rest of our lives." Awwww - I think.

So, on December 26th, as my child wings her way around the world, I'll raise a glass (bottle) of, who knows, maybe a South African wine and toast my crazy, courageous daughter and her adventure.........She better bring me a really good present.

It's noon on Thursday, December something or effing other. There are white out conditions outside my front door and I'm stuck inside unless I want to shovel the driveway.......So, to elaborate, I'm stuck inside. I'm also on the verge of a pms pity party. I can feel it creeping into my brain like pee down the front of my pants the one time as a little kid I remember not being able to hold it. It's warm, uncomfortable, then freezing cold, embarrassing and inconvenient. I have plenty to do and will choose to do so in a little while. There are cookies and banana bread to bake. Pasta sauce to make for supper, Christmas presents to wrap, decorations to finish and, as always, writing to do. It's the, 'I feel sorry for me,' thing that's slowing me down........Well, and I'm also pissed. Went on facebook this morning and was kicked off with a notice that my something that I can't remember what it is - not my e-mail but something else - has been reported for abusive behavior. What? It's not that I don't want to abuse sometimes and I guess I did make fun of Jermaine Jackson's second eldest son's name (Jermagesty......'Jer kidding, right?') but that is all I can remember. I filed some sort of are you frigging kidding me protest and they sent me an e-mail saying they would, 'get back with (me) soon.' I hit reply and said, 'how soon is soon?' Big surprise - haven't heard anything yet.......Anyway, that whole thing really upset me. I'm a nice pers - a good person, at least. 'Nice,' is harder to come by this time of the month more than others. There's also the little matter of the fact I can't get any agents to look at my writing. I sent a sample of my query letter into a blog called Query Shark and, hopefully she'll look at the letter and be able to tell me what in the bloody hell I'm doing wrong. I should totally re-do it and have made attempts but keep coming back to I have no idea what in the world I'm doing. Every time I hear about someone getting published I want to open my vein just a little bit wider. I mean, how did they do it? What did they do? Who did they do? Who and what can I do? I just have to stick with it, I know. It only takes one yes. Blah blah blah........I could look for a job........Retail again? Open that vein....