Thursday, February 28, 2008

Make 'Em Laugh

So I thought it was time to share some lighter stories.
You know how when you got funky things going on in your life you attract funky random energy? That keeps happening to me.
First let me share the story of being at Hugo's with the flu.
I woke up after, let's see...chest infection in December, strep throat in early January, yes then the flu (later would develop into a full blown sinus infection - yeah me! Hey when does this get FUNNY?).
So my ds and I wake up feeling wretched on day five or so of the flu and my dd is over the flu but has woke up with some kind of FLESH-EATING infection on her chin. Most of her poor pretty chin is red with the skin peeling off.
We're off to Urgent Care!
So we meet our friend JH (bronchitis) and her ds (pneumonia - what's going on? When does this get FUNNY?) there and get seen pretty quickly. I have the flu and there's nothing (NOTHING!) to be done about it. Same with ds. Dd gets an antibiotic at my insistence. Whatever this is on her chin, it's not good. Must have pretty daughter!!!
After Urgent Care, I drag my sick-sorry-sniffling butt to the drugstore to get prescription for dd filled and some antibiotic cream for me. I actually also have these sores inside my nose from blowing so much and they are killing me. I'm worried about flesh-eating bacteria spreading from dd's chin and into my aching nostrils. So I bathe my red noseholes in this antibiotic cream. Very greasy stuff by the way. Read: NOT ATTRACTIVE.
While we wait for ds's prescription I have a great idea. Let's have breakfast at Hugo's!
Yes. Let's take our sick-sorry-sniffling behinds to a RESTAURANT.
(Seriously, what is wrong with me?)
Ok. We get to restaurant.
(Wait! Wait! Who makes it their business to go from URGENT CARE to a RESTAURANT?)
Just let me tell the story!!!!!
So. Ok. We get to the restaurant and get ourselves seated. I'm already starting to think this is a bad idea as we get seated next to Ione Sky. You know, Ione Sky, the celeb actress. She's super cute and nice...her daughter Kate went to Neighborhood School when my dd was there. So we wave.
She's clearly sitting with some industry/rock-n-roll types. You know but they're all like friends and family and all ensconsced and they totally do this all the time. They love to just, like, eat (not much) and drink teas and juices with exotic infusions, and talk and be rich and cute and skinny, all while Ione's kid thrives at a fabulous school!
I, on the other hand, travel everywhere with my two sick kids, one with oozing blisters on her face and me in my stretched-out, old yoga pants with a hole in the crotch and a big, stained sweatshirt and some greasy ointment all over my red, burning nostrils. Attractive? Yeah, right. Way down deep inside, SOMEWHERE. Maybe.
"Hi Ione!"
I'm so NOT happy to be here. Well OF COURSE I am. Every instinct in my body must be screaming "Leave! Leave!" But do I listen? No. I just sweat.
I sit down. Smile at the trendy, skinny, rich, happy Hugo's clientele.
I pass out paper and markers for my dd. My ds has two new trucks to play with, just purchased at the drug store. I'm no slacker. I'm a good mom.
"Hi Ione!"
Suddenly, my SEVEN-year old dd throws the markers at me. "Why'd you bring these stupid colors? Why'd we come here? I hate it here!"
And I yell back:
"Shut up!"
I said the "s-u" word. Out loud. In Hugo's.
Cue sound of crickets.
I am a bad mother. I didn't actually choose to make eye contact with her, but I'm certain Ione was looking. And judging. As she should.
God knows I was. I wanted to crawl in a hole. A long dark wet hole with TiVo and a box of truffles.
My poor, beautiful dd will be chin-less by day's end and forced to eat through a hole in her throat, and what do I do? Yell at her to "shut up" in public.
The waittress braves the social strata and approaches us. I quietly, discreetly, ask to be moved outside.
Happily re-seated on the porch, away from staring eyes and curious ears, like good little lepers, my children proceed to continue their rebellion and leave 8.00 of scrambled eggs untouched. Good Lord.
Thankfully, my angel AL arrives to at least prove to the Studio City social elite that I do have friends. She and I drink coffee and laugh and get through breakfast.
Okay. We go outside and she walks me to my car. My car is parked straddling the white line. Reason being, as often happens at Hugo's and other places with perversely small parking lots, people squeeze in wherever they can leading to an anarchy-ruled parking lot where lines are completely ignored.
Let me just say for the record, I did not design the parking lot at Hugo's in Studio City.
So AL and I are hugging goodbye at the car. She may never see me again because I truly feel I am dying. I am so sick and I'm still facing picking up a prescription at the drugstore. It's that kind of sick and tired when you just feel like begging to see St. Peter NOW!
Suddenly this strange woman is in my face. She's tall and oddly gorgeous in this exotic, foreign way. She could be French, Persian, Spanish, who knows, but she's got lots of hair and she's all eyes and cheekbones and a big nose that only looks good on really tall, skinny women and she has some kind of rug or blanket wrapped around her that probably cost $2500 and she giving me WHAT FOR.
What for?
I'll tell you what for.
It seems I didn't park my car between the lines and this is causing her and her friend in their car some consternation as now there is no clear place for them to park. And since as my bronchitis-y friend JH would say, "the sun rises and sets on my ass" this woman is giving me an earful.
"Have you seen what you've done? Look what you've done! Look! Look!"
I am so feverish I can't look. All I can see is a nose wrapped in a blanket, wagging a finger at me. My angel AL, queen of decorum in all situations, swoops in and begins handling it for me. So I just haul my kids into my car and within seconds my friend and this sherpa are now, like, best friends.
The sherpa walks away and AL pats my back as I drag myself into the car.
"Crazy bitch," she says.
I wonder, "Is she talking to me?"
Oh, well. Doesn't matter.
I'm now asking myself in all situations: WWID?
What Would Ione Do?


Anonymous said...

BBBrrrriiiillliiiiaaaannnnttttt. Man, you can write.
Brilliant. Hysterical.
I love the idea of a new bracelet: "WWID?"
This story deserves to be heard on "This American Life," as you are indeed, American, and this is indeed, your life.
Wow. This one's a keeper.
Love, h.

spielbee said...

Thanks Holly! Nice to have some levity...if not brevity. ;-)

Anonymous said...

She would say anything of course. Ione is so 1989. But you? Right here.

Anonymous said...

So funny. Soo LA. I love you