Whenever we hold up the critical mirror of consciousness to do a self-check, I sometimes wish it came with a warning sticker to the effect: “The idiot in mirror might be a larger ass than they appear.“
The following post is a painful acknowledgment that I am not as funny as I think I am, and maybe I should seek professional help. As painful as the following confession is to read, I promise you, it was a thousand times harder to write and admit to.
Long before such Food Network shows like Cutthroat Kitchen and Chopped introduced questionable cuisine–there were traditional homemade dishes with mystery ingredients that only got passed down in the family to the daughters who hoarded the recipes on 3 x 5 cards tucked away in a tin recipe box. Classics such as hotdog surprise or macaroni salad were hauled out for holiday parties–sometimes against the will of attending family members–and no holiday would be complete without these culinary treats at the table. I am about to share with you one such recipe.
Be warned, this one may become your very own secret surprise side dish delight!
I am driving back home Sunday, through a raging storm when the call comes over the radio:
“Beep Beep Beep…please be aware that a tornado watch is in effect for West Michigan counties from now until 8:00pm tonight.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a tornado–I’ve been lucky not to–but the minute you know it is a possibility, you start seeing potential tornados everywhere you look. They become tornados of the mind. This is one of those imaginary journeys…
We are past the first hurtle. My son has survived having his wisdom teeth extracted and now has to just get through the next five days on a restricted diet of soft foods. Currently he is having ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
It may have been exhausting, but at least the hardest part is over. Now to survive the days with the benefits of top-notch pain killers. (Norco is the way to go. Sadly, only the kid is receiving them.) But, I am reaping the benefits of a narcotically stunned teenager filled to the gills with bowls of Super Scoop ice cream with a chocolate sauce chaser.
The even better news is that the two family members who have been teetering on the brink of existence in separate hospitals have now recovered enough to be discharged. Huzzah! Let everyone rejoice the homecomings!
And to anyone who was hoping the title of this piece was somehow a salacious intro to a naughty confession, my apologies. I’m sorry to disappoint your prurient desires.
I can neither describe it nor defend it, but I’m definitely doing it because I plunked down a $25 no-refund application fee and I will spend an insane amount of money before I admit I am ill-qualified to do the THING.
I wrote this short story for the NYC Midnight Writing contest. Sadly, it did not win. But, hopefully, you will enjoy it despite it’s humble beginnings.
It is April 2nd (or it was when I started writing this) and the annual Autism Awareness Day promotions fly across my social media feeds. They include some very positive and heart-warming testimonials by parents of autistic children. These are beautiful and touching reminders that it is important to say nice things in addition to the complaints that crop up in the day-to-day struggles of raising a child–any child, really–regardless of any spectrum they are on.
But it is also hard to mouth these sentiments when you are worn down to a nub of exhaustion and your nerves jangle from your beautiful child’s explosive and self-injurious behavior. Some days, I struggle to find the funny. I might need to bite the head off of several chocolate Easter Bunnies first. Please stand by.
Bunny-cide. Eating up the rage one chomp at a time.
Around this time every year, I go through an annual event which involves dramatics and hysterics in equal measure–negotiating my contract for a better rate on my internet and tv services. Warning, to anyone who does not know me, this story involves cursing–and not just the witch with a cauldron kind.
There’s a lot of swearing. A f*ck-ton, if you will.
TheDustSeason 