Yesterday was a rough beginning to Christmas week. It had some weirdness and some absurdly comic elements, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let me start at the beginning.....
Early yesterday morning, my 70 year old mother had eye surgery. She was so uncomfortable after the procedure that she was twitching, skaking, and crying. So I showed my ass a little bit and convinced those in charge that it would be best for all concerned (especially them) if my mother was given a shot for her pain.
I finally got Mom home, tucked her into her recliner and started popping Percocets into her mouth. She settled down, and slept comfortably. At least I hope she slept comfortably - I stopped asking her if she was okay every 10 minutes because I figured that if I kept it up, she might decide to kill me.
Then my 18 year old brought home a puppy that he had bought his girlfriend for Christmas. I'm not even going to go into my moral objection to giving living creatures as gifts. Suffice it to say that my child made a decision of questionable morality (in my eyes) and then brought the product of said decision into a house already filled with 2 and 4 legged family members. (Our family motto seems to be, "Anything nobody wants can come and live with us!") Pandemonium ensued.
Next, my 14 year old somehow managed to literally explode the toilet in his brother's bathroom. Momentarily setting aside the question of why the hell he wasn't using his own bathroom, let me just say that the toilet sounded like a cherry bomb going off. It was not a cherry bomb - I took all those away last summer - but some sort of freakish air pocket in the sewage lines. That's right - sewage. I must really be a bad mother. Poor kid came running, "Mama! Help!" The first words out of my mouth were, "For the love of all that's holy - don't touch me!" We worked for hours cleaning up the mess and trying to figure out how to fix the damn toilet. We didn't call the plumber because we made a collective, only briefly spoken, decision - we did not want to explain to a stranger that our house was spawning exploding toilets.
Before I go on I need to point out that I live in a tres tres upscale neighborhood. Houses in this area go from half a million to a million. Dollars, not copeks. This is an important element in explaining the absurdity that followed.
As this latest adventure was winding down, there was a knock at the door. It was a policeman. He had ventured across the threshold of normalcy into the lunatic asylum I call home to inform me that one of my neighbors had made a complaint about my family's "junk cars." I am not making this up: The cars in question are ones that we DRIVE. Not cars up on blocks with transmissions hanging from trees. Cars that we DRIVE. Older cars. Maybe rust spots in places, but fully tagged, insured and DRIVEN.
So, considering the end of the day, and how absolutely pissed off I am that some pretentious idiot living with all flash and no cash thinks our vehicles are unacceptable....I'm taking suggestions for some seriously tacky things I can do in my front yard. I've already considered moving my clothesline out there, but I'm really looking for seriously creative ideas.
Come on....have some holiday spirit and enter the "White Trash Front Yard Contest!"
Send me an email with your idea.
Tags: Dorothy Kernaghan-Baez, AFRA, family rights, twitter, cyber-dissident, tarot cards, psychic, DFACS, Georgia, politics, humor, opthamology, morphine, white trash, puppies, stupidity, junk car, police
