Spawn

As a nanny I have come to realize that mothers can play the role of nanny, house cleaner, garbage man, handyman, and even therapist.  I would do the math to see how much money moms are not getting paid for all the tasks they perform, but that would require effort and effort is just not my style.  Currently I get paid to watch children, so they get a sugar coated version of Julia. However, if I am going to have to be crapped on, cried at, and have to fish random objects out of child's mouth, and NOT be paid for it, I feel as though I would be entitled to act as bitter as I want.

My child raising philosophy is quiet simple; it consists of condescending sarcasm. For example, take the task of diaper changing. When you unfold that bad boy, feel free to say in your most upbeat voice: "Is this gift for me? I thought cleaning up my own shit was fun, but woweee wiping your butt is a true delight! I saw you working on that thing for about 5 minutes, I am sure glad I have a child that uses their brain power and focus for good things. I think its lovely that a 30 pound kid and poop out 40! We should just put this beautiful shit up on this mantle piece!"

If my book on raising children doesn't take off I have the old standbys to make me money: Have juicy enough baby daddy drama, or children with dysfunctional enough personalities, or pop out a large enough litter of kids to get a show on MTV.  After all isn't that just the American dream.

Aim Low

Oh alcohol. The readers must warned, this is not a recounting of my drunken sorority days hooking up with some random guy in the back of cab.  This story does not and will never ever exist, purely because of disdain for public transportation in Los Angeles. I am not pretentious, I just feel deeply uncomfortable when I think of all those people with runny noses and covered with scabs that use taxis, buses, and the metro to get from point A to B.  Perhaps one day I will ride the bus, when I build up enough "street cred."  I assume one earns this in the same way a young girl earns girl scout badges.  Of course I wouldn't know.  As an abnormally large 9 year old girl who looked like I was on steroids, it did not make me an ideal candidate to sell cookies with Troop Beverly Hills, but popular when their kites got stuck in trees.  But I digress.
Yes, alcohol. I measure the amounts I consume in thimble-fulls. To call me a light weight would be an understatment.  And I do not just watch my alcohol consumption because I am convinced I have several undiagnosed old lady diseases (its not paranoia when they are actually out to get you- I am a realistic hypochondriac). My current strategy for dealing with this is to aim low, in fact aim for the floor.  If one is drunk, and remains on, or near the floor, there isn't far to fall.  A philosophy I feel as though many celebrities, such as Charlie Sheen, have applied to their whole lives (can't go lower then rock bottom). For now this tacit works, and lets hope it does for a while because the next step would be a drunk helmet.

Slack-jawed

I was never under the impression that I have outgrown my awkward phase, or that I am ever likely to. However, my awkwardness seems to be honing itself onto specific body parts. For example my mouth. I spent a good portion of my childhood combatting my genetically pre-dispositioned British teeth.  Tens of thousands of dollar later and my mouth looks like it could pass for American, meaning all my teeth are my own and are some shade of white.

So I thought this part of me was safe from the awkwardness that spreads. Oh how wrong I was.

This Friday I woke up with the ability to only open my mouth about an inch wide.  I guess I should have seen this coming, because my usual party trick is showing off that I can fit my whole fist in my mouth.  This of course has never lead to a blossoming friendship or any kind of relationship, but only a few awkward propositions, but hey, why hide a natural born talent. Normally I don't question my abnormalities and let them run their course.However, when something stands in between me and my desire to eat copious amounts of food, well I just won't have it. I tried the usual thing of downing medicine to no avail. Next came the oralgel and this is when things got weird. One has to apply it in their mouth with their finger. Now I have a nasty tasting nailpolish on to keep me from biting my nails (the awardness spread to my nails as well). The oralgel numbed my mouth causing public drooling (something I am accustomed to), but the taste of the nailpolish lasted about 5 hours. Despite the riot that was taking place in mouth, I still managed to down a plate of nachos and talk all night long.  I guess some things are impossible to stop.

Gratitude

The other day, I let a small Asian cut in front of me in traffic. Instead of putting his hand out to say thank you, he threw both arms out of his window, and "raised the roof." All good deeds should be rewarded with an awkward dance, at least that's my opinion.