Unaccompanied Minors

Yesterday Darla and Harry went on an airplane by themselves. Since it is the religion of my family to worry about things that don’t exist, I got a call in the morning saying it might be raining in Philadelphia when they arrive. Really raining a lot. Maybe. Here’s what the voice in my head says when I get information like that.

(to myself)Oh whatever. Rain shmain. Pilots fly every day in bad weather.

(to my family member)You’re insane to worry. What’s your problem loading me up with your negative fearful thoughts?

(to myself) How am I related to these people?

(to my family member-FM) I hate you.

(to myself –MS) Rain. Rain. Thunderstorms. Lightening bolts.

(FM) Are you sure about the rain? Have you checked the weather?

(MS) Oh my god Lightening bolts. The plane will toss and turn and crash into a mountain. It will toss and turn for 45 minutes while Dar and Har suffer with fear and horror. And in the middle of the storm, a terrorist will stand up and spray all the passengers with his machine gun and they will all be wounded as the plane spirals downward into the rocks.

While the voice in my head is going on like this, outwardly I prepare to take my kids to the airport. We eat breakfast, walk the dogs, finish packing, watch cartoons, go on the computer. OHMYGODITS11:30WEHAVETOGORIGHTNOWCOMEONRIGHTNOW.

We run around and scream at each other for 5 minutes like the keystone cops.

We get in the car and just as I’m about to get on the entry to the freeway, I remember I don’t have cash. I do a quick U-ey and get lost looking for a Bank of America. I swear and drive like an insane maniac. I give up and go back to the one in my neighborhood, located completely in the opposite direction.

Back on the freeway there is miraculously no traffic and at once I am breathing normally and thinking this is fine, no probs, all is great. I am totally organized afterall. Why am I so hard on myself. Sheesh.

Then at the airport I can’t find the right garage. And we have to do the entire airport circle. Twice.

Then there is a line the full length of the Brooklyn Bridge to check in.

Ditto for the x-ray machine.

The whole time this is going on we are having a normal conversation. Harry is telling me about the new game on his DS. Dar is telling me what she downloaded on the ipod. We talk about Justin Beiber’s hair and the place in the Jersey Shore where they will be staying the second week of the visit. And some movies they want to see.

Meanwhile I’m sweating and feeling like I have to vomit.

Then Dar and Har get their plastic cards to hang around their neck to show that they are unaccompanied minors. (i.e. symbols of Children of divorce with horrible lives that are not their own). (Ok that thought doesn’t really stick but it does come into my head for an instant).

We still have 40 minutes. All is well. We didn’t have time for lunch but we’ll buy some snacks for the plane. Oh my God this is fantastic.

I go to the Starbucks and tell the barista my kids are traveling by themselves and my voice gets shakey and tears rise up. “Yes two weeks. Uh huh. Oh and two bananas too please.” I just keep talking because I wasn’t expecting this. I sniff and wipe my eyes before turning back to Dar and Har.

By then it is time for them to board. They are loaded with snacks and electronic gadgets. We hug and kiss and they run (literally) down the tube to the plane.

The plane is beautiful, purple, yellow and red. I can see little heads but I don’t know whose they are. Within seconds I get a text telling me they are seated in first class next to another unaccompanied minor named Morgan. I cry and am relieved and think that’s a good omen. Within ten minutes the plane pulls out, heads for the runway and lifts up into the air. I watch it until it is a tiny speck.

The Bus Driver Who Went to Work on His Birthday

I have watched this video 20 times. I can't stop. Isn't it weird that you can tell that he so deserves this nice surprise? (click the video twice to make it full size)

Where Every Day Begins Like a Dream

This morning Mo discovered a parade of roller derby girls with nerf bats. They whacked her in the ass when she walked by. How could your day start out any better than that?

Professional Oracle

(Paul the German octopus has correctly predicted the winner of each of the World Cup games.)

Mom, someone’s at the door.

Tell him I’m busy. I’ll be there in a second. Christ.

It’s an octopus.

What?

It’s an octopus.

What are you talking about?

The guy at the door. He’s an octopus.

He’s dressed like an octopus?

No. He’s a real one.

That’s ridiculous. How’s he--? What is--? Hold on. I’M COMING. goddammit…. Oh.

See?

(silence and shocked dismay)

It’s an octopus.

I see that. How is he, wait, is this some kind of a, this is--,who?

(the Octopus, hovering in mid-air, reaches a tentacle into his pocket and pulls out a card, it reads “Paul” and on the back it says, “Professional Oracle”)

What’s a professional Oracle?

A person, agency or animal considered to be a source of prophetic opinion.

What does that mean?

Someone who tells you what’s going to happen.

(Paul reaches into another pocket and pulls out a card that reads “It has to be a yes/no, either/or type of question”. Then on the other side it says “I can’t speak”.)

This is fantastic.

What should we ask him?

Will I ever get married?

Oh brother.

Will my soul-mate come back to me?

Mom!

Will I soon have millions of dollars?

Lame.

Ok what would you ask?

Will I ever get a real light saber?

Seriously?

What?

Of all the questions in the world that's your question?

How's that any worse than your pathetic one about a soul-mate.

That's not pathetic.

Yeah ok.

I loved someone and he loved me and there's nothing better than that.

Keep telling yourself.

You have no idea.

Mom I'm 8. It's just gross.

It isn't. It's a beautiful thing.

Where is he now?

He's in New England with his girlfriend.

Wow. I feel sorry for you.

It's ok.

Mom don't cry in front of Paul.

Sorry Paul.

(he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another card. It reads, "I really can only predict the outcome of sporting events")

Oh my God. Paul!

(he shrugs his tentacles)

That' s not right.

You got my hopes up.

So you can't tell me about the light saber?

Paul!

(As Paul floats away he leaves one last card. It reads: "I knew this would happen".)

Summer in The City

Malibu Mart

“In a battle between a hotdog and a corn on the cob, who would win?” Harry asked this from the back seat.

I envisioned the battle, for some reason it took place on horseback: “I’d have to say corn.”

We were on our way back from the Malibu Mart, one of those places where you can buy a $300 t-shirt, visit a gallery of enormous photos of nude super-models, catch a glimpse of Mel Gibson eating ice cream with John Cusack, or swing on a tire-swing with a 4 year old.

“Did you say corn because you think it’s stronger?”

“Yes”

“Because what if the hot dog was smarter.”

“In a battle, stronger wins.”

While we were on the playground, I saw this young woman with a blond ponytail and white shorts. She looked French or Swedish, and she was pushing her baby in a swing and arguing with a man who looked like Ed Asner with a curly black wig.

At one point, the girl took the old guy’s face in her hands and said Oh Honey! Then she ran her fingers through his hair while he stared at her helplessly, like a St. Bernard.

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does.”

“What if he plans an ambush?”

“Then he has a chance, but more than likely the corn will get his bearings.”

I imagined the two of them having sex; there wasn't a single scenario I could come up with that wasn't creepy or upsetting. I know these things happen. I know there's a part of the ordeal that makes sense in a completely twisted way. But it doesn't mean it's not alarming to see right in front of you. Even at the Malibu Mart.

"But I thought you liked the underdog."

"I do. Unless he's a show-off. And hotdogs are always show-offs."

Michael