When you read the title did you think I actually meant to say Summer Break is a lot like having the Flu? Or did you just unconsciously skip right over the title because like me, you don’t really have the patience for titles, section headings, tables of contents, introductions that are offset or in a different font or color or– AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH JUST GET ME TO THE REAL START ALREADY!!!!!! In which case, go back and read the title now, please. (The irony of this request is not lost on me.) Nope, I actually meant to type Spring Break, because we are travelling back in time again today.
Yesterday (July 11) was May 29, and today (July 12) is April 8, and we are taking a little retrospective look at how this sneaky depression might have wound its way back into my days. I didn’t post this entry when I wrote it, for any number of reasons (see yesterday’s post), including that it was kind of complainy. However, there was some humor there, and more importantly, a very urgent lesson/reminder/warning/ public service announcement/CALL TO ACTION to myself, that I ultimately failed to heed.
Because that is the whole point of this blog, right? If it brings you any entertainment value, wonderful, but it’s really supposed to be a public service announcement to myself on How Not To Live. (More on this next time.)
You need at least one full day to recover from being home with your children for ten straight days. Which means I did not do anything productive today. I just tried to regain my strength. Everything I attempted to write was bitchy or whiny or snarky or stupid or all of the above.
I was just checking the Minneapolis Public Schools Special Days Calendar (2009-2010 because that’s the only one I can find on the internets) and I realized that not only did I forget to do that post about Frederick Douglass Day, we totally missed Johnny Appleseed Day. Dang!
And I forgot to return Chitty Chitty Bang Bang which not only was a SUCKY movie, but now has racked up a bunch of fines. Well, like 50 cents of fines, because it is listed as a children’s item so hopefully only 5 cents per day times 10 days, but still. It SUCKED. It wasn’t at all as good as you remembered it might be so don’t rent it/borrow it from the library/buy it. Sorry Ian Flemming, but it’s true. Your movie is no good. El shitto, as my husband would say, when he tries to speak Spanish. Which always cheers me up.
It looks like a fun, family movie from the DVD cover. . .
But the kindergartner could not stop staring at a tiny thumbnail sized photo on the back of the DVD cover and kept saying “the children are in jail” and I could not figure out what he was talking about until I took off my glasses and squinted really hard and realized it was this photo:
Nice. Because this is Vulgaria, where children are outlawed and hidden under the city to prevent them from being captured by the Child Catcher who smells children. How fun!
Can you believe it is an Ian Flemming movie? Ian Flemming of 007 fame? Who knew? Well, guess who knew without knowing he knew? My husband! We were watching, and he was like “Truly Scrumptious sounds like some kind of Bond movie character.” And I’m like, “No. Bond movie character names are even more stupid like Pussy Galore and I don’t know what else.” But then I look at the cover of the DVD and lo and behold:
Ian Flemming’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Only my brothers would sing Shitty Shitty Bang Bang, which it totally is. “High, Shitty, Low, Shitty, Everywhere We Go, Shitty; Shitty Shitty You’re Our Friend. . .”
Actually, there was one other good thing about Chitty Chitty Bang Bang besides the song, and that was my Toot Sweet “Tastitoy” from Mattel. Just like a playdoh fun factory, but you would use Tootsie Roll candy and shape it into real candy “Toot Sweet” whistles like the one in the movie.
I really wish I would have kept the Tastitoy, because now the old crappy worn out ones sell on ebay for five hundred dollars. Not that I would even sell mine. I’d just make them with the kids. At least you know it’s actual unhealthy candy, unlike the Fruit Snacks they woof down like they’re vitamins or something.
Here, I would be remiss if I did not also fondly mention my possibly even more beloved childhood movie-related candymaking toy, the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory Kit.
I almost cried when I was reminded that for only one 1971 dollar plus two proof-of-purchase seals from Cap’n Crunch, Life, or King Vitamin cereals, I could have sent away for an extra one of these kits, stashed it away for 40 years, and then shared it with the kindergartner and the second-grader. (And their sometimes-crafty mama totally would have snuck a golden ticket into one of the wrappers for each of them to discover.) Perhaps I need to commission one of my Designer Friends (whose name starts with Sh and ends with Ellyboone) to recreate the Wonkalicious label for me?
Now where were we? Oh yes. This, from wikipedia:
A Bond girl is a character (or the actress portraying a character) who is a love interest of James Bond in a film, novel, or video game. Bond girls occasionally have names that are double entendres or puns, such as Pussy Galore, Plenty O’Toole, Xenia Onatopp, or Holly Goodhead, and are considered “ubiquitous symbol[s] of glamour and sophistication.”
All I want to say about that is where is the pun in Pussy Galore or Plenty O’Toole? How can it be a double entendres when there is no normal usage? Real live people are not named Pussy or Plenty. There is no irony there. How is that fun or funny? I don’t even get the Xenia Onatopp one. (Ivanna B. Onatopp maybe, but still . . .it’s a reach.) Now, if your last name happens to be “Dicklich” or something unfortunate like that, like I’ve seen on some office supply trucks here around town, I would say that could be a double entendres, but you should still just change it. Don’t even try to keep either syllable. Just go with something totally new. You’re not a bond girl.
Back to the real topic which is Fuck! We missed Johnny Appleseed Day (March 11)! I am going to drop a lot of F-bombs today, I’m sorry, it’s because I’ve been home with the kiddos for like eleven straight days and there is a pent-up backlog of swearing to get out.
The main reason I had to check the Special Days Calendar was to say that it had better be like a big party day because thank god the kids are back in school. Spring break is just one long reminder that you will be subjected to 12 consecutive weeks of this no-structure-to-your- life-hell if you don’t get on it and sign your kids up for some camps.
And this is where the April 8 rant stopped. On “sign your kids up for some camps.” Curious, isn’t it? It’s almost like a mandate. A mandate that I completely ignored.
As described yesterday, it’s tricky, because when I sense my mood (hence, my post) is starting to go sprawling toward the bitch bitch bitch, I tell myself to just stop writing and maybe go to Pinterest for awhile or do something happy like that. Get a little change of attitude.
But maybe the better strategy would be to finish the dang thing, actually post it, and FOLLOW YOUR OWN DAMN ADVICE TO YOURSELF. (And yet even as I type this, I feel myself resist. . . I do not like to be told what to do, even by myself. This will take some finesse.)
It’s really just that simple, Ally. Nobody ever said it was going to be easy, though.