Ah, we have entered the Ice Age around here. Sweet Martha this doesn’t look like spring.
And while everyone in my immediate family was out galavanting around the countryside this weekend, I stayed here in my cozy brown house.
And moved as little as possible.
I was protesting.
Because it’s damn dangerous out there! I mean look at that!?
Those daggers just dangling there, waiting to impale anyone who dares cross under their path to exit the house, enter the house or move to the outdoors or indoors in any way.
It could happen.
You could be out there in what is supposed to be the fresh warm spring air, just innocently filling up the bird feeder for the blue jays to ensure they are content while you’re off frolicking in the warm Arizona sun, unaware that the sword of ice dangling above your head is preparing to succumb to gravity and detach, plummeting and crashing to earth…but not before it smacks you in the forehead on the way down there, leaving a nice purple bruise that I heard is quite a fashionable look in Phoenix.
That may or may not have happened to someone I’m related to that was heading south for the weekend, leaving his beloved daughter dearest to tend to the snow drifts and to take care of the dangerous task of filling the bird feeder while he’s gone.
If they’ve never heard the term in Arizona, I think they are well aware of it by now.
And so you can’t blame me for avoiding the outdoors this weekend, even though it’s not like me at all. I mean, the sky is literally falling…and I seemed to have misplaced my helmet.
So what did I do this weekend all alone on the ranch? You might ask.
And if you did I would be honest and tell you that I did whatever I wanted. And what I wanted to do, considering the fragile state of the sky, was wake up, rub my eye crusties, look out the window, whine, make coffee and settle in under my fluffy blankets to watch a movie marathon with the one eyed pug.
But here’s the thing about movies, especially those I chose to enter my home this weekend: if the sky and I weren’t in a delicate state before viewing films like “The Blind Side,” “Life as a House” and “Steel Magnolias” we sure as shit were planning our next rainstorm after the credits rolled.
I mean, I know it all turned out in the end, but my emotions don’t bounce back that easily…I’m just saying…
So to counterbalance and keep me from dialing the adoption agencies to start the paperwork needed to save all the homeless children in the world, I decided to switch over to movies in a category I like to refer to as the “RoCo.”
Fully prepared to be entertained with belly laughs and eye candy, I pressed play on “How Do You Know?” starring the tiny, blonde girl next door bombshell Reese Witherspoon and the witty and charmingly handsome-in-a-nerdy-cute-kind-of-way Paul Rudd…oh and Owen Wilson. Yeah, he was in there too. I don’t want to give anything away here, but there is a love triangle. And it’s adorable.
And with the final kiss at the end, you know, that kiss, I suddenly felt the need to make an appointment to get my hair cut and colored, nails done, a full body wax and then launch into the sit-up routine I have been avoiding my entire life.
I finished the last roll of Oreos and moved on to “The Switch.” I will just cut the chase here and say it sure as hell didn’t help me avoid my save the children impulse…
Yes, it was a full out emotional roller-coaster from the comfort of my couch. And I’ll tell ya, the all-day movie marathon isn’t as safe a choice as some would make it out to be.
I decided I needed the company of actual people, you know, ones that don’t pay personal trainers and eat only lettus and exist in Hollywood…the ones that may have a zit or two to match mine. So I called little sister and hit the road to meet up with her to dance it off at the PDQ.
A great band was playing. I got a free shirt.
I wore it.
I danced my ass off…
and lost the shirt I came with.
I went home to the one-eyed pug.
I went to bed.
I woke up, did the eye crusties, window look, whine and coffee thing and transferred the lingering emotions from my blockbuster binge and the embarrassment from the night before into my some songwriting.
I wrote and wrote and wrote and sang and ate tortilla chips and smoothies and wrote and sang…and poured some Fruity Pebbles…
And then went on a scavenger hunt for my helmet because it was time to feed pops’ birds…
Because apparently the sky wasn’t over the movie marathon either…
…and still has issues today.
Thank goodness husband came home to save me from myself, icicle bruises and the dreary, pointy, weary, depressed sky.
I think we just need to stick to comedy from now on, the sky and me.
Comedy or nothing.
We’re just too fragile….