phone karma. make fun of your dinky little phone and it will hide your messages from you and then, all of a sudden, it will be all “hey, dude, you have 29 messages!” and i really wish that 29 was an exaggeration. it’s not. this morning i had 29 phone messages. and i’m not that popular. (i’m no backpacking dad. heh)
dare-to-go-away karma. could also be titled code 9 karma. ali leaves for a few days to go to some conference, and she is punished with a code 9 emergency. Isabella wakes up, complains about the bugs flying around in her room (wtf?) and follows that up with a lovely little welcome home mama barf-fest. fancy. and, of course, the husband was not at home. he’s never there for the ole heave-ho.
i mean, she DID tell me she didn’t want me to go…
(or maybe she just thought that my new suitcase was a brand-new toy and place to hide. or something)
(still think she’s a mythical hobbit, SLynnRo? Kristabella?)
i love horror karma. tell everyone you speak to that the new(ish) Rob Zombie Halloween movie is ridiculous and totally unscary and uncreepy because Michael Meyers (ps. also? totally random and hilarious? the name of my high school principal. ha!) was just a kid. yes, a disturbed kid who likes to wear masks and kill animals…but a PERSON nonetheless. so…
when he gets shot four times and doesn’t die and then gets shot in the HEAD and still doesn’t die…it becomes comical, not creepy.
and then you hear about this story while in your weekly tuesday brainstorming session (oh. my. god. ew) and then you have nightmares about scary scratchy people with their brains falling out busting down the doors while you are in the strangest bathroom stalls in the 6th floor Macy’s bathroom in SF. awesome.
(also? i weep because i stayed home and watched Big Brother - which is completely boring the everloving crap out of me this season - and Halloween while the husband gets to go and see The Dark Knight. boo. Christian Bale and Heath Ledger vs. Michael Meyers and crappy reality tv stars? I LOSE)
time-change karma. complain that you are waking up at the buttcrack of dawn while in SF and still on Eastern time…and then when you come home you won’t be able to fall asleep until 3am because your body finally adjusted and now you’re actually on Pacific time.
it’s all neener neener on me, it seems…
give me coffee.
(and someone give my son a sandwich…because, seriously? i’m afraid Sally Struthers is going to come break down my door and start feeding him…)
who wants to go see The Dark Knight and eat cheeseburgers** tonight at 1am? but please, i warn you, don’t call me, because i won’t get the message until Sunday. i promise i’ll put the McDonald’s bag on my head. and i promise you will laugh. because hot damn…cheeseburgers = FUNNY.
**i’ve never actually ever even had a cheeseburger. i just like to pretend. ha!
