Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tonight, my children got high in the year 2025.
Swim meet tonight. And my brain stem hurts because I drank 7,531 ounces of Diet Coke today--and a friend of mine told me that Diet Coke turns into formaldehyde when heated by the body's 98.6 core temperature. So if you consider that, PLUS the fact that the swim meet was held on the sun (so damn hot), then, I will begin to look like a life-sized figurine made of wax and leather in about...oh...4 minutes.
Also, my dinner consisted of cheese puffs and a sugar cookie. If you're keeping track this means that I am now: diabetic, being chemically preserved AND dried like a fine leather handbag. Super.
We almost had a nuclear-meltdown tonight, as the pool hosting the swim meet has the LONGEST parking lot I have ever seen in my entire life, and my children don't do: long or hot or walking. We are talking about only four rows of parking spots, that stretch the entire space-time continuum. We parked in the 2nd to the last spot, somewhere near the year 2025. A Delorean and a puffy vest would have been helpful.
But then, as G was swimming in her first event, I noticed a smell (and I have NO sense of smell). Distinct. Is it....? No, can't be. Yes. IT. IS.
By now the children had begun to crawl back from crazy, and I was attributing it to the fact that they were being slow roasted on a pool deck and losing the will to live. Which is dumb, because we all know the chickens SCREAM when they are being cooked. Turns out, however, they were receiving a STRONG dose of 2nd hand pot smoke.
If you're thinking that someone was lighting up at the community pool? You would be wrong. It is not an entirely bad idea, however, seeing as the pool and the possible drowning and the goggles and the wet everything (and the Diet Coke) fry every nerve in my body--but this was not a case of non-traditional parenting choices for surviving the pool. I happened to run into a friend of mine, and she provided the missing link, the reminder that the field directly over the fence is being set up for a 4th of July carnival. Ahhh, CARNIES!!!
One day, remind me to tell you how I was a carnie for 3 weeks in my junior year of high school. No joke. CARNIE BARBIE!!! Blah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!!
I want nachos.
Sorry, it's not you. It's me. And the carnie pot. And the diet coke. And the diabetes. And the beef-jerky like transformation I am currently undergoing.
On a side note: I am all hyped up over yesterday's post and the comments it has generated. In all honesty, it *could* be the diet coke, but really I love this kind of discussion. And the posts by both Greta and I are really just the tip of the iceberg, I think. There is really so much more to it, and for that very reason, I am calling in all kinds of favors to get different women to tell the stories of their insecurities. More to come, I promise.
But first I need (in no particular order): An ice bath, insulin, 57 hours of consecutive sleep, a skin peel, a small glass of wine, anti-aging cream, a hot dog and someone to retrieve the cooler bag I left in my mini-van.