My Rhiyaya Facebook page got hidden or unliked by a few people yesterday morning. Was the it Ruth Bader Ginsburg onesie? The rainbow babylegs? The fact that the photo was clearly taken in a daycare center where I abandon my child on the regular? It’s not my intention to have a political blog, but where politics intersects with my life? Yeah, I’m writing that shit.
For some unfathomable reason I have produced an insanely picky kid. It’s really difficult to understand how that happened — it’s not like I refused to eat any non-starch veggie until I was in high school or anything. I definitely ate broccoli before I was 32. I’m totally not >about to be struck by lightning for lying.
This week. Three repubs on Huffington Post. An original post on Scary Mommy. Scary Mommy also picked up one of the Huffington Post essays. I got a syndication offer. Thousands upon thousands of likes, comments, and shares.
I used to be a veterinary assistant.
I snuggled puppies, put kitten on my shoulders, and got lots of licks and kisses from sweet dogs.
The place was packed. At least two people took their beers onto the floor itself, where they promptly fell, splashing beer all over the place.
The line between quirky and weird seemed to be stuck between my fingers. That feeling when you eat a donut or an ice cream cone and the residue makes your fingers so sticky that you desperately want to find a sink? That’s how they felt. Licking them would help – for a few minutes. Little kids are sticky, and I spent a lot of time licking between my fingers for momentary relief. It drove my parents crazy – we’d be in a public place, and there I was licking my hands like a compulsive cat. And if that wasn’t enough to embarrass every adult responsible for me, sometimes I would get a similar feeling in the back of my throat – this annoying build up of faux pressure that had to be released, and the only way was to make squeaky sounds. Sometimes on inhale, sometimes on exhale, always until a magic point when everything felt better – until the next time. Seams of socks and waistbands constricted, so I turned my socks inside out, and wore my pants around my hips to free myself from their ever-present annoyance. Things just felt wrong and it was a puzzle to make them right again.