If there are any of you out there reading this, after this long absense, well, thanks for being there. I've been up to my ass in alligators.
Louis went deaf there for a minute, my vagina exploded, the kid and I both had surgery, my shop has gone nova with new business, Vildy has been sold into slavery in China, and we topped the whole thing off with turkey in California, a visit to Disneyland and a return home to well-water that smelled like an egg fertilized by the rancid seed of a satanic rooster and left to warm on a freeway overpass above the Jersey Turnpike. Oh, and I overzealously ate a slice of pizza along the way and tore my lower gum doing it. So, that hurts.
A note to say that, as it turns out, the scariest ride at Disney is losing your child in the crowd for five minutes. I finally got up the sack to ride the smallest and most old-fashioned coaster in the USA and when its done, and I'm radiant with pride, my phone rings and its my sister asking me if Lou is with me. Adrenal flop sweats and a squirt of urine in my undies later, sprinting with my niece's hand in mine, my sister repeating into my cell phone, "Schickel, don't freak out. Don't freak out", Louis runs up behind us, literally chasing us as we are running away to find him. He came to where he last saw me. Smart, and very, very unauthorized. Now that's a ride.
I think there's a whole theme park concept in there somewhere. Sort of like those vile Halloween spook houses sponsored by Christian youth groups where the horrors of sin are acted out by teens who pray to one day have the opportunity to commit one.
Nightmare parenting scenarios- in Omni-Max! Ride in a police chopper over Los Angeles as you desperately search back alleys for your missing child. Splash down into your own damp unders. Wait in impossible lines that double back on themselves into infinity to attend the kindergarten Christmas show. Pay nine dollars for a churro, only to discover that you've bought Donkey's breaded cock. Toy Story- the recall! Where gift shop bits of Woody fall off and become choking hazzards and Mr. Potato Head's trap door can sever a small finger. Look out Mouse, I'm coming with my snap-trap! Maybe a visit with a bullying Mini Mouse who derides your children mercilously for sexting a pervy Captain Hook, who himself remains publicly taintless because he cannot hit the send button with his metal deformity. Fast pass indeed.
Oh readers, ride again with me. Ride!