When I was pregnant with my Oldest Daughter, I was all haughty with organic goodness, and said things like, "I'm going to have a natural labor", which clearly indicated I had never BEEN in labor. My High School Friend Paige the OB, medical expert on other posts, told me "Jude, epidurals exist for a reason. In this day and age there is no reason for women to birth babies like Ma Ingalls in a cabin with a pot of boiling water and a leather strap." Or something to that extent. I waited until Baby #3 to have an epidural, and I nearly wept with joy when it took hold. I could've read a People magazine and had a pedicure while pushing. I guess I'm telling you this as some kind of metaphor for going without Twitter or Facebook or blogs.
ANYWHO, I'm checking in to say hi, and to tell you that I'm driving to Dubuque, Iowa tomorrow to ANOTHER casino hotel so I can take a website marketing seminar for my hooker job. (Hookers are all about the internet these days.) There is a chance I won't make it back, so I'm here to tell you all that I love you before I get my Venti Quad Skinny Vanilla Latte at 6:30 a.m. and head out the door. You may be asking yourself, "Self, why is she so effing negative? I don't read this blog for that shit." Well, Wifers, I have a good reason.
I'm being haunted by the ghost
of Benny the Baby Duckling.
Not Actual Benny. Because he is dead,
and therefore no longer photogenic.
Honestly, I freaked out a little bit. First because obviously, it's an adorable little duckling and all I can think about is it's mother in the ditch yelling, "BENNY, NOOOOOOO!", but really, what kind of mother lets her kid play on an exit ramp? Second, I'm thinking about how when Current Husband and I bought a VW Jetta about 10 years ago, we were driving it home for the first time and I joked, "Wouldn't it be funny if we hit a deer right..."
and BAM! We hit the biggest raccoon I've ever seen in my life. It was the size of a burro or a small bear, and it had a propellor hat and was eating a fudgesicle. After that, the Check Engine light never went off in that car, for the entire time we owned it. After the third trip to the VW dealership, the mechanic seriously said, "We've done all we can do. I think you need a priest."
So now I have the ghost of Benny with me, and bad shit has gone down ever since. About an hour later, I dropped my favorite Starbucks mug:
It slipped out of my hands in the house, and I watched in slow motion as it dropped and shattered all over my hardwood floor.
Then I got a sinus infection and found out that they don't treat those with Xanax or Vicodin or Kahlua, but instead with horse steroids that can't be taken with alcohol.
Then my favorite white t-shirt got a stain on it, and my favorite brown capris got a big grease stain right on the butt. Don't ask me how. Really. Don't.
Then my company announced they were switching servers and I couldn't take my laptop home for the weekend, and I swallowed a large bug.
Et tu, Benny?
Have a good day, Wifers, and for God's sake, watch out for the ducklings! I'm a killer!