Contrary to Appearances, I Was Not on Hallucinogenic Drugs While Writing This Post

I'm FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Wait... Did I just say that out loud? I feel terrible for saying this, but I was pretty happy to kiss my children goodbye today. If only so I can get my house in order (yet you see that I'm blogging and the last time I checked the house doesn't get any cleaner while one blogs. Just think how clean my house would be if it did! I mean I'm not a frequent blogger, but when I do blog, it's profuse.). My house is a complete and total disaster after this past weekend.

I'm seriously considering "Abrasaint" as my neighbor's nickname. It's totally fitting. He didn't lodge a single complaint the entire weekend even though it sounded like I was running a boot/torture camp or, alternately, had fostered a couple of angry elephants what with all of the banging and clanging and screaming going on up here. Additionally, he brought me Diet Dr. Pepper during my time of need when I had too many kids in the house to drive anywhere. (You know because my ex-husband had my van repossessed during our divorce. I'm not bitter.) My kids owe him their lives! Diet Dr. Pepper was the only thing getting me through the weekend! (And the heroin*, of course.) Seriously though, he's a saint. Thus he has been dubbed "Abrasaint." (Apparently, while writing, I moved from considering to deciding.)

So, you know how you check your Amazon wishlist every so often to see if anyone has bought you a gift? And you know no one has, but there's always the chance so you go look anyway? You click on the "purchased items" link and WHOA! TWELVE things have been purchased from your wishlist! TWO! YEARS! AGO! When the hell do they clear that stuff off? I'm tired of the little jolt I get when I think I'm getting twelve presents only to find out that it's the same twelve things I've already received (and I am very grateful for all twelve things lest you think I'm not). If I visited often enough, I would remember that I already have twelve items purchased off my wishlist and not get that little jolt of material gluttony. But because I check it so infrequently, and because I did so many drugs in the 60's**, I always forget. Something tells me the fact that I just typed "twelve" about 200 (or 5) times will ensure that I'll remember it for the rest of my days. "Honey, remember that time back in 2007 when I had twelve things that had been purchased off of my wishlist?" Oh yeah, I don't have anyone to call "Honey." Whatever. I'll relate the story to the other old ladies in the rest home while we play Canasta (whatever that is).

One thing that stinks about being a female in your thirties (and presumably beyond) is all of the sudden you have these hairs that appear overnight underneath your chin. They're not short hairs. They're usually a minimum of two feet long. That might be a slight exaggeration, but they are certainly long enough to be noticed by everyone. Everyone but you. When you peer into the mirror, you don't see a thing. That's because the hair is transparent from the front view. From the side? It's black and coarse and curly and hideous. Oddly, though, if you attempt to view it from the side in the mirror, you can't see it. You know what? I think what's actually happening is that the hair has no reflection at all. It's a vampire hair!

It only comes to your attention when you see someone staring at it, and you reach up to touch your face in the area from which they can't tear their eyes away. It's then that you feel the monstrous hair and you want to die right there in the spot that you are inhabiting. But lightning doesn't strike you to fulfill your wish, so you make a comment about being a werewolf and how you didn't realize that a full moon was near, and run to the nearest restroom (washroom, if you're Canadian). Once there, you yank at the hair in vain and find that the hair is practically invincible and it won't be taken without the use of a special tool. No, not that kind of special tool! Tweezers! But your tweezers are never, ever where you last left them because they've been enchanted by the vampire hairs on your chin. It's nuts, but totally true! I guess the moral of the story is this: If you're a woman who has not yet reached the age of thirty, revel in your hair-free chin and start warding off the vampire hairs with a nice garlic moisturizer each night. (The fact that you'll be sleeping alone at night since no one will come near you will be worth it. You'll see!)

*I'm currently reading Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me, and there's a lot of heroin talk in the book. I've apparently got heroin on the brain. Let me go on record and say that I have not had sexual relations with heroin, nor have I ingested it in any form.

**I didn't really take any drugs in the 60's. I wasn't even born yet. My mother, on the other hand, might have taken a slew of drugs and that would explain so, so much.