I wrote a diary yesterday that was about the earthquake in Mexico City.
Well, it was supposed to be about the earthquake, but it was more about my feelings toward the earthquake and only later did I realize that I had actually not put any information about the earthquake itself. So sorry about that.
Now I will write another diary which has no point at all except for me to vent.
Ready? Here we go.
An Earthquake, Some Silly Putty, and a Jar of Mayonnaise.
This is like that old Sesame Street song, "One of These Things is Not Like the Other". Remember that? Go ahead and hum a few bars to yourself, it's a nice song.
Except that it's not like that at all, because ALL of these things are like the other, in that they were all involved in the past 24 hours of my life. Which is why I am now seated, wasting time at my laptop instead of cleaning the insane Play-Doh mess in Nikos' room (CURSE YOU, HASBRO!), or doing the pile of laundry that needs doing, or emptying out the bags of groceries on the counter, or vacuuming or cleaning the bathrooms (they are gross). Instead I am eating potato chips at 10 in the morning and drinking a massive coffee from Starbucks. I almost always make my own coffee, but that's how traumatized I am this morning. I bought a coffee at Starbucks and I'm eating potato chips! I think you may now understand the level of my freak out.
Beloved Hubby is in Mexico City. He called yesterday and as I answered the phone, delighted to hear the dulcet tones of his voice, he greets me with, "Don't freak out!", which immediately leads to me freaking out.
He is in the middle of an earthquake, on the 22nd floor of a hotel, but I am not to worry, he says. Except that he keeps saying, "Oh, good, it looks like it's over---Oh no!! Here it comes again! Ooooooohhhhh, man."
This goes on for the better part of seven hundred hours, if you count time by how it felt to me at the moment. It probably was more like one minute of real time, but anyway it was a long frickin' time!
He's going to call me back after he escapes what I now imagine to be a flaming tower of death collapsing around his soon to be crushed body.
He did escape, unscathed, and he did call me back soon thereafter, so that's the end of that story. It was a 7.6 on the Richter scale, kind of massive, but I guess Mexico City has gotten pretty good at building things to withstand earthquakes, because there wasn't even much damage or death.
Of course my day was ruined and I got nothing done for the rest of the day, hence the pile of laundry and dirty bathrooms and lack of food in the house, etc. I called him about four hundred times to make sure he was ok and no other natural disasters had befallen him.
Onto 5:30 in the am this morning. I hear the dulcet tones of another beloved's voice, this time my Ellie. But the tones are more like sharp shrieks of annoyed anger. I haul my carcass out of bed to go see what is the matter, even though my sleep deprived brain was telling me to ignore it since Ellie can clearly just take care of whatever is bothering her by herself, right?
I enter the room to find her on her hands and knees, trying to rub the back of her head into the floor. When she sees me she takes my hand and puts it to the back of her head. I instantly realize that I should have listened to my better instincts the other day when she wanted to buy Silly Putty at the store.
Ellie: Silly Putty!
My Better Instincts: No way. Have you gone mad? Don't even consider it.
Ellie: Silly Putty!
Me: But this might keep her happy and occupied for like a whole hour.
My Better Instincts: You are an idiot if you let her do this.
Me.: Shut up, stupid Better Instincts. You think you're so smart. Why don't you try getting her out of this store after telling her no Silly Putty?
My Better Instincts: Fine. Be my guest, idiot. Enjoy getting a giant wad of Silly Putty out of her hair at 5:30 in the morning when she sleeps on it. Imagine spending an entire night of tossing and turning on top of Silly Putty, think of how seriously ground into her hair it can get. But yeah, you're right. That fifteen minute tantrum that she'll throw because she didn't get the Silly Putty is MUCH WORSE.
My Better Instincts are mean and hateful. And frequently right.
By the way, the answer to your question is mayonnaise. Followed by about fifteen pumps of shampoo, a temper tantrum, twenty pumps of conditioner, and a comb.