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10:47 a.m. - 2012-09-25
The Mostly Empty Box

It's weird, my homepage is my email inbox and this morning I found I'd been bounced and had to sign-in again. All fine and good but none of the passwords I tried worked. I'm lazy and only have five passwords I use regularly so I'm pretty sure it's one of them but my mail server was having none of it and refused to let me in. Here's the really weird part, I didn't particularly mind. D-land never sends notifications of comments anymore, any online shopping is done through a different account I share with Mick (makes it easier to keep tabs on things), FB messaging has mostly taken over for personal notes, so basically this email addy is a rapidly fading dinosaur. It's where I hear from Obama and company several times a day. (Honestly, the Obama-spam is starting to make me cranky. I've sent in all the money I'm going to for this campaign and the ever more frequent and shrill begging letters are tiresome.) Other than that Chuck Schumer and Kirsten Gillibrand say howdy once a week or so. Mick forwards his goofy shit and breathlessly excited links to car YouTubes I usually have zero interest in. And Big Fish Games hawks their game of the day. That's it. Upshot is that this email account which I've had since the turn of the century (for real!) and used to be my lifeline to the outside world has become about as useless as my physical mailbox. There's hardly ever anything good in there, just adverts and political propaganda. It's a bit sad really. Yet I'm also kind of pleased. See, I hardly ever catch things in the act of fading out of my life.

I was thinking about this the other day when Wolf rolled his eyes and then hunched over shuddering in disgust when I suggested we go see 'Hotel Transylvania' this weekend as a family. My son made it quite clear his days of going to cartoon movies with his dork-ass parents are over. Bad enough I'd dragged him to see 'Brave'. This? This dopey thing about silly monsters? Not a fucking chance, lady. For. Get. It.

Okay, fine, Mr Cool. Suit yourself. Stay home and play 'Blow Their Heads Off 4' and the sequel to 'Masters of Eye Gouging' on your stupid PlayStation. See if I care.

It's just...just...well, shoot. When I think of all the horrible kiddie dreck I sat through with him, awful, terrible crud full of fart jokes and burping and all the characters spoke in helium voices at ear-splitting volume, a sonic bombardment that made my nose run it hurt so bad, and this twerp I gave birth to has the nerve to insist he's far too hip for animated movies now? For God's sake I sat through the Jimmy Neutron movie three times! You just wait, Big Britches, someday you're going to beg me to take your kids to some crap like 'Goblins and Goobers Meet The Sparkle Horsies' and I will laugh in your face. I will roll my eyes and shudder and act like that's the dumbest thing I ever heard. Yup. Someday it'll be your turn to suffer through 'Pooping Pixies Do The Hula' and you'll be dragged to Toys-R-Us afterward so your kid can get the entire Pooping Pixie collection including the $500 Pixie Poop Palace (some assembly required, a PhD in mechanical engineering and fluent Chinese helpful) and you'll make 17 trips through the McD's drive-thru for Happy Meals until your kid finally scores the coveted Ploppy the Pooping Pixie with the Magic Ukulele...and a month later your precious will insist Pooping Pixies are soooo over and Pokémon the Revenge is the new cool thing.

You just wait, buddy-roo. Your mama is going to laugh her ass off.

I had more to say, but the clock tells me it's time to get going. It's Errand Day and the world awaits.

Aloha, ~LA

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