meat cushion

As if anyone bothered to read this blog (I know some people do, thanks for your imput, sorry) much less read my Myspace blog, they might be a little concerned that I've been duplicating entries for the both of them lately. But if you read both you'll know that I've: A) been ill recently and B) gone back to the second-oldest profession, babysitting. Both of which cut down on my middle-of-the-day-between-naps blogging time. So you're lucky I have the time to think of one, much less copy-paste it to both.

So, yesterday I babysat. Which is something I do sometimes to support my crack-cocaine-and-snuff-films habit. The kid is two, she is recently potty-trained and pre-verbal, and she's a fucking annoy-o-matic machine that does not require coins to dispense. Aw, shut up, you know I feel all the mushy hormonal feelings for her. Whatever, I like to smell her hair, I feel all swoopy when she hugs me, just in a detached, cynical way. My ovaries never throb when I'm near her because (and this is key) I have to take care of her. And take responsibility for her actions when she's with me and when she's not, because I take a hand in raising her and I want her to be a good person. Or at least better than me.

Additionally, I was seriously hungover when she arrived. Usually when she shows up, I have been awake for about an hour, have spent some quality time with my cat, have gotten dressed and have brushed the applicable parts of my anatomy, have had some coffee and have gone to the can. So yesterday morning, when she arrived, I was hungover, sick and still asleep. So I wake up snorting snot, with my head pounding, naked sprawled on the bed in my room (which NO ONE is allowed to enter, ever, without my permission because right now I live with my folks) to see my mom and the sit-ee standing over me wanting to know where I keep my copy of the Lion King. And I managed not to say a bad word. I said, "I'm getting up right now. I'm finding Lion King as we speak." And I sat up and wound the sheet around me as they left, and I sat on my cat. Who is 11 and not that good-natured. Then I got dressed, and (head still pounding, snot still snorting) staggered from my room with my hair in a tornado and my teeth pretending they had just been unearthed from the ruins of the Titanic, to find the Lion King. And get a cup of fucking coffee. And take a shit. Which I did not ever manage to do in the 7 hours she was there. Other things I didn't manage to do which would have been advisable after drinking 2 24-oz beers and several shots: drink a gallon of water; eat food; go to rehab. We watched Brother Bear 4 times and Babe once. I cried every time Kenai chose to (spoiler alert!) remain a bear and when the Boss said, "That'll do, pig, that'll do" and when the piglets were nursing and their mom got taken away, and when the sheep told Rex the password. I cried every time the music swelled meaningfully or a significant look was passed in the commmercials we watched while Brother Bear was rewinding. I was a horrible babysitter for once, and we barely went to the park for only an hour, and I sweated pure alcohol the whole time. Then, instead of playing in the yard with the ball or the sprinkler or the bubble machine, or going to the miniature donkey and goats farm or the library or the indoor mini-golf-course-and-soda-fountain, we watched Brother Bear one more time while I slept fitfully on the couch. With the screendoor locked. The only alternative was to chase her out into the street.

Although I must say, she went to the bathroom twice all by herself without prompting, and she ate without my help, beyond actually preparing the food, and she was very chill about my need to lie down no matter what activity we were attempting. She did only a very short stint of jumping-up-and-down-while-screaming, and she was respectful of my boundaries after I farted on her for sitting on me and put her in a 5 minute time out for yelling in my face. Possibly the fact that I kind of fainted after putting her in time out helped.

So, today was better. Exept I'm getting drunk again, but there is no chance I'll have to babysit tomorrow, only a pretty certain chance I'll be working with power tools all day. Yessss!