Tuesday, November 30, 2010

A train ate my breakfast:

 Being a dork in high school can make one long to be popular. It may not be until one spawns that the drawbacks of popularity can be observed and appreciated.

Last night, I was trying to get some work done on a new, wool tunic* for Boar's Head this coming weekend, but was having trouble making any progress because Moodles wasn't content to play with her toys. She wanted to be on me. She didn't want to be held. She wanted to use me like a jungle gym. So I was trying to finish up the seam embellishments on my tunic with an 18 lb baby hanging off of one arm, while trying desperately not to poke out her eye with a needle, or gouge her rhumpusing feet with a stray pin.

Maggie was only able to resist the "dog pile" for about 5 minutes before she had to join us, despite her previous experiences involving close proximity to Moodles. (Once again proving that a dog's memory lasts for about 3 minutes... tops.)

Eventually, I had to give up on my project all together in order to save poor Maggie, because Moodles figured out how to ride her like a pony, and despite the fact that the dog was laying down on the couch; Moodles had somehow managed to hook a finger under Maggie's eyelid and was attempting to steer with it.

Popularity is a bitch, yo. Everywhere I go, I am shadowed by my two, dedicated groupies, one of whom is bent on self destruction (Moodles) and the other is sure that she is mortally starved for both attention and food (Maggie). Both are convinced that the other has the better toys and snacks, and every once in a while, I consider getting the dog a teething ring and the baby a rawhide chew. Unfortunately, I know that this would not solve the problem, as it's all a case of "the grass is greener on the other side." They will ALWAYS want what the other is playing with no matter what.


So, this morning, Moodles woke up half an hour early to poop. I know I've told her repeatedly that we get up early so that we can be productive, but that's really not what I meant.

Nonetheless, as I crashed around the house in a blind, coffeeless stupor (Because I was up 1/2 hour before the coffee pot was ready for me. TRAGIC.), I did make up a short list of things that I could accomplish with my extra half hour. I could get the bebe to Grandma's house on time for once, and do all the dishes, start a load of wash, check my email, and still have time to eat a bowl of cereal!

Everything was going according to my plan until I loaded Moodles into the car to go to Grandma's house. The dishes got done, and the email was at least thinned out to a manageable level. I was 15 minutes early leaving to drop Moodles off, and I figured I could start the laundry and eat breakfast in peace when I returned. Sadly, this was not to be - for in the middle of the 4 block distance between my house and my Mother in Law's there is a train crossing. And for some reason, they decided that 7:15 AM, in the middle of morning rush-hour would be the ideal time to block off a major through-way with 20 minutes worth of rail car changing.

So there I sat, listening to Moodles in the back seat, composing a complex, gargled ballad to her toes; getting more and more incensed at the seconds lost every time the train reversed directions, but failed to get the hell out of my way. Did they have any idea what I could have accomplished had I at least brought a knitting project along? Did they care that they were eating up literally 1/3 of my private time for the day? And my breakfast... There would be no time for it by the time I got home. About 15 minutes into my inner tirade, when I was nearly foaming at the mouth and weighing the pros and cons of getting out of the car to throw rocks, I noticed that one of the slowly moving box cars had been tagged. All the cars were tagged, but this tag in particular short-circuited my rage-party:


Er. What?

I'm not sure that that means what I think it means... Or that they mean what I mean. Center for Disease Control represent a noble set of objectives, certainly, but I've never been exited about them in quite that way... What could possibly make someone so pleased with the CDC that they would feel the need to immortalize the emotion in spray paint on the side of a moving bill-board?

Cure for cancer
Cure for herpies
Cure for AIDS
Treatment for Syphilis?
Erradication of small pox?
HPV vaccine?

Who gets that excited about a vaccine? Surely not.

My brain chased its tail for the last 4 minutes of train crossing, coming up with more and more elaborate and improbable reasons that someone would be that thrilled with the CDC. I did momentarily consider the idea that maybe "CDC" is a person, band, or gang, but dismissed it, because my scenario was far more entertaining.

Eventually, I did get the bebe dropped off at Grandma's house, and managed to catch the bus to work, but the Train still ate my breakfast time, and now I have to spend all morning Googling alternative organizations represented by the initials "CDC."

And I wonder why I never seem to get anything done...

* I notice that Amazon.com has 100% wool suiting/60" wide for $4.99/yard. If I didn't already have a ROOM FULL of unused wool, I would be all over this.


Post a Comment