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Thrice Cry Under The Moth

2004-06-25 - 11:14 a.m.

Breakfast: Orange Juice and stale chips

Listening To: The Doors, Beck

Quote: "Al-Y, don't be nice to ugly children. It only gives them more power." - Zach

Alright. Turn it up now. Or some such thing. Hey! It's been a whirlwind hasn't it? I don't know. Maybe it hasn't. But I like those little mini-whirlwinds that make leaves blow around in circles. Those make me happy. Happy enough to grill all those gypsy moth caterpillars and serve them to the neighbor children as "Summertime Snacks!" I mean . . . Hey! What's up?

So Wednesday, which seems so so long ago at this point, I cut out of work at 1:30 (so better for Becca and Al-Y to prepare for the coronation of Princess Placenta later that day) and after a quick trip to Jumpest of Gates, went and picked up Polly Prissypants (a.k.a. Monique) at the Bus Station in Pease. Having learned from previous trips to pick up my dear frond at the Bus Station I came packing granola bars this time. Because having to face a Monique who's hungry and hasn't been able to smoke in hours is a prospect that lesser man have produced 10-foot-arc's of fear pee just thinking about it. The granola bar slowed her down a bit, but it was only a matter of time before she started rummaging around the woods for some hot pockets. Luckily, her foraging skills have grown rusty. The city has made her soft. Though, she can hotwire a car with a shoelace and a bottle of fanta, so I suppose it's a 2-way street.

Our first trip was to RollinZford to see the Notorious C.C.K., but Chef, despite being told to be on his best behavior for his Aunt Monique's visit was MIA and we looked for him for almost a 1/2 hour and turned up not even a hairball or three. So that was that. I introduced Monique to Reno 911 ever-so-briefly, but even in the small time, she understood that Wiegel was were it's at. We left for Concord to visit Nanny for her (belated by a day) birthday after that and it went pretty well. I got Nanny the Garfield beanie baby we carry at the store that she's been talking about for weeks as well as Linus to help almost complete her Peanuts Baseball Team figure set. She's short a Schroeder. However the fuck you spell that. Nanny was armed with custard and clown balloons. I enjoyed the custard MUCH more than the gigantic clown balloons. Call me crazy. She also had a couple of pages of riddles that she wanted Monique and I to figure out. You know the kind. There's a bunch of different squares with odd drawings/words in each that mean something else - i.e. A-P-P-L-A-U-S-E written in a circle, meaning "Round of Applause", and other examples I don't feel like giving, etc. But anyway, there was this one that said MOTH, which was underlined. And then under that line was the word "Cry" written three times. With each Cry written under the previous Cry. I could not get this one to save my life. Nor could Nanny. Finally, Monique claims she's gotten it. "It's 'Thrice cry under the Moth!'" Which would have been a perfect guess on Monique's part, if - you know - that MADE ANY SENSE AT ALL. Which - you know - it doesn't. Anyway, Nanny was happy to see Monique and we wished her a good night and it was on to meet Rachel.

We met Rachel at Oliver's/Kalliope's parking lot. And while Rachel squinted to see if that goateed, shortly shorned scalp individual driving the green jeep was really her ol' pal Zach, we regretted not being able to go over and visit Richy Rich at Gap. But time was of essence! So Rachel followed us up to my Mom's where we promptly drank drink, ate pickies, had cheeseburgers (or plain ol' HAMBURGERS in the case of our less lactose tolerant friends - not pointing fingers - RACHEL), and talked about the fast approaching certainty that I was most likely going to have to see the dreaded Fish this fall. Damn you for being so sociable Shannon! (And yes, Shannon, thank god I wasn't still waiting to hear from your slow ass for the news.) Anyway, we had a good time. And like all good times when my mother and female friends of mine are together, the conversation always stops short when I walk into the room only for everyone to smile and my mother to harp, "Oh Lou, of course we were talking about you, grow up!" My mother, folks.

But what's that? You were hoping for a soul-crushingly embarrassing moment to have gone down at my mother's? Ohhhhhh, I guess I must have forgotten to mention the part with the birthday cake! So Rachel, being the little baked good fairy that she is, brought a triple chocolate cake with dark & white chocolate shavings on top. (I think I can hear Hal-Y salivating all the way from Florida) So after dinner my mother puts candles in it. I ask her whose birthday it is, and she thinks for a minute . . . and then decides we can sing a belated Happy Birthday for Nanny. Ok, easy enough. Then, and I swear if I knew what this question was going to lead to I NEVER WOULD HAVE ASKED IT, I asked her if she had done anything for my "girl's birthday" a week or so ago. Now, let me back up slightly. I may be psycho, in fact, there's no question, I AM psycho, but any bit of psycho that I am, my mother is tenfold. So, while I . . .

a.) referred to my cat (who has been dead for several years) as my "girl"

b.) implied that my mother would have "done something" for her past birthday

c.) the doctor was his MOTHER. It was his MOTHER!

. . . you have to understand that my mother and I both understand the other one's craziness. So I could totally picture her putting confetti and a little cupcake of some sort next to the cat's urn. Well, firstly, she had forgotten, and secondly, her resulting guilt in forgetting the cat's birthday made her turn on a dime and decide that the cake was now for the cat. If you could do me a favor and picture this: (and if you can't, I'm sure some expensive therapist years from now will have no problem picturing it) My mother and Don on one side of the island in the kitchen, with my mother lighting the last of the candles on the cake that she has now placed next to my dead cat's urn of ashes . . . on the table . . . WHERE WE EAT - while she she commands that Rachel and Monique join her in a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday Baby Girl!"

While my face slowly melted off into my hands.

It's been real,

Alec Eiffel

ps - The poll results for the last poll, "Why do you hate bees the most?" ranked in the following fashion: In third place, with 4 votes and 16% of the vote was "Because they drank all of your grape soda". Second place, with 6 votes, and 24% of the vote was "Because they always cut in line on pizza day". And in no surprise, the runaway leader was, with 10 votes, and 40% of the vote "Because they label themselves as "compassionate conservatives". Ok, new poll, have fun!

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