“I don’t know. What?”

“They both have really big gas, but at least Saturn has rings.”

(LeBron still doesn’t think it is funny.)

* * *

[photo: Al Bello, Getty]

I was looking out of my window and I said to Gabe “That guy is totally going to hit us.”

Then he did.

I suppose accident is overstating what happened. I mean it was a crash, but it was an extraordinarily low speed collision.

Our bus was stopped and waiting in line to pay a toll and a moron in a Ford Explorer that was trying to edge his way in front of us must not have noticed that we were not moving at all and he sideswiped a completely stationary bus.

It occurs to me that this was the third time that I have been in a bus that was hit by another vehicle.

The first time I was in Jr. High and I was riding school bus to school and the school bus behind us (filled with friends from the same school) rear ended us.

Nobody was seriously injured, but a lot of stupid sixth graders acted like they had whiplash to get out of social studies.

I wasn’t one of them. I liked social studies.

The second time I was in a bus wreck I was on a choir trip to Chicago. We were in rush hour traffic and a car that was trying to edge its way into our lane side swiped out tour bus.

It was almost as sad as yesterday.

But yesterday our bus was stopped. We were at a complete standstill. He didn’t even hit the front corner of the bus. He hit the side. I mean this was a sizable vehicle. How did he not see it?

Or was he just such a dick that he assumed the bus would somehow back up quickly to let him in because he “meant it”?

Whatever.

I’m glad I am not the bus driver. Sure, the guy who hit us was at fault, but now this driver will have to explain to his boss that some jerk hit a bus full of paying customers because our driver was in too big of a hurry to let in one more car.

Nobody got hurt, but the Explorer lost a side mirror and hopefully both drivers feel bad about themselves.

There are two morals to this story.

1) Just let the damn car cut in front of you. Is it really worth all that paperwork?

and

2) Don’t ride in a bus with me.

“I’m just trying to think of something to write about for my MamaPop post today.”

He thought about it for a while.

“Why don’t you just type random letters?”

“Just like 10th grade geography papers?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

*

It was an automated survey.

Question: Do you own a small dog?

I said no.

THAT WAS THE ENTIRE SURVEY?

What the hell kind of business could require an anonymous automated telephone survey where the sole question is “Do you own a small dog?”

Are the politicians planning a smear campaign claiming that one of the candidates hates small dogs? Do they have a picture of a senator kicking a chihuahua? Or am I totally off. Maybe there were more questions if you said yes to the first query.

Maybe Alex Trebek was punking me.

I don’t know the answer, but I do know this:

1) I am going to stop answering my phone.

2) This crap is going to bother me for months.

[photo: Nutloaf]

This year I thought I avoided that.

I came home from New York and I had plenty to write about.

Then all of the sudden I didn’t. I haven’t written here in a week and my last post was three YouTube videos.

I owe you more than that.

You know that I used to write for the now defunct DC Metro Moms Blog, right? Well, I did, and every once in a while I wrote something worth reading over there. Now that they have closed their doors they are allowing us to cross-post our work on our personal blogs. I wrote this this particular post last summer. It got picked up by several newspapers so it must be decent, right? Anyway, with back to school season upon The Goon Squad this seemed like an appropriate time to share it with you.

* * *

The Class of 2022

My twins turned five this week. Between all of the preschool birthday celebrations and the birthday party (you know the one where I invited every child in both of their classes? Can you even imagine 32 four and five year olds in one room… after eating chocolate cake?) I didn’t have time to think much about kindergarten orientation.

Okay fine. I didn’t know about it until a week before so I didn’t have much time to obsess about it.

I came prepared the way any good blogger would. I had my camera and my iPhone. I figured I could twitter during the boring parts.

The tweeting never happened. First of all, I got stuck in the front row and second of all as soon as the principal started talking I was riveted.

She walked out and said “Welcome to the class of 2022.”

The class of 2022! Let’s pretend for just a second it doesn’t sound like something in a science fiction book. I remember thinking 1984 was futuristic. 2022.

That reminds me of a quick story. My husband and I were shopping for a couch recently and we went into a furniture store that could only be described as “mod”. The stuff in there was very cool, very uncomfortable and very overpriced. The problem is it all had the effect of Tomorrowland. You know, yesterdays idea of the future.

I said to my husband “That looks totally 2001.” The I realized that I had to clarify “Not the year, the space odyssey.”

It seemed so odd that 2001 was eight years ago. Now here I am sitting in a small plastic chair thinking about my babies graduating from high school.

In space suits.

I’ll fly to their graduation with my jet pack. Even that idea is outdated isn’t it?

I’d like to propose a toast to the class of 2022. It will be here sooner than we think.

The Solillaquists of Sound – New Sheriff in Town

Soul Coughing – Bus to Beelzebub

The Notorious B.I.G. (Biggie Smalls) – Party and Bullshit (ratatat remix)

My stomach was cramping so badly that I was convinced that Vicky was having her baby.

I reasoned that she and I had bonded so deeply when we roomed together at BlogHer that I could feel her labor pains.

I don’t know. It seemed feasible at 3:30 in the morning.

*

When I woke up the fist thing I did was check facebook to see a picture of the baby.

There were no photos.

So I e-mailed Vicky.

There was no labor. No  baby yet. She slept through the night.

*

It must have been the entire sleeve of Pringles I ate yesterday.

I have got to stop doing that.

I watched it happen. They say you can’t, but I can. Maybe you can’t, but I can.

I CAN DO ANYTHING! You can’t stop me.

It was amazing.

(They don’t really call me The Myth Buster. They call me “The Boiler”.)

(Laurie and Suebob should stop reading now)

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?

A: Diarrhea.

I turned my head as his mother scolded him for that kind of talk at the table because I was laughing and I didn’t want to encourage his behavior. His second joke was “Why did the diarrhea cross the road?”*  Then he said – and he said it really loud and we were in a restaurant – “WHAT? YOU DON’T LIKE DIARRHEA?”

I had to hide behind my child so that Todd couldn’t see that I was laughing so hard I was shaking.

I know it is inappropriate lunch conversation. I know that I am a parent and a grown up and it takes a village and I should be throwing him stern glances as his own mother tries to raise him right, but dammit, diarrhea is funny.

Especially when it crosses the road.

* He never gave an answer. I think that one was rhetorical.

That is how long it took me to start crying after I got back into town.

I wasn’t even actually home yet.

I don’t know why I was surprised. This happens every year. I go to BlogHer and I leave feeling amazing. I see people I only get to talk to face to face once a year. I meet people in person that I have been internet friends with for five years. I watch amazing panels of women inspire me to be a better writer, mother, artist, person. I get more compliments in three days than I do for the other 362 days a year combined.

At BlogHer I make business connections. I learn. I socialize. I reunite. I am recognized as a writer. As a business woman. As an individual.

At home I am recognized as “Ian’s Mom”.

At BlogHer people ask me how I do it all.

At home people ask me why I’m not doing more.

At BlogHer I am one of the hosts of the most amazing party. We had a cake from Charm City Bakery, we had a DJ and we did The Hustle. I was sparkly.

Jen and Sarah posing as “robot hookers”. We actually wore the same dress to Sparklecorn. What are the odds that two people would buy this dress? Photo by Laurie White

At home there is a rotting cantaloupe on my kitchen counter, my sink is full of dishes and I can’t find my glasses anywhere.

At BlogHer I meet with producers of major television news networks that want to discuss the upcoming book in which two of my essays will appear.

At home it is dismissed because it is a “little blogging thing” and did you hear my sister-in-law is going to have an article in Oprah’s magazine? Did I know that she was a real writer?

At BlogHer I sit on panels next to WNBA champions and people come to the session to hear me speak.

With Megan Hueter and Kelly Mazzante at BlogHer 10. Photo by Laurie White

At home I sit next to my cat who will not stop meowing. I have no idea why.

At BlogHer I say intelligent things and people write it down.

At home I walk into the wall and hurt my elbow.

The same wall that has been in the same place ever since I moved here in 2006.

Every year it is like this. Maybe next year, when I go to my sixth BlogHer I will stop being surprised.

I’ll see you in San Diego.