Welcome to One Busy Momma! The Blog for Busy Moms by one Busy Mom.....

Welcome to my blog. One Busy Momma is my space to rant about my life and the things that happen in it. I have a crazy life - and instead of focusing on the crazy - I like to focus on the funny. Because if I focused on the craziness - well, I'd have been shipped off to an institution long, long ago. And while, I'll admit, there are some days when being institutionalized sounds PRETTY GOOD compared to making ANOTHER diorama at 1am - I'd rather be right where I am - in my messy house with my not so perfect kids making crooked dioramas in the middle of the night.

Monday, July 30, 2012

I Am Not Normal

So - I have arrived upon a major, life altering revelation - and here it is: I am, in no way, a normal person. Now, while some of you have known this for years, this fact just hit me today. I am SO not f'ing normal - it is beyond the pale. How did I come to this conclusion - one that has probably been obvious to everyone but ME for the past 10 years? Well, it all starts with a bit of writer's block - which is like constipation for a writer. Nice image, huh? Well - sorry Peeps - but it is. I was sitting at the pool, trying to figure out what to write for my next blog post. I had nothing. NOTHING - which is very odd for me especially after coming back from a week-long meeting followed by a week-long vacation. But I had nothing - nothing weird happened at the meeting and nothing bizarre happened while on vacation. Nothing worth writing about. So, I decided to pull out an "oldie-but-goodie". One of the stories that people ask me to tell over and over again. And in compiling that very list, I realized how NOT NORMAL my life is. It occurred to me that other people do not have stories like the ones I can whip out at a moment's notice. Now, while these stories can be very helpful and useful - the very fact that I have an ARSENAL of such stories is terribly messed up.

Useful? Helpful? What do I mean, you say? Well - let's pretend that you are hosting a cocktail party and for whatever reason - it just sucks - if I am a guest at said sucky party - you might say something like: "Hey Busy Momma, why don't you tell everyone about the time the guy sitting next to you on that plane died? You know - the guy who died after you told him off?"  And I would tell that very story and Ba-Boom! The party is brought back to life. (Yes, I realize how crude and innappropriate THAT turn of phrase just was.) But here is the thing - normal people don't have stories about people sitting next to them on a plane dropping dead. That is not a normal circumstance.

So, while these stories are somewhat useful when one of you is having a bad day, or a bad year, the list of them just proves that I am some sort of freak of nature. One who is doomed to have all sorts of messed up fuckery happen to her throughout the course of her life. Don't believe me? Think I am exaggerating? Ohhh - think again my friends - think again. Here is the list of "funny" stories I compiled while sitting at the pool today - you be the judge of the extent of fuckery that I have somehow, unwittingly invited into my life:

  • Let's start with the elephant in the room - the  flying dead guy. Long story short, I was flying into Houston from BWI. And, in some sort of demented trick of karma - I got bumped up into First Class. So, as I am taking full advantage of the FREE BOOZE in First Class - my flight gets delayed on the runway. (Yes, that's right - I am already drinking and we are not even off the ground yet. Did I mention that the booze is FREE? I am NOTHING if not thrifty. I was bound and determined to drink every drop of free booze I was entitled to.) Anyway - while sitting and drinking, I was finishing a tear-jerker of a Belva Plain novel. So, as any normal person would - I started to cry. Not sobbing, making an ass out of myself crying - but there might have been a bit of sniffling. And perhaps a badly stifled sob/hiccup- from the wine. So, the guy next to me looked at me and said something quite obnoxious about "girls and their romance novels". And this pissed me off. Because first and foremaost - I was a WOMAN, not a GIRL. And secondly - this was NOT a romance novel - how DARE he? And I told him that - and also to buzz off and mind his own business. (Yes, I did actually say "Buzz Off" and I might have called him an asshole under my breath as well.) Fast forward a few hours into the flight - we were actually getting close to landing and I woke up from my pinot grigio induced flight coma, and this guy's big, fat head was lolling about on my shoulder. How DARE he? First he called me a girl, then he accused me of reading ROMANCE NOVELS and NOW he was using me as a personal in-flight pillow? This shit was not going to be tolerated! So I shrugged REALLY hard to get him off of me. And his head kind of shot up and then landed WITH A BIG THUD back on my shoulder. And this is where the story gets a bit fuzzy for me - what with all of the panic and yelling and crying that followed. But long story short - the guy was dead. Yep - dead as a door nail. (I don't actually know what a door nail is - or why it is equated with death all of the time - but he was dead as dead can be.) He somehow met his maker on that flight. And the last words he heard from any human being was "asshole". OK - that is not entirely accurate as I do recall the flight attendant asking him to buckle his seatbelt AFTER I called him an asshole. But that is not the point. My point is: WHO the HELL do things like this happen to? ME - that's who! ME!
  • How about the time I managed to insult the Vice-President of Slovakia while in an elevator by asking what the hell kind of "crack-pot" nation Slovakia was and explaining that I was pretty god-damned sick and tired of all of these little countries rising up out of Russia like they were "F-ing" TCBY franchises. Now, in my defense - I had NO IDEA that the guy was on the elevator with me. Because really - who the hell knows who the Vice President of Slovakia IS, never mind what he looks like. And back in the 90's - who had really even heard of Slovakia? Seriously - was it just me? (According to my brother - YES. Yes it was JUST me who didn't know that Slovakia was an actual country. With a government. Run by people.) Whatevs...
  • Let's not forget the time I decided to give my pet bunny to an animal rescue because I was travelling way too much to take proper care of him. I found this place called a "Primate Rescue" and they agreed to take good old Flopsy because they wanted to mate him with another of his kind. So, I was expecting to drive up to a nice farm, with a farmer dressed in overalls, an apple orchard and a babbling brook. Instead, I drove up to a ramshackle house and meet a woman outside who appeared to have a dowager's hump. She wordlessly led me inside and what ensued is SO screwed up, it can only be explained with the words: Monkeys, Apes, Monkey balls and  what could be construed as a possible monkey blowjob. Seriously. I won't even BEGIN to tell that story - that's a whole other blog. What I WILL say is that in no way was that monkey blow job intentional and while you might be laughing right now - having your face raped by a small Capuchin monkey is no laughing matter.
  • Then there was the time that I decided - as an adult - to take a ballet class. Epic fail - EPIC fail. For some reason - my ballet teacher didn't like me. And I mean she REALLY didn't like me. She disliked me SO much, in fact, that she decided to make the most of my presence by using me as an example of what NOT to do when attempting to do ballet. So - for example - she would say - in her awful Russian accented voice:" Ev-le-one stop vat you are doing and look at MALLY" ('cause the bitch couldn't pronounce my name)"Look at how she holds her hands - like she is holding a hambuger - that is NOT how we hold our hands ladies." And from then on - the bitch called me "hamburger hands". No joke. She also managed to tell the entire class that when I pointed my toes, I made my feet curl into "Sickles of death - jew know like the GLIM Reaper holds - the sickle. Look at Mally's Sickles of death." Needless to say - I quit that class. But WHO does that happen to? (This, by the way - if Fifi's FAVORITE story of all time. It also involves me leaping through the air like one of those tutu wearing hippos in Fantasia - but again, I'm saving it for a different day.)
  • I haven't even broached the topic of the "Epic Polyester's Dance-Off of 1998" - when I somehow managed to challenge the general manager of some professional ball team to a Grease danceoff at a club on the River Walk in San Antonio. There are actual pictures of this danceoff and I am told that I won because the guy ended with some sort of move that had him squatting on the dance floor in his million dollar suit and I decided that it would be a great idea to "tip him over" ... with my foot. Keep in mind that I don't so much "remember" this incident as I have pieced it together using the photos that I have gathered as evidence that this dance-off even occurred. There were witnesses to this stunning display of drunken debauchery and unfortunately, many of them wound up in the CLASS I WAS TEACHING the next day. Try recovering your professional composure after someone asks you: "Are you that girl from the Grease dance-off last night? Wow - I think they had to call an ambulance for that guy."
  • How about the time I was sitting at a restaurant with a colleague, eating dinner, and a PRIEST from a neighboring table leaned over and asked me if I was going to finish my prime rib. And then TOOK IT OFF OF MY PLATE with his fork when I said; "Um, I think I'm done". And proceeded to EAT it. Seriously - you cannot make this shit up. 
  • Then  there was the time that I was apparently really snotty to a bartender and he "soaped my glass". Ever had that happen you you? Nope - thought not. Soaping one's glass ensures that the booze contained therin goes DIRECTLY to the recipient's head AND also ensures that the recipient vomits up every last thing in her stomach...and the process takes HOURS and HOURS. Because you vomit up not only everything you ate that day - but everything you have ever eaten - ever. Like baby food and rice cereal come up at the end.  Gross - but true.
  • And then there is the time that a guy in my class KILLED himself rather than come back to my class after a break. Yep, Peeps - I'm THAT good at my job. People are literally DYING to get out of my classes...
I could go on and on and on - but I think you have the point by now. Anyone who can just rattle off stories that contain the words: monkey balls, capuchian monkey raping my face, Grease dance off, dead flying guy and hamburger hands should be locked away for safe-keeping. This is NOT normal. Far, far from it.

But whatever you do - don't feel sorry for me. I can handle it. I am used to this crazy being a constant in my life. If you are feeling bad for anyone - let your empathy rain down upon my children and PC. They have done nothing to invite this type of tomfoolery into their lives. Poor babies - once they hitched their wagons to me - they never had a chance at "normal".

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