Lay On Your Side, Gurl, You'll Get Through This

One time I mercilessly teased My Gay Husband for quoting an IM session in an academic paper.  This, however, is not an academic paper and I write whatever the hell I want.  Dora celebrated my birthday by getting trashed and has been texting me hungover complaints all day.  Here is what I've just been IM'ing (instant messaging, for my mom) with her:

Me: Hey gurl

Me: I'm glad you got on here

Me: it's so much easier than text b/c my laptop is balanced on my gut while my cell is plugged into the charger, forcing me to roll onto my side to text you

Dora: Aw shoot

Dora: you wanna hear what I ate today?

Dora: just for dinner I had a can of spaghetti-os, two packs of mac and cheese, and then i went to kroger and got the stuff to make rotel 

Dora: now i'm moaning ... too much cheeesee!!

Me: oh man, this is serious b/c you didn't just consume a high volume of food, you ate a whole bunch of junk

Me: i know the feeling all too well

Me: lay on your side, gurl, you'll get through this

Birthday Recap

Well, The Skydiver met the Chirrens Garcia.  And surprisingly, no one vomited on him.  My Gay Husband accuses me of trying to keep The Skydiver at an obscene distance.  I didn't really believe him until The Skydiver pulled up in front of our house and called me to ask "Um, can I come to the front door or should I wait outside or should I come around back?"   Whoops.

Anyway, The Skydiver totally made my birthday loads of unmentionable fun and now I'm in love with him from afar again (he still had to leave through the nanny door this morning, but I gave him a hug before).  

I think the evening got off on the right foot because Coco was around.  She doesn't allow people to be shy, awkward, or uncomfortable around her (and being with The Skydiver is usually all three).  She'll just keep talking joking putting on a show until you succumb to the wonderment that is Coco Roshambo.   

My birthday was also awesome because so many people posted on my facebook wall.  Yeah, I'm like that.  One friend wrote on my wall "Happy birthday!  Go do what you do best!!"  What does that mean?  Smoke weed and laugh while I make other people feel awkward?  Because that's what I do best.  

Now I'm totally focused on going home this weekend.  I love Mississippi for several reasons.  First of all, the winter air isn't PAINFUL so I can go back to wearing psychedelic socks and Birkenstocks under my hippie skirts.  And people are much nicer down there.  Well, I mean, they're much nicer if you're white ... and straight ... and Christian ... and wear a polo shirt.  

Below is a picture of one of the several FABULOUS gifts Coco gave me.  She actually gave me the shirt sweater off her back.  It's not just beautiful.  She's had it since she was in high school.  I don't know if this picture captures how it glistens because it's made out of the hair of angels.  

And Then It Hit Me

Today is my 22nd birthday and it is also the first day of the rest of my life.  I say that almost as much as I say the f word, which is quite often.  But seriously, this time I'm gonna get it right.  

This new found resolve was inspired by a phone call I had with Chocolate the other night.  She called from Albania and it was like 4am her time and she was stressing about the language class she had in just a few hours.  I, of course, was encouraging her to skip - I mean, she's not even taking it for a grade!!  But she reasoned that she couldn't miss because she would be missing later this week for a panel she's been asked to sit on.  

And then it hit me: In ten years, we will likely be doing the same thing.  I'll be sitting in someone else's basement listening to the Grateful Dead, eating peanut M&Ms and watching shit blow up on the internet while Chocolate prepares for a PANEL in ALBANIA.  

She's so important that she's asked to sit on fucking PANELS (because trust me, this is hardly a first for her).  The only panel I've ever been asked to be on was something about the legalization of marijuana.  It wasn't until I showed up and realized I would be sitting in the "pothead exhibit box" that I regretted thinking my patchwork skirt seemed "fancy" and "business-like" (I believe I actually said those words).  Hey - it wasn't floral or anything.  It had varying shades of blue, which included navy blue, which I believe is a very businessy color.    

Ok, enough with the self deprecation act.  That's not really my style. 

N-E-Wayzzz ... today is the first day of the rest of my life and lots of things have been happening.  My oldest sister gave birth to a 7lb 5 oz boy ... FOUR hours before my birthday!!  But it's okay, because you know for every birthday for the rest of his life, I'm going to mention those four hours. 

When my parents got to the hospital, my kook of a father bolted across the parking lot and left my mom behind.  And in a very Garcia-family move, not one damn person at the hospital had a camera.  AND I'm going home Saturday to see him!!!!!!  

Please stay tuned for NannyGarcia's Mississippi Homecoming.  

Embrace the Lame Birthday Plans

Did you know my birthday is Wednesday?   I will be 22 years of age.  Which freaks me out because sometimes I think some of Francois Philippe's friends are cute and then I remember I am an old womern now and I feel creepy.  

For the past several years my birthday has been memorable and out of control.  This year, my first year as an old womern, I'm going to the movies with The Skydiver.  At first I didn't want to include my birthday plans on this post because I thought everyone you would silently judge me for having lame birthday plans.  

But you know what?  I don't even care if you judge me, Cat.  It is lame.  You know why?  Because I have ZERO friends.  No, I take that back.  I have four friends here in the burbs: Coco, Bobby Habibi, The Skydiver, and The Tattoo Guy.  But it's okay because having five kids is like having all the friends you could ever want (awwwww).  

N-E-Wayz, here is my birthday wishlist this year:

• a phone call from My Older Man Friend ... Last year he forgot my bday and it made me feel empty inside - Incidentally, he is now in love with Catherinette but is scared to comment on her page about how in love with her he is - Catherinette: he's a total babe)
• earlier bedtimes for my chirrens ... Do you know how annoying it is to have to wait until 930pm so I can creep into the backyard to smoke?  Seriously - who are these little people and why are they cramping my style??
• a blood sugar tester thing ... This would greatly cut down on the panic attacks I have at night when I think my faux-diabeetus are acting up.  And then I realize I have to pee because I've been chugging cranberry juice all day to clear up that unfortunate UTI.  Or that I'm incredibly thirsty because I just poured a pound of salt in the form of canned spaghetti-o's in my mouth.  Or that I can't feel my legs because I don't have any pants on and I sleep with the window open.  Late night faux-diabeetus realizations are always profound.  

But my number one wish for my birthday is for my oldest sister to give birth on my birthday.  Well, NannyGarcia, you don't seem the type to want to share your birthday.  This is true, but let's think about this for a moment.  Either I share my birthday or the little thug's birthday outshines mine for the rest of my life.  The choice is clear to me.  

Equality for All Americans

FIRST THINGS FIRST: A SUPER NannyGarcia shoutout to my fabulous friends, Smachel Crooks and Yorn Gnarlsson for joining me in the March Against Prop 8 in Washington, DC.  About 5,000 people showed up yesterday and Smachel and Yorn braved the rain with the rest of us.  Thanks, y'all.  

AND NOW allow me to (briefly) be perfectly honest.

I LOVE:

• protesting
• civil disobedience
• sticking it to the man
• rioting
• revolting
• marching
• standing in place
• sitting in 
• loving in

I will basically do anything that will stir shit up and/or result in tear gas being dispelled.  I support gay rights, but yeah, I could basically be marching against cigarettes (which I smoke) tomorrow and I would be just as excited.  **disclaimer: I don't do anything Republican, that's my limit**

Yesterday I not only totally got off from walking with THOUSANDS of people from the Capitol to the White House, chanting, screaming, holding signs above our heads for hours.  I truly believed in what we were marching for.  Even My Gay Husband, who once said that he never wanted gays to achieve equality because then he would lose his edge was out hooting and hollering on the Mississippi streets.  

It freaks me out that people try to ban gay marriage.  That's like saying Jews can't marry or people with one arm can't have kids.  What is this, China??  So if you haven't done something to stand against Prop 8 (or similar hateful legislation), go to jointheimpact.org and check some of their shiz out. 

She Died of BEDSORES? Is That Even Possible??

I am so lazy that it negatively impacts my life.  Seriously, it's 2:30am and I have been laying immobile for hours.  Not sleeping, just laying in my bed with my laptop balanced on my gut.  And I just realized the low point I had hit when I kept ignoring the impulse to pee, assuring myself for a gross amount of time that I could make it till morning.  But then, of course, paranoia sets in and I start imagining my bladder busting, infecting all my other innerds and striking me dead by morning.  Death by urine.  So I finally dredge myself out of the bed to go to ... the bathroom.   

Enjoy Cholita eyebrows.  Thanks, Michael K.  

Thunderin' Thursday

The thing about being a live-in nanny is that you can't ever call in sick just because you're hung over.  I mean, it's not like Coco and Bobby Habibi didn't meet all my friends last night and then let us drive their car into Da City (DC, get it?).  And it's not like they didn't hear me come in at 3am and immediately put my head into the guest bathroom toilet.  And it's not like Bobby didn't make coffee for my hungover friends so they could drive back to Mississippi today.  It's not like they're a fuddy duddy boss you can give a few fake coughs to.   

What "it" IS like is this:

You CAN wear your pjs all day when you're a live-in nanny.  I'm sitting at the bus stop in the freezing rain in my stinky pajamas and flip flops, with just a big gray sweater thrown over it all as if that makes it all better.  It doesn't.  

What DOES make "it" all better is an upper angle + my supah-famous fabulous head tilt.  See how much fancier it makes every situation:

Now we're back at the house and Little Bill is over here and I'm looking up rainy day activities.  We could do a scavenger hunt, but I don't have a prize.  I just have an empty shoe box.  And let me clarify that I'm not actually doing any of these great rainy day activities; I'm just reading about them on the internet.  Did you know you could make a boat of an egg shell?  

But les bebes + one don't even notice that I'm being a total slacker nanny.  They are currently sitting on top of each other and watching Spongebob.  I feel a little nanny guilt but I'll do Storytime later and absolve myself.