Sunday, April 4, 2010

The most depressing Easter ever except for the first one - did you know some guy died? And my sausage is missing.

2010 is going down in history as The Worst Easter Ever (except maybe the original day, the one from which all Easters are descended, because I guess some guy died? Or something? And then came back to life? Sort of? I don't know, I'm not the one who goes to Catholic School. Is it just me, or does this sound like a holiday that may or may not involve The Living Dead? Or zombies maybe. "I see dead people. Oh never mind, it's Jesus. Right on, man, welcome back. That was pretty harsh, huh?" So in retrospect, I guess looking at "the big picture" that first Easter would have been the worst. Or at least, kind of scary for a kid. It sounds like  it was a pretty grim situation all around. THIS is why I don't go to church, I am scared of dead people.)

But all of that zombie Easter stuff aside, THIS year is the worst Easter, personally, for myownself. Partly because I am so exhausted I can't see straight and I slept through the Easter Egg hunt. And partly because my soupy didn't arrive. In contrast to last year, which totally kicked ass, this year is just awful.

The missing soupy has left me despondent. Adrift in a sea of peeps and sweet rolls, crying into the mug of coffee that I am clutching with shaking, sleep-deprived hands. My sausage has gone missing, and there is nothing I can do about it.

I blame it on the flood.

And it makes sense, that a holiday I am trying to celebrate here in Hawaii, one that is basically about zombies and enormous talking bunnies that shit colored chicken eggs and give you candy, would be ruined by a flood of epic, Noah's Ark Rhode Island.
Aerial photos: Interstate 95, Warwick Mall swamped

My soupy is in there somewhere.

My stepdad mailed it to us, with the return address "The Soupy Bunny" and SURPRISE SURPRISE it didn't arrive. You don't mail a package marked Soupy at the Westerly Rhode Island post office, and expect it to make it out of the state. Soupy is a precious commodity, recipes are closely guarded secrets, and your soupy stash is hidden in the darkest recesses of your basement until the holiest of days, or until you have to mail it to relatives that don't HAVE a basement and live in th tropics and therefore cannot MAKE THEIR OWN FUCKING SOUPY and depend on you to provide, dammit, stupid soupy bunny.

So I had to go in search of an acceptable placeholder.

I went to Whole Foods of course. Because Whole Foods is my chosen religion, and going to the store is like visiting mecca and even the produce guys know to expect me every day. Especially this day. The holiest of all days. I needed soupy. If anyone was gonna have soupy on Easter, and maybe a nice Easter Bread, it was going to be my beloved Whole Foods.

But no.

So we drove home with a $10 bag of rhubarb (after being warned that the tops were poisonous and not to eat them. HAPPY EASTER!) a pound of roast beef, some crusty bread, and an attitude problem. I wept softly in the front seat ("I'm just so fucking tired. I can't work until 2am and then get up with the kids at 5:30am to hunt for eggs. I just can't do it. I am the worst parent ever.") and the kids sat in the back seat, happily blowing the assortment of whistles, harmonicas and shofar horns that the stupid easter bunny brought them. Obviously, I was drinking when I bought the stuff for the baskets the Easter Bunny didn't think about mommy's late nights when he filled the easter baskets.

Happy Fucking Easter. Send soupy. I can live without the easter bread.......but not my sausage. I love my sausage. I wish I had one of my own.

Aunt Becky, please don't let the Daver read this one.

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