Last night my mother and stepfather brought Leta home from her dance lesson—wait. TANGENT ALREADY MOTHERFUCKERS. I just remembered an email I got years and years ago after I’d written a post wherein I referred to my stepfather as my “step-father” more that two times, and someone lost their goddamn mind and told me that they were going to stop reading my website if I dared put a dash in that word ever again. Well, guess what. It’s time: my step-father. Buh-bye!
And yes, I am very lucky that my mother insists that she take Leta to her weekly dance lesson so that I have one less burden to carry during my week. And dude. The next few weeks. In a month the girls play two solo pieces in front of judges, and up until then Leta has play practice almost every single day after school and on the weekends. Insert dance lessons, therapy sessions, piano lessons, piano practice, homework, and thousands and thousands and thousands of words that most certainly are not going to write themselves, and no wonder the pressure got so intense that I recently opened the freezer, looked at a block of frozen ground beef and thought, “The proper thing to do with this block of frozen ground beef is throw it on the ground.” So I did. And it was magnificent. A magnificently, glorious fiasco.
I called it The Flying Frozen Ground Beef Broken Tile Fiasco on Instagram and my friend Stacia who is currently my landlord commented, “Something you need to tell me?” Hahaha. Haha. Ha. Oh dear. I assured her that we fixed it up real good, but now I’m going to wait for the email or comment warning me that I should not be renting from a friend, that it will end badly, what the hell am I thinking? But since I pay my rent on time and she sends over a plumber whenever there’s a problem with a pipe I think I’m going to remind whoever is gonna make that comment that both Stacia and I are functioning adults and you can mind your manners. However, before I moved in a year ago when I was at the nadir of my depression I asked her, “Are you sure you want to hand over your house to a crazy woman?” A CRAZY WOMAN WHO TREATS FROZEN GROUND BEEF LIKE A BASKETBALL.
