Sunday, February 21, 2010

Try to picture this

Today I had, to quote Will Ferrell in "Old School" (because it's a classic, damn it) "a nice little Sunday". Booze, beach, burned to a crisp, rolled home in the sunshine remembering to A. get milk (I know, I can't believe it either. I blow my own mind) and B. to drop off things that needed dropping off, and then I got the car unloaded and the kids cleaned up, and they went off to ride bikes in the street while I attacked the laundry and started a batch of meatballs. (I am such a fucking Suzy Homemaker, right? Yeah, that's what I thought too. Don't be jealous, it's so unbecoming. I can't help my domestic bliss, it just comes natural.) So I am standing there in my "I swear I'm not kidding with this" blue and white striped gingham bikini, throwing meatballs in the pan and flipping them and everything is going just great until the oil got a teensy bit too hot and you know where I am going with this dontcha and damn I wish maybe you could have given me the heads up because OW OW OW I burned myself. So I put the apron on about 10 minutes too late because I am maybe a little more Suzy Q then Suzy Homemaker but anyway I put on the fucking apron and finished my meatballs and that is when I noticed that the dogs were being really whiney and obnoxious on the porch.

The kids were playing in the street and Sami was working in the yard and the dogs were going APESHIT because they wanted to GET INVOLVED and HELP OUT and RUN and JUMP and PLAY. So I wander out and open the gate and God Help Me they bolted out of there and went ass over elbows down the stairs and across the street and I go running after them and everyone is yelling and clapping and calling them and as I walk down the street I wave to my neighbor who gives me a strange look which is when I realize that I am walking down the street in a seersucker bikini and an apron and I feel like a real douche but what are you gonna do, so I just keep on keeping on. "I burned myself" I explained cheerfully. "Making meatballs." And she is just looking at me like I am the biggest fucking moron EVER because women of a certain age should not be wandering around the neighborhood in a bikini, not even with an apron over it. But I can't worry about that now, I have Dog Wrangling to get done. After much shouting and not-so-thinly-veiled threats I finally grab one dog by the collar and drag him along on my search for the other dog, who I discover in a neighbor's backyard taking a shit in the 5 fucking seconds he is out of my line of vision. Keep in mind, these dogs of ours are outside dogs with a huge yard and yet, apparently, they wait until they escape from our yard to go shit somewhere else. So I start yelling and that damn dog comes running and I still have the other dog by the collar and suddenly the neighbors dog starts running towards us and the dog I am hanging onto for dear life spazzes out, jumps about 3 feet in the air and does some sort of ridiculous twist which sends me flying through the air until  I land on my elbow and hip on the concrete, and get dragged along for a good 3 feet before finally giving up and letting go of the collar because HELLO? self-preservation. And please keep in mind that while all of this is happening I am in my fucking seersucker bikini and an apron and NOTHING ELSE only now instead of being in the street I am in the neighbors yard, lying on the ground, bleeding, and oh yes, the other neighbors are all watching and let me tell you it felt fucking AWESOME.


So then I have to do the walk of shame into my neighbors backyard with a plastic bag to pick up the dog shit, still dressed (I use this term loosely) in my bikini and apron, still with a full audience.

By now, the dogs had been rounded up and were barking in our yard, I'm carrying a bag of shit down the street and muttering to myself, and the kids are all riding their bikes in circles and begging for a playdate and I'm all "NO CHANCE IN HELL" and "COME EAT YOUR MEATBALLS."

They get the message pretty quickly, and we all go inside, leaving our neighbors standing around thinking "What. The. Fuck." and who can blame them because dude, I'd be thinking the same thing.

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