I was on the soccer fields last night and one of the Dads (who I really like and who I’ve known forever showed up).
“Hey Jessica how are you?” He asked.
“Great.” I smiled and lied.
“Wow, you look different, something is different…” He sort of smiled and looked at my forehead.
“I had my hair done, maybe it’s my hair.” I offered (and by done I mean colored)
“No, no that’s not it, it’s something around your eyes…”
“I had my brows shaped, and I’m wearing a little makeup.” I offered up hopefully.
“No, no, that’s not it either.” And the poor dear was just staring at my eyes.
“My Botox is settling in.” I replied perkily.
“Oh that’s what it. Hey, it looks great!” And then he shuffled his shoes.
Remember earlier in the month when I got to hang out with the cool kids at Funny or Die? I’m not sure if you noticed, but in addition to being an ad for Cottonelle, there’s a promotion that’s not over yet.
Give a tub, get a tub.
In case you’ve never tried Cottonelle Fresh Clean Wipes this is your chance to not only get a tub free, but to send a tub to a friend. At what other moment in your life do you get to say to a friend, “Here try using something moist to get your gear clean.”?
If you haven’t seen the video yet, I’d love for you to take a peek, and don’t forget that Funny or Die is all about the community saying if something is funny, or if it should die. If you think it’s funny go ahead and click funny, if you think it should die… well… you won’t. You can’t possibly.
At least Larry knows how to get a true clean every day she says while holding a garden hose. Oy! I’m told that the folks at Cottonelle are very conservative, so I’m not going to talk about Larry, and why things need to be clean. I will refrain from all potty humor and all sex humor, but I will talk about how much restraint I have, because I know you, my readers have the same horrible humor that I share with twelve year old boys who think know that farts are funny.
So, if you haven’t had a moment, please take a look at Funny for Die. Remember I AM FUNNY, and if you’ve been wanting to try Cottonelle Fresh Clean Wipes this is the right moment. They even have a little hanger so that they can be on the wall next to your toilet tissue.
This post was written through my partnership with the Cottonelle Brand. All opinions and thoughts are my own.
This morning I was up at the crack of dawn to get ready for a day of ologists.
I went to the lab, then the rheumatologist, then the oncologist, down a few floors to the dermatologist, then back to the lab, back to the oncologist, and on my way home by 2pm.
Except that I left my iPhone at the lab. Unlike the Sheraton, no one kept it and made it their own. I drove back, grabbed my telephone, and hopped back into the car at 2.30 and hit all the worst traffic that Los Angeles can dish up.
The good news? It’s my friend’s last visit to the oncologist. The bummer? It’ll probably be back next summer. The second dose of good news? They can knock it back out again for another year.
The kinda annoying news? I’m not really handling the methotrexate well. Apparently I’m having some side effects they don’t like. The good news? There are about a dozen other drugs that I can take. The better news? I don’t have cancer.
I know. I don’t have cancer, and neither do you (I hope). That oncology office will put everything into perspective.
I’m writing slowly, so very very slowly, about our fabulous trip to La Quinta. I double dog swear I’ll get that sucker done before the week’s over.
Oh, and also, that TV thing from ages ago… the one I thought was dead and buried? We have a meeting this week.
Jane,
I know that you’re angry with me because I won’t let you watch Glee or read The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner. In a few years, or maybe in a few decades you’ll recognize that I love you enough to hold your eleventh year sacred.
I know that other moms let their daughters watch Glee. I don’t care. I’m not raising Joan, Melissa or Sandy, I’m raising you, and Los Angeles can be a crummy place to raise a kid. I’m pretty sure that in high school at least one of your friends will get pregnant. You may or may not ever know about it. I’m fairly certain you’ll have at least one gay friend, and at least one more that you’ll be surprised to find out was gay.
Parents will divorce, some will remarry. Some have already been to rehab, still others will die.
There will be roadblocks to success, and ugly dead ends where you thought happiness would be. You will live Glee, you don’t need to watch it. Jane, all of this can wait. You’re eleven. Eleven is good.
These are your last minutes of childhood. You’re a blink away from being a teen, you’re the big kid at school, doting on the little ones in Kindergarten and tutoring the second grade girls. You’ll be a woman before you know it, and I’ll be damned if you can’t remember being a child because I allowed you to bypass it.
I don’t know how much you’ll remember being eleven. I’m guessing it will be easier to recall than being ten, nine or eight. I won’t let you look back on your childhood, and have it willfully peppered with adult activities.
So I’m sorry that you’ll have to be the only kid who doesn’t watch Glee, and the only girl who doesn’t read about homeless teenage prostitutes. Jane, I’ve been eleven. You’re not the only kid whose mom says no.
Love,
Mom
