Oooo-mmm. Ooo–mmmm. Oooo—mmmm…

Yay. Mike took MJ out to the garage. They’re gonna work on painting toys. He’s such a good dad. Thank God he does crafty stuff with her. My idea of craft is making a dirty sock talk with my hands. Ommmm…

Interesting to learn that “hooray” was a Mongol war cry. Kind of changes things. Guess I should use “huzzah” instead. Pretentious, though. Om. Don’t think of Mongols. Don’t do it. Peace. Peace. Genghis Kahn. No. Peace. Calm and peace, calm and peace. Do not think of things, things, things like Mongols and  — no! — the birthday party. No. Stop. I am thinking of the birthday party. Ommmmm….

Party favors for three-year-olds. Shit. Give them their freedom. I still like the idea. Just an empty bag. With a rock in it, maybe, for the wind. No. The rock doesn’t work. They’ll think it’s a symbol. Of what? Doesn’t matter. They don’t “do” metaphors. But I’m out of other ideas. Everything is made in China. Goodie bags always have the same three cheap-piece-of-plastic things. One: a rubber duck. Two: the little self-inking stamp that gets used once, then it’s dropped on the floor and finally you step on it with bare feet and scream “Fuck!” and your kid thinks you’re psychotic. Three: a kazoo. I don’t think kids can even use a kazoo until they’re four. And then it’s just annoying. Ommmm….

I suck at meditating….I suck at meditating…try harder. Try harder! Ommmmmm! FUCK. I have to go to Michael’s. Get the party favors. And a craft. Why does every party need a craft? When I was young we just played spin the bottle. But we were six. At three we just sat on the ground and stared dully. Didn’t we?

Ommm….that kid’s party last weekend was good. With the two fairies who did face paint. Actually, they were actresses. Pretty. Sisters. Twins. I heard one dad say he wished he could “have some face time with them” in the men’s room. “Every guy’s fantasy,” he said, apologetically, when he noticed I’d overheard. Really? Two 20-somethings in tutus and wings? Ew. But they did a good job. The fairies. All the kids wanted the same thing. Hello Kitty. Creepy. What’s up with her? One of the moms said she’s problematic from a feminist point of view. No mouth. I never noticed. I think she’s problematic from a crap point of view. And her name. So weird. “Hello Kitty.” It’s a salutation. Not a name. The kids just accept it. You can sell them anything as long as it comes on a cute backpack.

Omm…Goddammit. I have to wash the dishes. I have no clothes. The underwear I bought at H&M is going to give me a yeast infection. I’m PMS. We need a new roof. Goodbye, dream of landscaping…

Om. Fuck it. No craft. If I go to Michael’s I’m going to kill myself in a self-generated conflagration of fake flowers, press-on foam letters, and sparkly pumpkin garlands. God damn the place, and all it represents.

Where can I buy lox for forty people?

I’ve got to get my kid dressed.