Whyyyy me? Whyyy me?

Does anyone remember a late-seventies, early-80’s kids show called The Gigglesnort Hotel? My brother and I watched it all the time. To say that it was bizarre would be an estimate. The hotel was run by the Mayor of Cartoon Town, and was referred to as his ship. Had a big steering wheel and foghorn and everything. His colleagues included Dirty Dragon, who delivered the mail and worked in the boiler room, Weird the Bellhop, and a blob of clay on a pedestal that moaned “Whyyyy meeee… whyyyy meee…” as Bob carved him into some ingenious new incarnation. Thank god we never watched it while dropping acid.

Anyway, I was just feeling an affinity with Blob. I just want to moan and cry.

I’m sitting here contemplating my newly destroyed iBook, unutterably thankful that I had JUST emailed the latest copy of my manuscript to Mr. X. The screen does nothing now except flash red, then green, then blue, then black, which is Macintosh parlance for “fuck you, that’ll be two thousand more, loser.”

The children are a dull roar in the backround as they negotiate a pre-dinner bike ride. There are two bikes and three children. I am NOT going over to their dad’s to get a third. I am trusting the seven-year-old to help them take turns and protect the other two from themselves and others.

I have ordered a pizza and cracked open a beer to replace the huge glass of juice tea that exploded all over the living room and was the reason I hastily shifted my laptop, heirloom lithographs leaning against the wall, and the slipcovered lounger out of the mess before cleaning to my new ant-proof standard.

The exterminator is coming tomorrow morning, which is good. Everyone has to be out of the house for a couple of hours, which is bad. It’s the first day I’ll have alone since last week. Why, you ask? Because no one *cough* checked to see if Dylan was old enough to attend the daycare program with Logan for the two weeks before school starts. He is not, in fact, old enough. So he stayed home with me. When their dad comes over in the morning to get them ready, I will hide in my bedroom until they are fed, dressed, and told unequivocally where they are going and why. I will not get into another round of, “You’re home all day, can’t they stay with you?” I have no felony arrests to date and I plan to keep it that way.

On a cheerier note, I can tell you how to make lemony-minty-slushy drinks!

Take a can of frozen lemonade concentrate and pour a little more than half into a blender. That’s probably a litte more than a cup. Pour vodka into the blender to the two-cup mark, and then fill two-thirds with ice. Blend and blend and blend some more. When nice and slushy, add more ice and blend until you like the consistency. Pour into fun glasses and garnish with sprigs of fresh mint. You can also toss a few mint leaves into the mix so that there will be bits in every sip. I do love bits in every sip. I highly recommend it.