Gimmesanity

“Oh-sa-lee-sa-lee eek-puk-tuk!” Heehee!

Every year, my mom’s employers hold a huge holiday party for the employees’ kids. It’s a big deal, complete with clowns, magicians, balloon animals, a junk-food bar, and a Santa who gives out presents. Last year, Monkey refused to sit on Santa’s lap. I had prepared myself for a repeat performance this year, but it turns out that the Monkey has had a change of heart.

Monkey chats up the big guy in red.

Yay! A real Santa picture this year! I got a few, so check my flickr page if you wanna see ‘em.

My actual point of this post is to call out my mom recount a story about my mom and why she’s one of the most hilarious and kooky people I know. Oh, and ghetto. There’s definitely a touch o’ ghettoness in there, too.

See, there was a magician there today, and she brought along two bunnies for one of her acts. The bunnies, of course, were a huge hit with the kids. My mom, always thinking about her grandbaby first, decided that Monkey had not had enough one-on-one time with the bunny (what, with having to fight her way through a crowd of older, bossier kids just to get one little fondle in.) My mother, being the outstanding citizen that she is, decides to steal the bunny.

She stole the magician’s bunny, people. The magic bunny that somehow came out of a cake pan when a cake was supposed to come out, instead.

As you can see, she hasn’t the slightest bit of remorse for what she just did.

When she finally did return the bunny to the distraught magician, she fed her some story about how she found the bunny wandering around in the hallway. Mmmm-hmmm.

Moral of this story: if you see this woman walking down the street, hide your cute and furry pets, especially if you see an equally cute Monkey walking near her.

I was still feeling like poop this morning, so I decided to do something about it. I went to class, drank gallons of hot tea, and then headed out to Park Ave to see the latest Hirst installation at Lever House.

First of all, let me tell you how much I adore installation art. There’s something about walking through a piece of art, of standing in front of something and realizing that you’re actually surrounded by it on all sides. And Hirst? He’s a sick, sick genius who doesn’t skimp on the details.

The exhibit is free at the Lever House until February. If you have a few minutes, stop by and at least check out “The Virgin Mother” out front. Beautiful.

But, inside…ooh, inside the lobby you get thrust into this crazy world where sheep carcasses floating in formaldehyde are fed through tubes and sit in suspended animation during a lecture. Seriously.

Then, there’s the shark at the back of the classroom. Go…take a big whiff. You’ll know what I mean if you go.

The exhibit is fabulous in all its excesses. What’s up with the glasses of water? And that one empty one? Or the ash trays? And the dunce chair? People, it’s FREE. Yeah, it’s gory and kinda disturbing, but that’s the point, no? To make you uncomfortable by taking you out of what you know. By making you see things in a different light.

If nothing else, it gives you a chance to think, “Well, things could be worse. I could be that side of beef on display.”

I had a rare few hours to kill today between class and an appointment with my therapist (also known as the lady who keeps me from becoming that girl who sits in the corner of the room rocking herself and eating her own hair.) I decided to take advantage of my precious time by doing something that I haven’t done in a little while - I ate lunch. Outside. WITH myself.

I learned a few years ago about the importance of “me” time. I need it. We all need it. Some more than others. I really, really enjoy sitting down and eating a meal solo. I’ve been doing it for quite some time, too. I guess I didn’t realize just how strange this was until today.

I got to the restaurant and requested a table. The waitress asked me, “For two, or is it just you?”

Just? Um…am I not enough? Trust me, I drink enough for two.

During the rest of the meal, I noticed people looking over at me, like I was a freak taking up space on the patio and, hello? are you almost done? We’re waiting for a table. I didn’t care too much…I sat back, ordered another sangria, and took my sweet ass time. But, that’s because I can be a shit like that.

Anyways, that got me thinking. How many of you out there eat lunch solo? How many of you have learned the joy of just sitting and enjoying a meal, without having to text, or call someone, or chit-chat with the people next to you? I admit, sometimes I bring a book, or I’ll do a crossword puzzle while I wait for my meal to arrive. But, then I sit there and just…I dunno, eat. And people watch. And wonder if I should wash my hair tonight or wait until morning. Can I get away with another day of not shaving my legs? And, man do my eyebrows need waxing. You know, important stuff.

My question to you all: do you do stuff like this by with yourself, too?

Lest you think I’ve been slacking, I started a pinwheel sweater for Monkey.