* * *

I almost just followed someone on Twitter because in their description it just said “Join, or die.” and I got a real The Ring vibe about it, and I got a little bit freaked out and then I didn’t follow them anyway because I SAW the video and I didn’t die.

* * *

I linked to the above videos but they might not even be right because I know if I watch them I will be too scared to take a shower.

* * *

I took a shower. I was scared anyway.

* * *

I am on a documentary jag. I’ve been watching documentaries about music, art, cults and genocide for months now. Netflix live streaming is the best.

* * *

I have all these notes on my phone. They are supposed to remind me of things. One of them says “Beware of Mr. Baker”. I have no idea if this is a movie or a band or a post idea or a warning.

* * *

Another one of my notes says “funny people are never nice”. I remember why I wrote that one. Some girl said it on an airplane. I remember thinking that this statement wasn’t true. I am funny. I am nice. Then again, I also remember thinking that she was wearing an asshole hat so maybe she had a point after all.

* * *

Speaking of asshole hats.

Please understand that I am talking about the actual animal, not an attractive person from the ’80s, although in either case the sentence still works.

I ask because we have this neighborhood fox that gets keeps getting braver. He was no more than sixty feet away from the bus stop this morning. It seemed like an odd choice for a feral animal. He isn’t afraid of people and that makes me nervous. I don’t think he is rabid. I don’t think he is stealing chickens (mostly because I don’t think there is any livestock in my neighborhood) and I don’t think he has attacked any people yet. As far as I can tell he just roams around eating dog food, but still I don’t want him around my kids.

He is a wild animal. People should frighten him. I don’t know why they don’t.

One time I was outside talking to my neighbor and he started walking right between our houses. I yelled at him “Go away, fox!” because I am a writer and I know a lot of words. I yelled at him and he looked me dead in the eye and squatted down like he was going to poop in my side yard.

I was all “Oh no you don’t!” and I started walking toward him.

The mystery here is what I would have actually done if he kept pooping. I don’t know how to fight foxes. I’m scrappy, but not that scrappy. Plus, I would feel like a real jerk for punching an animal. He is way smaller than I am. Looking back, I wonder if my neighbor would have jumped in. I bet she would have. I mean, if she is willing to let me borrow a white dress for Mom 2.0 knowing that I spill everything she must have my back.

Luckily, he ran away and I didn’t have to prove anything.

He looks kind of like this guy, if this guy ate Science Diet and was more of a dick.

Aside: Remember when I said we didn’t have any livestock in my neighborhood? One time these kids from around the corner told my kids that they got a bunch of chicks for Easter and that they accidentally all got loose in the neighbor’s yard. There were seven children and two adults out looking for these chicks for 45 minutes. I felt sick. I knew that the fox or an owl or some other predator was going to eat those poor baby chicks. I worried about them for about a week before I decided to block that memory until Tuesday when my children told me that those same two children got a horse and were keeping it in their back yard. “That is impossible.” I said “They live on a quarter of an acre and I am pretty sure it is against our homeowners policy to have a horse in this neighborhood.” “But Sophia said that she had a horse at her dad’s house!” “Are you sure she is telling the truth?” I asked suddenly remember in the chicks I asked the kids “Do you think they really even had those chicks?” and Claudia said “No, they saw it on an episode of  iCarly. I think the incubator was just a lunchables box.” Then I felt really stupid for worrying about the imaginary chickens.

What would you do? I have already talked to my kids about staying away from the fox, they know that if he comes around they are just supposed to walk away. If I see him eating my neighbor dog’s food I open my window and yell at him (It might be on to me now and know I won’t fight it).  Do I call animal control? I don’t want him to die, I just want him to go live somewhere else. I have seen him four times in the last three days. That is too much. He is far to comfortable with people for a undomesticated animal. What should I do?

Stories about me crying (again) plus a lesson on the reason why they stand when a choir sings the Hallelujah Chorus on That’s Right. You Heard Me.

1) Frank McCourt

2) Max Cavalera

* * *

Sure, I question his taste, but the real mystery is how on earth can he be asleep when I can’t relax because his music is too loud?

Airplanes are so weird.

I cried again. I always cry on airplanes. I have no idea what my deal is. Being really high up makes me weepy. I should never move to Denver. This time I cried at a documentary.

I downloaded this film called “The Other F Word“. It is a documentary about punk rock guys that grew up and became fathers. I liked it. It was fun and funny and I could certainly relate to parts of it, but when the U.S. Bombs guy started talking about his son dying and the cats in the cradle I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just tearing up a little either. I was full on crying.

I’m sure my seat mate thinks I am a lunatic. All she can see is that I am watching something with a guy with face tattoos and lots of concert footage and I am crying.

I hope she has a blog too. This would be a much funnier story if I were her in her place.

I’m on my way to Austin for Dad 2.0 and I am very excited. I think dad bloggers have needed something like this for a log time. Plus, I’ve never been to Austin and I hear it is very cool.

I think the moral of my story is this: if you are flying away from home watching a movie about how painful it is to not be around for your kids might not be the best choice.

Also, don’t sit by me on an airplane. I can’t be trusted to act like a normal person at 35,000 feet.

It was true (if by my notary you mean my friend who I just found out was a notary, but he lives really close to me and he will be back in three days) it just sounds really uppity.

So I am thinking, well at least I won’t say anything that sounds weirder than that for a while.

But no.

Because when a restaurant I have been trying to get into for – well, forever – called me and said they had a cancellation tomorrow night at 9:30 I said “My babysitters are in Burma.”

My babysitters are in Burma.

Oh, I said it.

It sounds like a lie for so many reasons. One, who goes to Burma? Two, who has more than one babysitter in Burma at one time? Three, can’t you get another babysitter?

Well, yeah, but not one that wants to hang out my house until one o’clock in the morning. I have training babysitters for when the grandparents go out of town but they are really young and I feel like a jerk staying out too late.

I can’t wait to hear what I say next. I wonder if my accountant is out of town?

* * *

That title sounds filthy! Who lets me choose my own headlines?

He comes to the bathroom door. “Why do you ask?”

“Because somebody asked me last night.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, who asked you.”

“Some of the ladies at the party.”

“Why did they want to know?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“When somebody asks you what color your nipples are your first question should be ‘Why do you ask?’.”

“You are probably right.”

“What kind of party was this?”

I think I need a color wheel or some paint samples.

* * *

Just me?

I have to tell you that I chickened out.

I said I wasn’t going to do it. I believe the reason I gave my husband was that I was “too pissy to sing a solo”, but then I went next door and my neighbor was auditioning for a different solo and somehow that made me brave so I did it.

When the director asked who wanted to audition, I held my hand up high.

I also noted that the only other three people were all in the select small ensemble that I didn’t even come close to getting in.

That reminds me of a story my mom told me the other day. My mom told me (and I have no idea why she told me this, my birthday is in like five weeks) that she bought me a birthday card. The outside has two girls and one girl says something like “Where is your birthday party at?” and the second girl says “You shouldn’t end sentences in a preposition.” On the inside of the card it says “Where is your birthday party at, bitch?”

Of course this is exactly the perfect card for me because it involves grammar rules and calling people names – both things that I enjoy.

Anyway, the audition was weird. We all had to stay late, so while I was very warmed up from having just sung for two and a half hours, my voice was also kind of blown out already. Most of the notes I sang were lovely, but the lowest one didn’t come out AT ALL. It was just an air noise. It was also just the four of us standing around a baby grand piano which seemed so much like a scene in a movie that it was distracting. I think if we had had some wine and cheese and weren’t competing with one another we could have had a lovely time or formed a barbershop quartet.

Whatever, I don’t think I got the solo — probably due to lack of the low note, which I totally normally have, it isn’t even all that low, I was just tired. I honestly think I didn’t get it because other three women all had very, very lovely voices and are in the blue-chip group, having already proven themselves worthy.

That being said, I am very glad I tried. I feel good about it and I appreciate all of you who encouraged me to do it. It isn’t so bad not being the one selected when this is the group she is choosing from.

I mean, it isn’t so bad not being the one selected when this is the group she is choosing from, bitch.

* * *

When I left the parade I was really hoping that Claudia would find her costume on the school bus on the ride home, but when she came off of the bus empty handed I knew we were in trouble.

I started walking over so that I could ask the bus driver if he had found a black cheerleader uniform with a skull on it.

That is when Ian got off of the bus. Sobbing.

When a little girl gets off of the bus crying it is usually drama. When a boy gets off of the bus crying it is usually an injury.

But he was crying about his costume ripping and custodians and lost and found and the school being locked. It was clear that I would be buying two new costumes that evening. I told the boy that everything would be okay and I wasn’t mad and I would address his issue right after I talked to the bus driver.

Claudia’s costume wasn’t on the bus either. Even four days later it would seem that the costume has been sucked into the ether, probably the same place that has claimed single socks, guitar picks and hair ties since the beginning of time.

And this is how I found myself driving to the party store in rush hour DC traffic on the Friday afternoon before Halloween.

I didn’t want to go to the stupid party store on October 28th at 4:30 in the afternoon. I thought I knew what awaited me if I ever made it to Party City before it closed. I figured it would be crowded and picked over.

I threatened the children in the car. You will take what we can find. We might not find the exact same costume. It will be crowded. You have to stay with me.

This was met with crying and whining. Which was in turn met with me losing my shit. There will be no whining and no crying from this moment forward. Is this what you think I want to do with my Friday evening? Go to the party store where I can spend MORE money on costumes that I neither lost nor ruined? I am trying to fix your problems!

Then I actually turned around in my seat like Dads do on tv shows from the ’70s. AND IF THERE IS ANY MORE CRYING BEFORE WE GET HOME NOBODY IS GOING TO GO TRICK OR TREATING SO YOU WON’T NEED COSTUMES ANYWAY.

It was pretty quiet the rest of the 38 minutes it took to drive like six miles.

I underestimated the chaos of the party store.

Fortunately, I also underestimated my children who were able to make fast decisions under duress and we got out of there in less that 15 minutes with girly pirate costume and a red ninja costume.

Halloween was saved.

I am sick of writing about Halloween costumes so I won’t even get in to how we had a party to go to on Saturday night and I wouldn’t let them dress in the new costumes for obvious reasons until Monday night and there were new levels of teen angst and drama reached by a 7 year old girl who wouldn’t wear a sweater because it looked better on the model on the website.

*deep breaths*

Nor will I go into depth about how much she enjoyed it when the costume she finally agreed to involved heavy eyeshadow, lipstick and teasing her hair.

What I do want to say is this – no matter what you think, your mother probably went WAY out of her way to make your life a better place and if she is still around you should call her right now and thank her. (Thanks Mom!) I know for a fact that my mom did all sorts of crazy things for me and I probably yelled at her a bunch while she was doing things to help make my life slightly better. I accept this as my payback. I just really, really hope that it isn’t just payback for second grade and that my recent parenting heroics (if you think it was bad parenting, just don’t tell me unless you want to drive me to the mental hospital)  make up for that whole teenage mess too.