1. Log into Facebook
2. See sister in law has uploaded photos from weekend
3. See you look like a she beast… for real. She Fuckin’ Beast.
4. Call sister in law half crying and beg for deletion.
5. Log into sister in law’s account and remove post… (feel like total asshole but not enough to not do it)
1. Sit for a minute and realize that you have indeed, put back on every last pound you have ever lost and then some… admit the last time you weighed this much you were pregnant… print photo out for incentive.
2. Text sister in law with million dollar weight loss idea: SHAME, the Diet.
Hugh and I attended a funeral this morning. Now, funerals are, by their very definition, sad. They are even more sad when, like today, they are for a 56 year old man who, by rights, should have had at least another 25 years of life ahead of him.
While we knew that our friend, let us call him “Bob” for the sake of this blog, had, and I quote, found Jesus and been saved, we didn’t fully appreciate just how deep his devotion ran until this morning as we sat in one of those business park churches which dot much of inland Orange County.
It was a touching memorial… his brother spoke eloquently about their childhood and Bob’s younger and crazier days… his longtime pals told stories of a carefree youth… his daughter brought a tear to everyone’s eye as she thanked her father’s wife for the love of Christ she had instilled in him…
A DVD played with photos ranging from his birth to just a few weeks ago… quickly carrying us across the years… a darling toddler with Santa, a teen dressed for prom… a proud new father…
And then the needle scratched across the record as some Jr. Pastor sort stood up and did a combo sales pitch of fear at the assembled as he reminded us that if we hoped to see Bob again, if we hoped for eternal life, we better, right now, in our seats, tell Jesus Christ that He is our Lord and Savior that we are mere sinners who DESERVE to go to Hell.
I kid you not.
He went on and on and on… Bob’s dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Nothing we can do for him now but not to worry as he is in Heaven because he ACCEPTED Jesus. Now, the rest of you, well, you are going to Hell and if you die, there is nothing anyone can do to help you because you DID NOT ACCEPT Jesus. Don’t think you can live a good life of generosity and compassion… if you have even one impure thought you are a SINNER and you are GOING TO HELL.
Sorry Jewish friends. Too bad for you Buddhists. So long Muslims pals… enjoy Hell.
I believe there are many paths to God. I believe that there is a right and a wrong way to behave and the tenets of good behavior do not vary from religion to religion. Every faith brings with it it’s crazy dogma of old, it’s zealots, it’s blindly devout… but the essence of Faith, that there is a Power greater than ourselves, that we are not alone, and that we are ultimately accountable to a moral code of humanity… well, that is the same.
I leaned over and said to Hugh, “I don’t like this man…” and then brazenly checked my texts in a childish act of Going to Hell defiance. Turns out a friend a few rows away was trying to drum out the fire and brimstone by singing Rolling Stones tunes in her head… good to know I wasn’t alone…
And I guess I can count on at least one friend in the firey hereafter.
Let’s go paint our own pottery! I suggested brightly… I thought of the plates or mugs or photo frames they could decorate… something we can use around the house… maybe even a tooth fairy box?
Both girls picked dolphin statues… you know, this style:
I picked up the ceramic horror, turned it over and saw the following: #25 Kids: $7
As it was located in the section clearly marked, “KIDS”, I took this to read: inventory number 25, price, $7.
The girls picked out their paints, got their brushes and sponges assembled and enjoyed a half and hour or so of painting and laughing and it was quite cute and blah blah blah… they finished and I took the masterpieces up to the counter and imagine my fucking surprise when the kid said, That will be $61.00
SIXTY ONE AMERICAN DOLLARS!
Turns out that each statue was twenty five bucks and it was an additional seven dollars for the privilege of painting.
What. A. Racket.
I believe those statues retail for .35 at the Mexico border. Sometimes they will throw them in for free with the purchase of a pack of Chiclet gum or a pinata.
I’m sure I should be all about how sweet it was and that those fun moments don’t come with a price, but truthfully all I can think of is the other things I could have bought with that money…
…in 4 months, not like, next week or anything… still plenty of time to mentally pack and repack the luggage and it will probably take me the entire 16 weeks to find the right shoes to take for both comfort and style so as not to be laughed at by superior taste Parisian types (everyone in France).
I haven’t been to France since I was… um, 19? 19! So, 10 years ago… haha, no of course, it’s been over 20 years and the last time I was there I was backpacking all over the place on about a $4 a day budget and having the time of my damn young life. I was on Le Grand Tour. Or, is it La Tour Grand? Never mind. I don’t plan on speaking French while I am over there although my friend, who graciously invited me to join her on this most festive vacances, does parlez as does her father who will be over there at a L’ecole de la Langue but I know my limits and I have no desire to piss off the natives by butchering their most beautiful and sophisticated language. I may acquire a British accent just so I sound more refined, but that is as far as I’m going… I am all about the relaxed and not le travail.
This trip will be most interessant because although I have been to Paris several times with my family and of course, the aforementioned backpacking adventure, I haven’t been as an adult and I look forward to spending time getting to know the City of Lights as a grown up… to nosing about old shops and cafes and sitting around eavesdropping on conversations I cannot understand… maybe find a treasure or two to bring home…
This will also be the first trip I have taken away from my family. I’ve done “girls weekends” in Palm Springs and New York and I have traveled with the children without Hugh, but this is a week away from both my husband and my children… and yes, it makes me a teeny bit weepy… but mostly it makes me nervous… a week without my defining parts? A week where, although a wife and mother in name and via Skype, most certainly not in action… weird!
Have you taken Le Grand Tour (I’ve decided that sounds better) sans les enfants et sans le mari? Advice?