Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The problem with these things, and black magic on my baby

I've decided that the problem with these things---and by 'these things' I mean blogs---is that I never know how to start them. . .

Should I have a clear and determined purpose?  (For those of you that know me, and you are few, as I have a STRONG tendency toward hermitism, you most likely know that 'clear and determined purposes' are my kryptonite. 
**(As for the tendency toward self-imposed hermitization, it is the embodiment of my social anxiety disorder.  It plagues me, yes, but sometimes I can't help but laugh at myself.  So it's an issue.  And I'm working on it.)** 

. ' . ' . '  Chasing rabbits again.  (Sorry.)

Should I have a general theme for the blog??  And if so, would I then be forced to adhere to that same theme for the life of the blog?!?!  (That sounds a little too daunting, and a lot like a little too much commitment for me.)  But still:  SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!  . . . How much background information is enough?  How much is too much?  Should I introduce the major players in my life, much as one would in the opening credits of an 80's sitcom?  . . .

(And now I am humming the "Come And Knock on Our Door"  Three's Company theme song.) 

Side note 1:  Michael has always wanted to open a bar named 'The Regal Beagle.'  I think this is a business endeavor whose TIME HAS COME!!! 

Side note 2:  Chris, whom I dated in college, had a SEVERE Jack Tripper man-crush.  He thought he (Jack Tripper) was the very definition of awesomeness.  He (Chris) was a musician, and even named his band 'The Jack Trippers.'  . . . though, come to think of it, I'm not entirely convinced that the band name had more to do with his affinity for Three's Company, or his affinity for tripping on acid. 

Side note 3:  I've tried acid.  I DO NOT suggest it!!  And here's why:  I talked to a black cat using cat-to-human telepathy, (which I was AMAZED to learn that this was an ability that I possessed until that night) but THIS black cat was a REAL downer by the way, all doom and gloom, nothing interesting to contribute to the conversation, aside from vague references to 'The Plan'---(you know the type.)  But once he mentioned 'The Plan,' he got all super-secretive and sketch-ish, so I thought it wise to ask no more questions about The Plan).  I looked in a mirror (!!!WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME ABOUT THE MIRRORS?!?!?!!!) and saw my face age decades and decades in the span of a few seconds, and by the end of the night (as I was having, what those crazy kids call 'a bad trip') things were so bad inside my head and surroundings, I decided that I WOULD get out of this, it WOULD wear off, and that there were ALWAYS Three Good Things that would always be around to save me from myself.  In no particular order, those things are:  food (don't care who you are, the right food with ALWAYS make you feel better), sex (self-explanatory), and Music:  To uplift us, elevate us, speak to us, and often times, make it ALL better again.  =)

But writing is daunting.  Writing a BLOG is daunting!  I shudder to even contemplate the potential for typos and grammatical errors.  (Best not to even think on it.)

But for some reason this morning I decided I would start a blog, and that's what I am doing.  (As you are, by sure, now aware.  See?  I don't talk down to my readers.  Maybe this blog will be a success after all!)  And, as I was still quite unsure as to where and when and HOW to start, I finally decided on the most obvious route of "Now".   . . . My husband has accused me of over-thinking even the most simple and mundane situations.  (He's right.  I do this.  But please don't EVER tell him that he was right.  I get SO FEW chances to be right, that I must SAVOR every one.  It is NO SECRET that *I* am the train-wreck-screw-up in this relationship.  And it'd make it SO MUCH BETTER if he'd screw up just only OCCASIONALLY!!!  But apparently I married the Christ-child Perfect Man.  And let me tell you, if you're a screw-up like ME?  It can SERIOUSLY, REALLY, SERIOUSLY, SOMETIMES SUCK!!!!)  But for now I am just throwing caution to the wind and am going to jump right into this blog mid-episode.

I am tired.

I mean, I am really, REALLY, I-have-a-3-week-old-baby-in-the-house-and-I-have-no-idea-what-I-am-doing tired.  Said baby is now relaxing in his vibrating papasan chair, grunting from time to time and seriously just keeping it real. 

He appears to be in much more favorable spirits than he was showing signs of at 4:00 a.m. when, to all outward appearances, my child began to be prodded and tortured by the spears of invisible and tiny demons.  From what I could tell, Grey Bear (AKA: 'Took') was simply BESET on ALL SIDES by the darkest of forces and the BLACKESTof magicks.  (MY belief is that they want him to harvest his super powers, but it's possible they could want him for other reasons entirely.  I'll admit that I'm just not sure at this point.)

So I diligently spent half the night tangling with the problem of exorcising these demons so that my sweet, though quite probably just INFUSED with super-magickal powers, baby could sleep.  I was ultimately unsuccessful, but with the sun's first light the Evil Invisibles were sent screaming back to the bowels of Hell and my Took finally fell asleep.

As did I.  And I slept for approximately 90 minutes, which turned out to be more than enough time for me to have a bad dream about the baby.  It was your typical stress dream.  In it, I was waiting tables at Cucos again.  (Which has since closed down, but was a Mexican restaurant where I worked for a while during college, that had Quso dip and Chicken Chimichangas to DIE FOR.)  In the dream, I showed up for work without any socks or shoes on, with Nolan in tow, and with no ponytail holder to tie back my hair.  Luckily for me, my boss was Dr. Drew Pinsky (note to self:  STOP watching Celebrity Rehab.  It is an evil trap that you fall for every time.  Just shameful.), and he was incredibly understanding, as I have always imagined that he would be, in virtually any given situation.  . . .and if it is ever uncovered that he is a serial arsonist or a child molester, well.  I am just going to be so disappointed.  I tried my best to pull my hair back (I was really afraid it was going to get in someones food, and they would be forced to complain), and went about waiting on my tables.  Even as I write this, I realize that I never did get that drink order out to table 26. . .  Hell, I didn't even think to ask them if it was Sweet or Unsweet tea they wanted. . .  But that had to wait because it was at this point in the dream that I became aware that Big Toookie was no longer with me.  . . .where IS HE?!?!!! 

And that's when I remember that I have (inexplicably) left my newborn sitting in a metal shopping cart right beside a major intersection.  And I run outside to rescue my baby from the precarious situation in which I have placed him.

. . .it was NOT a restful 90 minutes.

However, in a delightful turn of events, it was at roughly the time that I awoke this morning from this bizarre and super-troubling dream that I realized that I am possibly (and QUITE probably) invincible. 

Yes, at roughly 6:48 a.m. I stumbled upon the shocking revelation that I do NOT actually need sleep in order to survive!  (I feel happy about it, but also?  I feel very misled.)

. . .I can only assume that most other humans DO need sleep, and this is where the 'invincible' part comes in. . .hmmm. . .but it's possible that they don't, I suppose.  . . .I mean, I'm 34 years old and I'm just now finding this out about myself.  (There may be others out there.  This is all that I'm saying.)

This discovery could not have come at a more opportune time, as it appears that now intestinal demons are attempting to convert my baby boy into a pig. . .

(I simply will not abide black magic on my baby.)


Ah well, I guess I shall now happily press onward.  No rest for the wicked, I suppose.

But there is coffee. 

Oh, there is most CERTAINLY coffee for the wicked.  =)


  1. Love the blog Danielle; you're a great writer. Keep it up! I've always liked reading your status updates & now I can enjoy bigger servings of your humor ;)

    Also, If "the wicked" are breast feeding those intestinal demons could be slipping in via the coffee.

  2. Dani, this is so funny - I love your writing! I think women are bestowed with super-mom-hormones that allows them to function with what seems like inhuman amounts of sleep. I never knew it either, it's a well kept secret of the ages.