Selfish needs and motorized transport

When I started this blog, I intended it to be a place where I wrote about funny stuff that happened to me and to nurture the illusion that I would actually write something "real" someday. All I can say to that now is "bleh." I can't even remember the last really funny thing that happened to me. I am pretty sure that funny stuff HAS happened, but I think there is a good chance I would not notice. All I want to do lately is bolt and run. Not just from caring for all the crippled folks around (wait, watching a four year old with a full leg cast run is funny, maybe I should make a video), but from anything that vaguely resembles responsibility. I am so overcome with selfish desires right now. Now, I am not talking about standard desires (a clean house, obedient children), I want really selfish stuff that I have never had ANY interest in. All-inclusive vacations, shiny stuff that supports genoicide in Africa, pretty things that look good in Vogue on anorexic people, foods with the first three ingredients to be: butter, cream, sugar. All of this stuff is so foreign to me, yet I want, want, want. I am going to use that as my gauge of when I am happy again, when my desires return to normal: olive bar purchases, a bubble bath, new houseshoes, a complete collection of Bare Naked Ladies CDs.

We are off on a trip again, this time to see my Aunt Becky who I generally refer to as "the family member I have never disliked." This is a good thing since it is my daughter's first name. She married a man named "Boots" who is loved almost as much as she is by my children, and they have a dachshund named Spike who could get work as a footbal lineman. He can take down a full grown person once he hits full speed and he can get Boo airborne. Today Boo was crying after a Spike flight, and when I went outside he was saying, "My leg, my leg!" I had this moment of terror that I was going to have a two cast kid (now THAT would be a funny video), but once I picked the magnolia pod out of his knee he was mobile once more. There is a precedent for this because when I was in high school I had surgery on my right foot for which I needed crutches. Being a stupid teenager, I decided it was a perfect time to learn to ride a motorbike. Unfortunately, I did not get adequate steering directions so I immediately drove into a freshly plowed cotton field, where I went airborne, had the bike land on my good ankle resulting in a massive sprain and making it impossible to walk for a couple of days. And Bunny, true to form, yanked out a couple of teeth when I was in a situation where I could do nothing about it since searching for kleenex at high speeds is probably up there with texting on the list of stupid ideas. She still believes in the tooth fairy (or claims to) and she looked at me and said, "This is a MOLAR. I think it is worth more, DON'T YOU THINK SO, MOMMY?" Five bucks for two. How was that for a run-on paragraph?

Today we went to the "Little White House" where FDR died. I was very impressed with the interpreter's ability to keep a straight face when she said that FDR had not had an affair. Yeah, whatever, she had a bedroom and Eleanor didn't? Figure that one out, ranger lady. I also learned that it would be a very, very bad idea to ever give my mother a motorized wheelchair because once she gets a little speed going, I think she becomes Bo Duke behind the wheel of General Lee. Things like curbs and feet were just soooooo irrelevant. Not that she has tortured me enough or anything, but she now has a torn rotator cuff which may mean surgery. Did no one get the memo that I am NOT GOOD AT NURSING CARE? On the other hand, it would mean a night off while she was in the hospital. This isn't outpatient, right?

I Must Change My Reading Habits!

I think my life must have really begun the day I learned to read. It is what I do to make me happy, put me to sleep, pass time in the bathroom, and get me through long trips. However, I have always had a problem with reading right before bed because most times whatever is the last thing I read before sleep will somehow appear in my very vivid dreams. I can't tell you how many times in my dreams I have been kidnapped or shown up for school in a Victorian gown as opposed to the normal naked.

Lately, in a vain attempt to keep up with popular culture, I have been reading novels popular with the teenage set. The whole Twilight series was consumed in a little over a week. Now, I am trying to catch up on the zombie phase a couple of years after its popularity peak. I have been reading a book called World War Z, An Oral History of the Zombie Wars. This was not a good plan. Last night I actually laid in my bed and looked around my room and thought, "Hmmm, what could I crush a zombie skull with?" Back in the old days, zombies supposedly could be stopped with salt, but according to the new theories, their brains must be destroyed. Decapitation isn't enough unless you also burn their heads. You can't drown zombies, or stab zombies or even pull them apart. A bullet through the brain is what is required.

Before I explain more about my zombie obsession, I must tell you about the other attempt I have made to join in with the popular culture. I love Facebook with a crazy passion. It is as good as email, but with pictures and updates. It lets you reconnect with friends without the real responsibility of true friendship. I am a huge fan of shallow relationships. I have found lots of people that I used to like but had lost touch with, acquired some "new" friends, found all my exboyfriends and crushes so they can't sneak up on me, and acutally found a way to connect with the teenagers I volunteer with through my church that doesn't make them feel weird. I guess I am speaking in their language for a change. Anyway, that brings me to John/Hunter.

During college, I had a lovely boyfriend, who is now a facebook friend, of course. His best friend was John, who sort of epitomized my idea of what cool was supposed to be in college. As a result, I rarely talked to him because I was convinced he thought I was a dork. I guess he didn't because I am now his facebook friend, and I take consolation in the fact that he has possibly sold out even more than I did. At graduation, I honestly thought I would go and live on some organic lavender farm and milk goats and have solar panels, etc. Instead, I am happily middle class, a room mom, and drive a minivan. I frequently have periods of discontent about this, but I cope. However, John lives in a gated neighborhood and is a psychiatrist. I would have called you a liar if you had ever told me he would do this twenty years ago. Anyway, I am finally to the point. John has put Hunter S. Thompson's face as his face on his facebook page which he finally posted two days ago.

So, after sending John/Hunter a message, I sat down to read the Zombie Wars (can't drown them, either). Fall asleep. The wars begin! It was a terrifying dream about Hunter and I trying to fight the zombie hordes. I woke up yesterday exhausted. Now, you would THINK this would make me stop reading the zombie book, but, no, I must find out how civilization makes it. Last night, I read again. Again, I dream about zombies, Hunter (who now has a tank), me (I have a shovel), and just when I thought he has left me dreams forever, the President of Iran was back, trying to woo with me his wife-beater t-shirt and his killer zombie skills. I am so grateful that I have no reason to psychoanalyze this dream, but I really would like to know why these two particular people (Hunter/John and Mr. Iran) won't leave my dreams. I am fully confident I don't have a real interest in them while I am awake, yet I am totally enthralled with their zombie destruction skills while asleep. I want to know why I got a shovel and they got tanks and bombs. I even had a dream conversation with Mr. Iran last night about whether nuclear weapons will destroy zombies. The only thing I know for sure is I am returning that book to the library today. If my other dream boyfriends, John Adams and Emperor Claudius show up, I am going to work on developing an addiction to No-Doz and confining myself to Jane Austen novels.