joeyfullystated

Y’all! I have so much to tell you!
First, I would like to say I am sober, but drunk on happiness.

I will begin at the beginning.

When I got to work Friday, I was told to best decide how to spend the hour I would work, because our office would be closing early. An hour. Psh. I made two phone calls and completed one project and asked Mentor which project to do next and she said it was time to go home.
ALRIGHT!

I don’t know what the hell we did Friday. *asks* Oh, yes, we had Chinese food!

Saturday I called my mother. We had a delightful chat, and then I mentioned to her, “Our package has not yet arrived,” to which she said, “Yes it has,” and I asked the room, “Did we get Grandma’s package?” Lots of head shaking and shrugging.
Turns out, my package for my parents arrived early (!!!) and the package my mother mailed to us on the 15th was nowhere in sight. (!!!)

I was disappointed. My mother was concerned. She was all, “There’s a lot of money in that box,” and I was all, “Were my fruitlings in there?” 
Y’all, I’m sure the kids would be a skosh somber not getting their yearly-far-away-grandparent income, but me not getting my mother’s fruitlings would be DEVASTATING.

The tracking reported my fruitlings our package as held up at the post office because my address was invalid. You can imagine my surprise, having received mail at my invalid address all week. I said I’d go to the post office Tuesday.
But then, Sadie barked at the mail carrier, so I made inquiry with him.
He gave me the number to call the post office and I called and the lady said although they weren’t open, I could come pick up my package. I told her I’d be right there. Cept, y’all, I was a. hot. mess. I wasn’t really even presentable enough to talk to the mail carrier, and yet, I put on my boots and went to the post office.
Turns out, my mother actually DID write the wrong address on it, because loopy handwriting. I suffer similarly, because Tuesday, the clerk at the post office asked me if my 9s were 5s and I suppose my mother and I should try harder to write slowly and carefully, lest we are too loopy. *giggles*

I baked and music-ed all day and night Saturday. I baked all the fings. All, all, all the fings.

5 loaves of challah — My yeast wasn’t expired, but it wasn’t good, either. Made little islands in the water — and no bubbles! Tsk. The Mister had to go out and get yeast.

3 dozen snickerdoodles (The Mister’s fave) — My cream of tartar canister was stuck closed, so as Bubba wrangled off the lid, I laughed and told him it’s a bonding agent so he could laugh too.

3 dozen double chocolate cookies (A la Norm) — Those cookies are so sweet, I took a bite and announced I couldn’t eat more of it, but the kids love them and have announced, “They’re gonna get gone first.”

5 dozen anise cookies (via Barbara Scott Leonard, y’all remember her? Silver in the Barn?) They’re fabulous, but Papa and I are the only people who eat them, so I’m shipping some to a writer who also loves all things licorice, and taking some to The Green-Eyed Shopgirl. I make up names for people when I don’t know their names. You do that, too, right?

Rum and rum. Cause eggnog and more rum.

Sassy baked the chocolate cake which I will cover with chocolate ganache tonight.

Dipped pretzels and stuff in chocolate and white chocolate, too.

Rolling out sugar cookies tonight, too.

Yesterday, we did the ham, mac n’ cheese, (with cheese Sassy shredded) peas, carrots, and challah (Moo helped knead) and today I made pancakes, bacon, and sausage for brunch.

Then I had a lovely little nap. Mmm, nap.

Sassy and Moo peeled potatoes and Bubba shredded them, which is when I realized we didn’t have enough eggs for the latkes. I told The Mister about the lack of eggs, and he said he was sure it would be fine, in the most condescending of ways.
I am a good cook and I am resourceful. I would say I’m a kitchen witch, but I have no spells for egg multiplication. Apparently, he was expecting one egg to do five eggs’ worth of binding like a Mottern Family Miracle, but I had no such hope. I sent Moo out to ask our neighbors, but they weren’t home. In the meantime, The Mister judged me and made faces at me and I could not even with his helpless, patronizing attitude!
The smoke alarm went off, proving my oil was, in fact, hot enough, which is when The Mister came into the kitchen. “That’s plenty enough eggs, Baby, it’s fine,” [let me try to hug you since you would just as soon punch me in the face] and then, only then, did he realize I was not talking about not having enough deviled eggs. (Did I mention I made deviled eggs?)
So then he went out in search of eggs like the hero he is supposed to be. For fuck’s sake Man, IT WAS AN OFFICIAL EGG CRISIS!

And then we laughed and laughed.

Latkes. *sigh* I don’t care how many you make, you’ll wish you made more. *sigh*

So yes, It’s all about the food. And drinks. And the love and the snuggles. And the sleep. And the music and the movies.

Oh yeah, we had presents, too.

I don’t know what we’re doin tomorrow, but I know it’ll be happy, and I hope all of you have had a happy weekend, too.

Heart heart You heart.

This being Friday, and the last day I work for a while, you’d think I’da leapt (Can I get a definitive on leapt/lept/leaped? I prefer leapt.) outta bed and jauntily prepared for my day, but it was not like that at all.

Are y’all so tired?

I finally made a menu. I stood in the kitchen with my kids, tryin to remember every single ingredient for every single thing, and what all we were out of…made a list, and I think, honest to goodness, it had never occurred to the three of them that this was a job, a task, to think of things to feed them.
Sassy asked me somethin about why I had to cook so much or why I needed food for Monday and I was like, “It’s my job.”
Bubba asked how much money he should allocate to groceries when he’s on his own at grad school and Sassy was like, “I don’t know what I’m gonna eat when I grow up…” and I was like, “No, nine sticks of butter is probably not enough and no, that’s not enough flour, and Daddy hates it when you send him out for flour on Christmas Eve.”
“Daddy hates it when you send him out for anything, ever.”
Ya think? 

Like I enjoy it?!?

Even though we hated it, Sassy and I were at Meijer for two hours last night, buying hella milk for Bubba and Moo and potatoes like whoa. All the potatoes won’t even fit in the bigass drawer, y’all. And if they think Imma peel all those potatoes all by myself…
I BOUGHT MORE RUM.
Have sprinkles always cost so much? Seriously, I thought they were mis-marked.
We made it to the baking aisle before we had to pee.
Went back to the baking aisle to find they were out of anise extract, but forgot the flour and the baking chocolate.
We talked about sitting down in the pasta aisle. Just taking a little rest, but on we went to get peas.
We discussed that maybe hatred of shopping was a maternal family defect and we wished we could be the kind of women who enjoy shopping.
Sassy said she thinks I do way lots more than Daddy, and I was like, “Yeah, but he makes all the money.”
She said, “You make some money.”
I didn’t want to get into a discussion on partnership and asking her if she wanted to grow up on Hamburger Helper and pbj because I sure as hell don’t wanna live on my income alone or work 7-5:30 or assemble fucking bookshelves or carry all the heavy things…
Not gonna get into how Daddy as a single parent had expired eggs under expired eggs in his kitchen that had a yellow floor until I cleaned it. With equal shock, he’d tell you single me didn’t own a television.
Clearly we are each better equipped for certain things.
Got the really important stuff like ninety pounds of cheese and if they think I’m gonna slice and shred all that cheese by myself…
Looked at the list and had to go back to the baking aisle for the baking chocolate.
And they had no boxes. For the love of Pandora, not a single box to put gifts in. Half of Bubba’s presents are in bags. Ugh.
But I managed to get MINT and LIMES for the RUM.

As we loaded up the trunk of Bonnie Blue, I did stop to remember how incredibly fortunate I am, we are, to be tired from spending money on things that are celebratory. Some Christmastimes I was equally stressed and also, a broke-ass bitch, so you know, this is better. Although I was younger then and I think younger me had more energy.

Today on his lunch, The Mister is out buying the giant bag of dog food, which was assigned to him last night, but also, he has to make up for all that Meijer and I lack, like anise extract, pretzel twists, and flour.

But in a few hours, all the ingredients will be here and we will all be done with obligation and procurement and schedules.
Maybe tomorrow, after I’ve had more sleep and even more sex and a few cocktails, I’ll take a break from singing and dancing around my kitchen, and write you all a happy lil thing.

Right now, I gotta drag myself out there to work. It’s not the work I mind. I like the work. But my girls don’t want me to go, they want me home to snuggle and pet them. The pets, too.

I hate the going, and the anticipation of JOY upon my return. I want joy now.
Joy is waving to me. Taunting me.

I played the fool this week. I didn’t know I was cast in the role because I did not audition.

The Universe took a swig of bourbon and smiled impishly before leaning forward to declare, “I have written a stunning surreal play in which Joey is the unwitting star.”
Everyone applauded because everyone likes to be entertained.
The Universe pulled a manuscript from a tattered canvas bag and passed it around the room.
The fates and the fairies and the muses and all my guardian angels read the overview with captivated delight and they were like, “Ooh! How exciting! That Joey, she’s perfect for the role! She’s got such a sweet face, you never expect such moxie!”
And The Universe was all, “I know, right? But guess what?”
“What?”
“I’ve given her laryngitis.”
“OH EM GEE, you’re brilliant!”

So The Universe made some popcorn and everyone settled in to see how it would go.

The curtain opens to a snow-covered section of the city.

The audience is enraptured as Joey faces the conflicts delivering the dreaded existential angst that all humans must suffer. The audience watches as she gets ignored, overlooked, criticized, cut-off in conversation, mansplained to. She repeats herself. She repeats herself. People misunderstand her. She misunderstands others. The shake machine is out of order. An SUV almost crashes into her car. The cough syrup has Red 40 in it. The button on her sleeve pops off. There are pickles on her fish sandwich. A mysterious stain appears on her gray tunic. She waits in lines. Her pear is bruised, the raspberries grow mold too soon, and the sausage has expired. Every day an alarm wakes her. She is flipped off by a small stranger child and resists returning the favor. She uses too many spoons to shovel the drive and clean off her car. She stubs her cold toe and cracks her toenail. She has to put gas in her car even though she’s forgotten her gloves. There are disagreements. Good news and bad news are both reported. She is placed in socially awkward situations and has strained conversations in public. Plans are broken. She is wrong and must apologize. She holds doors for people who do not say thank you. She slips and falls on ice. She is all dolled-up for nothing. The furnace goes out. People are late. People are early. People disappoint her. True tragedies range from people calling her before noon to people on the internet typing rude things.

Slowly, Joey regains her voice and finds she has more to say than usual.

Sure, Joey’s had a rough week, but the play could have just as easily been about all the things that went right and all the unexpected pleasures. The scenes that were scripted with happiness and good fortune far exceeded the negative ones, but those aren’t the ones highlighted — those aren’t the ones the audience is shown.
What if you’re the audience of your own play? Which perspective are you showin?

This play is an amalgamation of post-modern themes wherein our heroine panics and complains at the chasms between herself and others, yet she simultaneously longs for or alternates between wanting to be more connected or wanting to be completely alienated. Isn’t that wholly, incredibly common among humans?

To sum up, I am in a moody mood.

I love it when we’re both laughing at me, but sometimes I’m an extremist, srsly.

Happy Friday Everyone!