Dear Diary . . . Gone Bad


dear jiji,
first off, why jiji?  why didn’t i just call you diary?  partly because i thought “jiji” was kinda cool.  you know, like juno from that movie, but not?  also, did you know anne frank named her diary “kitty”?  i like anne frank, but i don’t necessarily like the name kitty.  i think it would be unfair to canines to so one-sidedly just leave them out.  so, you are officially jiji and you get to hear about all my issues.  don’t you feel lucky?  don’t answer that.
i’ll jump right in.  i don’t understand the world.  in fact, i think i may have a brain defect.  maybe i should get it checked out.  maybe i have an underdeveloped frontal lobe.  if i did, it would be like i had a natural lobotomy.  at least it would give me an excuse, like tourette’s. 
i know there is a problem with my internal filter.  sometimes it just turns off.  it’s not like i make a conscious decision to shut it down, but there’s no doubt that occasionally (okay, frequently) it takes a hiatus.  like last week when another mom told me her daughter was learning about herpes in health class.  my reply?  “i taught R about masturbation.”  at the mere mention of the word, gravity overcame the mom’s lower jaw muscles.  when i looked inside, i could see her uvula and tonsils.  and then i got happy.  i know it’s wrong to get happy about shocking someone with masturbation, but i did.  then i felt compelled to go into details.  it made me even happier.  what is wrong with me?
yes, i am embarrassed for me!

yes, i am embarrassed for me!

then there was R’s volleyball practice.  i walked in wearing my lucky crocs that are only supposed to be worn inside my house.  somehow i forgot to change shoes and found myself wearing purple globs of rubber on my feet adorned with hawaiian jibbetz.  did i mention that i also hadn’t showered in two days, animal fur of various shades and textures clung to my baggie sweatpants giving me a mottled, animalistic look, and my garlic-induced halitosis was apparent even to me?
the seating area was crowded, but there was a gap between a scientist-looking guy and some woman wearing riding boots and carrying a riding crop.  and yes, i did question why she absolutely felt compelled to bring the riding crop into the gymnasium.  why wouldn’t she have left it in the car?  did she want us to all see the riding crop and be jealous of her because we didn’t have one?  was it not really a riding crop at all, but rather a disciplinary tool for her children?  or were the riding boots a ruse and she was really a dominatrix? 
anyway, i wedged my way between the professor and the horse whisperer.  immediately, the scientist’s eyes divert from his magazine to my purple footwear.  maybe he could smell the garlic, too.  as he inched away, my telepathic senses picked up on the word “freak” bouncing through his cranium.  this turned out to be emotionally neutral for me.  he was right about the freak thing, but at least i scored a little more wiggle room.
meanwhile, cowgirl’s kids had spewed the outer layers of their clothing all over the place (which was most of the reason space was so limited).  i picked up a pair of her girl’s sweatpants and, in an effort to more fairly allocate the available real estate, moved them out of my way.  that’s the moment equestrian lady morphed into regan from the exorcist, except she wasn’t as flexible, so her head maxed out at a ninety degree angle in my direction.  it wasn’t so much that i couldn’t look at her but that i wouldn’t look at her.  i didn’t need to.  i sensed her narrowed eyes.  the penetrating stare.  her scrunched nose. i could hear enamel and bone grinding as her teeth mashed against one another.  even the hair on her arms lifted from her skin, and the sour scent of repulsion poured from her glands.  and once again, i was happy.
i’m not going out today.  i feel it’s for the best.

8 thoughts on “Dear Diary . . . Gone Bad

  1. Ok. The weather got extremely cold the other night – for Southern Louisiana anyway and Hubby said that since German shepherds are from Germany and it snows there, the cold wouldn’t hurt them. These are my babies (even if they are 80 pounds apiece) so naturally I got a little upset – okay – a lot upset. He then proceeded to fall asleep in his chair. I went to bed, but not before turning down the heat to about 62 degrees thinking – now see what the dogs feel like. I climbed into my nicely heated bed and promptly fell asleep. Yep. He eventually got cold. Tell Ms. S why do I not have the slightest bit of guilt?

    • David,

      Sometimes I am a hoot, but the public exhibition of my lucky crocs was a very unfortunate accident. Although I did find the complete lack of any level of coolness very liberating.

      Gynormous hugs right back at you,


  2. HA HA HA HA. I can’t stop laughing. I can relate to so much of what you wrote. My hubby can’t understand how I can stay home so much. He doesn’t know that most of the time it is in the best interest of the unsuspecting public. LOL I love it and can hardly wait to read more of your diary entries.

    • Sherry,

      I love you for your comments. It’s not so much that it’s scary out there, but it’s what it does to me that’s scary. I can completely relate to actively aim for agoraphobia. You also gave me the confidence to continue the diary entries every Friday. It was an experiment, but I honestly had so much fun writing it. I try to force myself to be a good girl, but biting sarcasm just feels so damn good.



  3. Thanks Dannie. It’s going to become a regular every Friday :)

    Right now, Denver is frigid and snowy. Thailand sounds wonderful. And the fact that there are no riding crops is icing on the proverbial cake.



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