Honestly, sometimes I think I'm actually living the events I talk about on my blog. I mean, yes, of course, the stories on my blog are true-as-far-as-you-know, but then real life comes along and imitates my backordered life, and before you know it things have gone all Inception on me.
Remember when I told you about my little addiction to other people's hoarding problem? And how my kids are pretty sure I'm one unsupervised weekend away from being swept up in an avalanche of empty McDonald's cups and Peanut Butter M&M bags?
Well, the ca-RAZIEST thing happened this week, right here in Las Vegas. I know! Who would expect crazy things to happen in Vegas? I blame global warming.
The remains of a 66-year old woman who has been missing since April were found in her house - after her husband removed five tons of trash from the room. And what's worse, she had been buried under her own hoard! It had just sorta toppled over onto her. There was so much garbage in her home that the fragrance threw off the police dogs back when she first disappeared. It's a real story with real victims, so no making fun. But geez-aloo, there but for the grace of Hefty...
And remember when I realized that crushing on Orlando Bloom kind of made me a lesbian? Well, recently that discovery gave me a wonderful opportunity to clear the air with a woman of my acquaintance, allowing us to start with a fresh, clean slate.
In an e-mail o' bravery, she had suggested in rather cranky terms that I disliked her because she contracted homosexuality a couple of years ago. (She also contracted an allergy to wearing makeup, washing her hair, and just saying "no" to pastries.)
Well, before Orlando came along and made me temporarily gay, I wouldn't have been able to convince her that I had no problem whatsoever with her lifestyle choice. But now, being all empathetic after having walked a mile in her Birkenstocks, I assured her that I really disliked her because she was a hateful, hostile demon-troll, calculatingly determined to make everyone around her miserable while at the same demonstrating all the emotional stability of a damp hornets' nest.
I think she and I have turned a corner in our relationship. I really do. And I owe it all to Legolas and his tiara.
(It's possible I only thought the words 'hateful, hostile demon-troll'. And also that part about hornets. And I don't really remember saying the word 'damp'. But I totally told her everything else. Oh, except the stuff about 'calculating' and 'emotional stability'. And, now that I think about it, she technically does not wear Birkenstocks. Everything else up there, however, is completely verbatim.)
And finally, remember when I shared with you my continuing efforts to ruin my children's lives, smushing all their dreams and giving a metaphorical wedgie to any chance of happiness?
Well, Vanessa and I went school shopping with Jake, who is starting high school and is feeling a little, let's say, anxious about the whole social scene. You remember 14, right? Yeah, he's got it in spades.
And Jake was in a dressing room, trying on jeans, while Ness and I waited on a couple of metal chairs right outside the door, facing the room. The aisle was narrow, and this was one of those hippie mod dressing rooms where any and all carbon based life forms can try on clothes if they can get past the ladies on the folding metal chairs.
(Remember when we were absolutely convinced that co-ed dressing rooms would lead to global firestorm, plagues of locusts, and reality television? Well, look around. It's the apocalypse, baby.)
Anyway, Jake emerged from the dressing room in his new jeans, and I leaned up, and, as is clearly mandated in the Mother Handbook, took hold of the seat, gave it several meaningful tugs, and squawked, "They look a little loose in the bum. How do they feel? Are they loose in the bum?"
And all the while, I was tugging on his bottom.
Until my daughter said quietly, "Uh, mom?"
At which point, I looked up, and discovered that I had blocked the dressing room aisle, and was actively preventing an absolutely ADORABLE girl of perhaps 15 from getting past Jake's fitting session.
This was two days ago. Jacob is still at the mall, having sealed himself into the stall as he waits for starvation or, more likely, sheer, abject humiliation, to kill him.
So, you know, my work there is done.
Add to that the ... er ... difficulties I initially had in being released from a calling I've held for more than nineteen years, and the unfortunate fact that I had to deal with several recalcitrant chin hairs all by myself because my husband has been gone since Monday, and well, it's been quite a week here at Chez Bac-Ordeur.
Y'know? I think I preferred it when I was just making this stuff up.