Thursday, July 15, 2010

Hello conscience, my old friend!

I’m sitting here, in a very comfortable chair, watching the movie ’Julie & Julia'. It’s basically a movie about blogging. So far, anyway. And so I thought ”Hey, I have a blog.” And here I am.

How are you all? I’m fine, thank you very much for asking. Especially now that the people down the street have hawled their screaming offspring inside for the night. Back in the old days they said that a child should be seen and not heard. This one I have never seen, but I hear it each and every day. Because it screams at the top of it’s lungs. I’m not talking about the playful squeals of a frolicking toddler, I’m refering to bloodcurdling horror movie screams. Repeatedly. For several hours every day. If Pooch did that, the screamers parents would probably call the cops on me. I have played with the idea of calling the police to tell them that I believe a small child is being tortured up the street.

So one sunny Saturday morning, not too long ago, I awoke to the sound of a cheerleader being peeled alive. Or so I thought. Once my brain (Bergerac) kicked in, I realized that it was just Screamo, as usual. Then Bergerac went: ”saaay, isn’t your…uhm…chest area sore?”

For those of you who are new around here, I divide my mind into two parts. Bergerac is the sane, logical bit. Tootie is the one that’s…well, certifiably insane. Tootie pops up whenever Bergerac isn’t paying attention.

At this point in my internal conversation with myself, Tootie popped in and went: ”Chestickles!” and then had a good giggle at it’s own comedic genius. Then Bergerac sort of sighed and continued to point out that I had been a bit dizzy lately, hadn’t I? And there were other things too. Could there possibly be a chance that we were baking a Screamo of our very own, wondered Bergerac.

I was definitly awake then. I have never been a fan of children. They’re short and not terribly bright, they’re noisy, not all that clean and they make messes. A surprising amount of them have snot on their upper lips. What is up with that? Smaller people produce more goo, or what? Sure, YOUR child is excluded from that comparison, of course. YOUR child is delightful and you are a wonderful parent who would never let YOUR child run around the yard while screaming it’s head off. This post has absolutely nothing to do with you.

For the next couple of weeks, I was sure that if only my period would arrive, I would be the happiest goil in the world. And then finally, on another sunny Saturday morning, it arrived. And now I’m bloated and crabby. I’m bleeding like that peeled cheerleader I mentioned before and I have cramps. Through it all, I’m reminding myself that I’m HAPPY to have my period. Happy!

I’m the happiest goil in the world, I’m the happiest goil in the world, I’m the happiest goil in the world, I’m the…I’m….oh, eff it!


Jazz said...

As the ad here goes, "have a happy period". What a load of crap.

Although I'd be happy in your shoes. They do leak all sorts of stuff.

But why didn't you buy a test?

choochoo said...

meh, I had an inkling I was being paranoid. lol.

Maddy said...

Sadly I too have custody of smallish people who scream a great deal, far louder than the average screamer. We also have copious amounts of snot - if only it would remain on their upper lips or failing that, a handkerchief.

In our defense I would mention that this is no longer [rarely] an hourly nightmare, usually confined to shorter bursts of time, of a more bleating variety.

I would like to think that my neighbours are far more sympathetic than your goodself - but I suspect my neighbours are more likely insulated in the winter and muffled by their own air conditioning in the summer - well... that's what I keep telling myself.

choochoo said...

oh, hourly screaming is one thing. This isn't hourly screaming, it's just screaming for hours. Yikes :S

King0scots said...

our neighbour have 3 screamos. A strong arbument for having yourself shot into space.

Just in case you were looking for one.

Jocelyn said...

I get a bit screamy myself when I have my period, so I can't point fingers. Despite my carefully non-judgemental stance, I gotta admit the kids across the street drive this Mother apeshit.