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Thursday, April 21, 2005
Reality stared me down yesterday as I was grocery shopping for my mother’s imminent return home after two months in the hospital and rehabilitation. I was in the “feminine products” section trying to do the nonchalant scan as if I’m looking for the wife’s tampons, but was actually looking for maxi pads (not panty liners). And, of course, while I was trying to stealthily look for the maxis (standing across the aisle and looking sideways at the shelves), hordes of people decided they needed toothbrushes and deodorant. At that same moment. Fuck. Can’t a man inconspicuously look for maxi pads for his mom anymore?

I took my revenge on the World by mishandling some phone calls at the office. Our receptionist is on vacation and the backup phone-answerers are either out or not willing to answer the phone regularly. As the phone rings loud enough for everyone on our floor to hear, I’ll pick it up if it rings long enough to annoy me. And usually only when I’m expecting a call from someone who can’t use (or doesn’t have) my direct-dial number. While I was making some copies, I picked up a call from American Express, wanting to talk to someone who “can make financial decisions for the office.” I said, “Okay, hold on. Let me transfer you,” and I hung up the phone.

It’s a balancing act trying to manage the roles of dutiful son vs. competent father, and valuable employee vs. competent blogger. What, that Communist Party was five days ago? Michelle beat me to the pictures, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to Ms. Jazz Hand’s “Leninades,” or the manly UFC-watching in a small cat shelter bedroom, or the infinite enjoyment of the really drunk girl who threw up in the gay guy’s lap, causing the gay guy to throw up. (I wish I hadn’t been watching UFC during that last part. All I got to see was the RDG's shoes sticking out of the bathtub as I walked by.)

So, in summation, I’m busy. And tired. And worried about my mother ending up in the ER again. Dammit.