It’s Riddled With Insane People

There I am! Everyday me on the left and blogging me on the right with my miraculous dagger boobs.

Child: Where are you going?

Mother: I have reservations for NY on the 6th and 7th of August.

Child: Your whole family is in NY, why aren’t you staying with them?

Mother: Well, this is for some sort of conference.

Child: What kind?

Mother: Uhhh, something from the internet.

Child: You said the internet is filled with 70-year-old ex cons and child molesters trying to lure us to another state and kidnap us. What makes you think this conference doesn’t have those things?

Mother: Well, (long pause) I guess I can’t be sure that there AREN’T any convicts or murderers but I’m pretty sure I have tangible proof that at least a few of these bloggers are on the up and up.

Child: What do you mean, BLOGGERS?

Mother: Well, I guess I blog sometimes.

Child: What!!?? You have a secret life?

Mother: No, it’s not like I’ve got another family across the country that I’m hiding or anything..

Child: LIAR!

Mother: Whatever, I’m going and none of you are coming with me.

Child: That’s not fair. We are going to start a blog to protest your stupid blog and then we are going to your conference with picket signs.

Mother: Enough with the “it’s not fair” bullshit, adults don’t run off to New York and come home in a body bag, kids do.

Child:  Oh yeah? You’ll see. Grandma says that the internets are riddled with mouth breathers who “rent” their elderly mom’s basement apartment and hone their serial killing skills. Just like Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs, but without the outfit made entirely of human skin.  You just want a weekend alone, you’re probably going to the spa.

Mother: Just because there may be a back rub and a trip into the sauna that does not mean it’s a spa. It’s a regular old hotel. Plus it’s time to stop listening to Grandma. She’s old and afraid of dying so everything looks to be a perilous journey that holds things that only your wildest imagination can convieve of.  Remember how she insisted there were a ring of fanny pack raiding professional thieves at Disney World who “STOLE HER CREDIT CARD!”?  Then she calmed down and found it in her left pants pocket?

Child: Do you write anything mean about us on that blog?

Mother: (under breath) You have no fucking idea. Cough, cough. No I only write nice things and observations about current events. I even have an alias so that no one from real life has ANY idea except Daddy! I’m like Barbara Gordon by day and Batgirl in the evenings when I type out all my frustrations and destroy crime.

Child: (crickets chirping)

Mother: It’s just for two days and I’ll be home. Consider it my birthday gift to myself.

Child: If some hobo doesn’t kill you and throw you in his card board box.

One week people.

Doodles

Who among us hasn’t drifted off during some important point in our lives and began doodling?
 

At one point in my life where I spent a LOT of time fooling myself with unwarranted delusions of grandeur I fancied myself an artist. A bad artist, but an artist nonetheless. 

After two real art classes I realized what a rank amateur I turned out to be and started defacing property and little ripped bits of paper that were floating around. I think you can still see some of my handiwork in classroom 208 on some of the desks. 

Old notebooks of mine recently floated to the surface and I found some silly stuff. 

Yeah I told this person that they sucked wad. I was very mature back then.

At least I *think* I was paying attention during this college anatomy class.

Anatomy again. You can tell I start to drift off when she's talking about the neck.

Stole my daughters school sketchbook. Defaced it.

Combo of Christopher Walken and my husbands father. Drew this before I knew him so I consider this an omen.

Sadly, this should have served as foreshadowing of things to come. 

I have stacks of junky scrap paper creations accompanied by illegible captions that my friends and I penned during what seem to be drug addled stints in our classes. 

I recently unearthed one of our high school death and dying teacher holding hands with our dour math instructor. This would be okay except we depicted them as a clueless bespectacled hamburger and a pack of fries with an angry scowl and a love of the Pythagorean theorem. We titled it “Klaitchbuger and Weirfries” 

I’ll have to scan it for you so you can behold the wonder. 

Notice we didn’t dare draw a nun picture.