Howdy ho! And howdy to all of you who earn a legitimate living. I’m back home, counting my toes and dipping into my little Trick or Treat bag from what has to be the most enthusiastically pharmaceutical doctor visit since Michael Jackson’s “nutritionist” dropped by with her IV pole.
I’m pretty sure my doctor is a drug dealer. YESSSS!
The irony is, we go to this doctor because he treats all of the guys in my husband’s division, which if you’ve read my profile you will know is a branch of law enforcement. And if you haven’t read my profile you really should, because it’s a freaking work of art over there. Seriously, critics have called my profile essay the “Dogs Playing Poker” of the literary world.
Where was I? Oh, yes, going door-to-door begging for anti depressants, anti anxiety meds, and anti lard-butt cream. I go through truckloads of all of these during the summer, because, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made this clear in posts gone by, my family is insane.
As has been observed in other posts, like this brilliant and daring expose on the addictive properties of Phase 10, my kids don’t do non-school time very well. Goodness, during the school year we barely make it through weekends without lacing each other’s root beer with Nyquil. Major breaks like Columbus Day and Thanksgiving have me sucking my thumb behind the water heater. And summer vacation nearly unhinges me in a thoroughly homicidal and highly caloric way.
Hence the drugs.
But the groovy thing is, my doctor actually went Trick or Treating for me, and came back to the room with THIS bag o’ samples.
He is the most true and living doctor on the earth today, I so TOTALLY testify.
Anyway, this is a this n’ that post, mostly telling you that I had a great time at the bloggers’ dinner last Friday, where I got to hang with some of the HIPPEST bloggers in the galaxy. And they are a few of the other pills that have kept me smiling this summer!
Got to meet Melissa the Wonder Runner, her cute pal Marty, Val of the South who we love anyway even though she brought CRASH some bread and jam and completely dissed me and my posse, Wendy the Queen of the North, and Sarah who is new to our crew but slipped in completely seamlessly!
Non-blogging guests included my daughter Corinne, who now knows more about…um…big girl stuff than she ever needed to know at 16, my sister Kim who sat and soaked in all the talk for future blackmail purposes, and my darling former-student-turned-hysterically-funny-grown-up Christy Nuttall. (Note to Christy’s parents: No eye contact for a year.)
And of course my uber cool sister Amber was there, whose big news was the reason I was in town to begin with (but it’s her story, so keep your eyes and ears peeled), as were our adoptive sisters, Sherrie and ‘Motherboard,’ for whom I would gladly take a bullet or attend a welfare meeting. THAT’S how much I love those gals!
So while I was (hold your hands really far apart) THIS sad to have missed Crash’s lunch in Provo, I did get to spend some quality time with a bunch of truly wonderful women.
And even though Sherrie hit me, like, CRAZY hard and now I’m paralyzed and can’t play the piano or conduct an orchestra or even write or eat on account of her hitting the arm I do that with so now I’ll have to become a drain on society and start having public spats with Paris Hilton, I wasn't the least bit offended because I deserved it on account of having told the world she's got dysmorphia (because why else would someone voluntarily give up sugar, huh?), and I've completely forgotten the entire incident as well as the real ending I had prepared for this sentence.
Of course, now that I’m sufficiently medicated, I’m prepared for the rest of the summer, starting with my husband’s family reunion this weekend. We’re going to Sun Valley, Idaho to stay at a 4-H Camp for a couple of days with his roughly one-point-eight million cousins. Which means I should have a story or two to share upon our return.
(No, I don’t know what the Four Aitches stand for, but according to my experiences of the last 25 years, it’s “Heat”, “Hike”, “Hail”, and, if I get my way, “Hotel.”)
Oh, and don’t let me forget to tell you the story about the time my husband dived into the Colorado River. It’s a classic, and I was encouraged by my new and old pals at the blog dinner to write it down for the benefit of humanity and future generations of internet-based essay readers. All six of them.
Meanwhile, enjoy the rest of your July, and if you haven’t taken my extremely comprehensive Test of Trivial Nonsense Masquerading as History, click over here to do so.
You may find it even MORE exhilarating than a Trick or Treat visit to my dealer, er, I mean, doctor.
Stay cool, amigas!
...and p.s. Happy 22nd to my biggest boy!