Posts Tagged ‘bathtub’

Put-together as Hay-ull

December 6, 2009

Most of the time, I do not much consider myself very badass or even particularly put-together as an adult, because I am mainly fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants and not terribly interested in grown-up rules, but sometimes that immaturity and disorganization goes so far out there that it comes back around in to Being Awesome. It hit me hard when I was making dinner for me and the kidlet tonight.

Yep. That’s right. Dinner was cartoon-character-shaped macaroni and cheese, chardonnay for me, milk for her, and a split Snickers. The kidlet had this Madonna-wannabe headband on and she had fluffed out the lace and pulled it around her face like a fascinator and was lecturing me in a very fancy voice with her hand on her hip about opening the packet of powdered cheese, licking my finger, and sucking off the cheese. She was very chic. I was impressed enough to almost consider not eating more of the cheese.

(Later, instead of digging up a tablespoon, I just eyeballed how much milk and butter I figured I needed. Totally overestimated on the milk. So when it didn’t set up right, I drained and poured some of the runny mix in to a plastic cup from the Olive Garden. I meant to pour it down the sink, probably, but I instinctively drank it instead.)

We’re eating macaroni and watching the live action Scooby Doo now, because kidlet loves the dog and Mommy loves Matthew Lillard. (Did you know he was The Fat Kid growing up, so everyone made fun of him, and it affected him very deeply? Because I know, because I love him.) Sometimes we play Scooby Dooby Doo in the bathtub — she is Scooby and I am Shaggy. The tub is the Mystery Van and we drive in it to solve crimes and say “like” a lot. Not gonna lie: we’re pretty awesome.

Secretary of State of Mind

September 9, 2009

Mr. Kite’s friend Brian and I just became imaginary friends on facebook (I am now imaginary facebook friends with the entire Trio: be jealous of my imaginary popularity) and I did that thing where you flip over to your new pal-oh’s profile to make sure there is not some detail of their life like jail time or a broken marriage that you have missed in conversations so that you do not inadvertently do something socially gafferiffic the next time you have a real actual live encounter like joke about the shocking divorce rate among convicts. In doing so, I noted that he had a recent status update about a favorite movie of mine, Secretary. Gobsmacked, I totally abandoned facebook and began what would become an hours-long reacquaintance with a thing that had used to resonate so strongly with me that apparently the repressed rides again.


It had been a while, a few years at least, since I’d watched it. Since before I met my husband at the minimum, I know that much. So that’s like five years, at least, I suppose. Four? Five? Whatever. Not the point, unless it is. It might be; I don’t know.

I found truckloads of screencaps from it and was rereading the script while following along in the screencaps because I have not updated my divx codecs in basically ever and can’t play DVDs even if I did go rent the movie, and I was not up to streaming or bittorrenting it and getting some kind of folkloric virus on top of my other shit today, so I figured I was doing the next best thing.
I found myself totally sobbing and deeply affected, even more than on prior viewings or, like, after-the-fact contemplation of the material. (Saying “like” distances me from the fact that I have indeedy thought at length about a film after watching it; it makes me sound less intelligent so that in case I am wrong it’s okay for you to correct me because what do I know? These are the sorts of things I was noticing about myself while reading and thinking today.)

“Mr. Grey…thank you so much for your helpful suggestions. Because I am trying to be the very best secretary that I can be for you.”

What I realized was that this is definitely one of those movies that is a movie about love done my way. It is actually pretty much exactly what. My kind of love, my kind of problems, my kind of change that is needed. I definitely have to buy this now, probably as soon as I pick my daughter up from school. I don’t know when I’d watch it. It’s a problem that a movie in which I see myself so nearly down to the last detail, recognize so many parts of myself, a film which I find wholly healing and uplifting in its tragic and touching way, is one I have to hide from my family: what does this mean. This means I must be ashamed of how I love. Yes? I think. All I know is that that’s wrong, somehow. Either I’m wrong or my shame is wrong. This is a problem.


“It’s your behavior.”
“What about my behavior?”
“It’s very bad.”