Tag Archives: Family

I is good at the moving!

T-minus six days until I move to Minneapolis. I mailed the first rent I’ve had to pay in…um…a long time to my landlord up there, and wept quietly when I saw the dent it had made in my bank account. It may do a number to one’s street cred to live with one’s parents for a year, but it’s almost, almost made up by the cash saved on lodging and the ungodly amounts of baked goods at one’s disposal. Despite my transient bohemian life after college, I’m convinced I’m a suburban housewife in disguise. Because I’m really going to miss the granite countertop and seasonal dishware.

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Moving, as everyone knows, is rather stressful. But as my family and close friends can attest, something unique happens to me when I get ready to move. Something that looks kind of like this:

Not that this is based on a real event or anything. Cough. Just a possible, um, example.

There’s no way around it. moving is hard. Especially when you’re leaving the nest for the second (fine! third, damnit) time. People keep telling me, “ohhh, congratulations!” and “you must be excited!”, the way that kind, considerate people often do.

But because the LAST time I got all excited about a big move to Minneapolis for graduate school, a giant bird named Fate dropped a giant poop on my head, I am trying to keep the excitement on the down low. Like, I am hoping to kind of slink out quietly before the Fate bird realizes my getaway and tries to poop on me again. Silly old fate bird.

A rare image of the exotic bird. Funny looking guy, isn't he?

My monkey mind remembers the Fate bird, too, so it is being very diligent. Maybe a little too diligent. My body thinks that every time I get a bit stressed, I am either a) being chased by a saber-toothed tiger, or b) getting a ball-busting illness again. So I am often overwhelmed with an urge to run or to get tested. For everything. Three times a day.

Sweet old monkey mind. I think it was Anne LaMott who said that we should treat ourselves the way we would treat an elderly, slightly deranged great aunt — kindly, gently, and with a lot of soft food. What are some times in your life where you have to pat your deranged great aunt self kindly on the head?

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What Bike Accidents And The Incredible Hulk Have In Common

Wisdom of the day: beware of slow-moving bicycle accidents!!!! SMBAs are the 4th most dangerous accidents in the whole world, behind complications from hot-dog eating contests, cartwheel miscalculations, and boa constrictor bites!!!

I know this because my big sister, Lee, got into one yesterday, and boy oh boy was it a doozy:

So there she was, minding her own business, politely passing a few recreational cyclists on the East Side bike path, in a hurry to get home and see her family, and BAM! Out of nowhere a bicyclist turns left in front of her, WITHOUT LOOKING BEHIND HER AND WITHOUT SIGNALING, and the two of them go crashing toward the ground.

Now, maybe you’re wondering: who doesn’t look behind them before turning left? Allow me to explain:

she are sooper gif-ted and tallented

But don’t worry — my new friend is fine. Walked away with nary a scratch. And my sister? Slightly more complicated. Now might be a good time to look up Femoral Artery. It’s confusing. Something about crushing it, and sirens, and morphine, and surgery and I think one of those minor procedures…maybe called a bypass?

You see, I have a slight problem remembering the details, because when someone harms my sister, this happens to me:

My protectiveness probably started when kids made fun of us on the school bus in the second grade. They’d alternate between “Lee, Lee, took a pee” and “Sally pooped in the alley.” And whoever had the bye day rallied a valiant defense against the evil forces.

Hell hath no fury like an alley-pooping Sally.

But anyway, Lee’s okay, and I visited her after work at the hospital. I’m trying to get her to press charges and hire one of those ambulance-chasers that have the commercials during daytime TV, but she keeps talking about pesky things like “forgiveness” and “not doing anyone any good.”

Whatever. She’s still hiding the police report from me, but when I get my hands on it, watch out, tubby, directionally challenged ladies: I’m going to bust out a can of whoop-ass on all y’alls.

I realize this has very little to do with reading, writing, or remission. But wait — it does! This was my very first time being in the hospital and NOT being the kind of doped-up looking one lying prostrate on the bed! Thank you, thank you very much. Thank you, Lee, for voluntarily breaking my streak.

We should have known something like this was coming. Fransons have a hard time going six months without catastrophe. That’s why Jimmy Cliff wrote a song just for us.

If anyone wants to join my vengeance gang, I’ll be the awkward-looking one on the pink Schwinn who looks like she’s never been in a vengeance gang before!