Rear Uppercut, Lead Uppercut, Left Cross, Right Cross, Rear Uppercut and DOWN

This is how it works, n’est-ce pas?

My second jab of the vaccine has been received by my upper right arm. Jib-jab tallywab. It hurt like a very hurting burn mf’er pain going in, and had me down from hour 7 to hour 40. It was weird feeling so ill after a blissful 15 months of no illness. Update. Hour 73: Currently continuing to experience redness, very hard, sore, tender, hot lump at the injection site, and all of the emotions with SonHerisme’s #1 coming up next week.

Because of my history of the cancers, Moderna won the esteemed honor of shooting through my body with it’s superpowers of viral defenses. SonHerisme’s age group will be bringing him the Almighty Powers of the Pfizer Jab! (insert superhero musical transition music ala Batman circa 1960-somethings). WonderJab Powers Activate! Form of virus-obliterating liquids! Shape of intense micro-needle lightening strike! (more earnestly triumphant superhero transition music montage thingy)

K A P O W    
Y O W Z A      
B L A M O    
S O C K O    
W A P  (no, not that last one, sorrys!)

We will both be feeling contemplation about our injection microevolution transformation like a polymerization worth a congratulation plus a tiny celebration for this superelevation! You?

You’re welcome. I’ll be here very occasionally with other assorted nonsense (unless there is a manifestation of malabsorption or viral transmutation and such reverberation causing mortification inducing self conservation for a hawt minute). SuperHeros and -tion word run-ons TGIF.

At some point in the far away times of being in my late-twenties, I was asked to meet my family at the TGIF’s restaurant in the outer suburbs of our mid-western city. We were all living in different areas around the city, and the TGIF’s was located in a sort-of midway point. We were getting together on a Friday. Friday night dinner, at a TGIF’s at a midway point in the outer suburbs of a midwestern city with my family… I made it to the parking lot, parked and had a complete meltdown in the car and never made it inside. I just could not handle the reality of my life in that moment.

If you haven’t ever been to a TGIF’s restaurant, I’ll give you a brief snapshot. If you have been and you enjoy it (or you love it – how? don’t answer that), maybe skip this part. TGIF’s = Thank Goodness It’s Friday. First of all, no to the acronym. How depressing is that? Secondly, when you walk into the door, the piped music is BLARING LOUD rendering any communication to either the shouting version or directly into the ear hot breath whisper talking version. The in-the-ear stuff might be fun with a flirty person, but not with family and not with the music. Most of the seating is booth seating – again potential fun with a date, not with adult family. The sticky menu is about 40 jillion pages long with maybe 1 item I can eat without serious ramifications – it’s the plain salad for $20. I forgot to tell you that before you are seated in your squishy booth with your novella menu, you must be on a waiting list and stand outside with a light-up buzzer to wait your turn to be seated because they are always ALWAYS busy (pre-COVID, of course). The smell of bleach and over-used grease permeates the air, completing the ambiance of this nightmare dining experience (for me). All of the staff wear an abundance of pin-on novelty buttons to promote the “FUN, FUN, FUN” of TGIF’s. I just could not. I just cannot. This was/is not for me.

I kind of sound like a bitch. Maybe I’m the asshole – probably I am *sigh.* That’s okay. I will add that if it was just one of those issues above, I’d still like to go out to dinner sometime. But all of those things? No, thank you. I’d rather meet you in the park with a thermos of noddles and bottle of something yummy from my own house – even if we’re frenemies. I just cannot with TGIFriday’s on a Friday in the midwestern suburbs. Stop frying 40 pages of everything and then scrambling our brains with loud music so that we think we can eat that and like it.

Perhaps I am still feeling sensitive today from the vaccine?

Or, maybe it’s the grandpa/dad man from the park yesterday. Scenario? Me sitting in the park on a lovely afternoon with two other mommas while our sweet Montessori Mafia kiddos scramble around the park using anything and everything for their wild adventures. Ages range from 13yrs old-5yrs old. It is very bittersweet as some of us who started out bringing our tiny little babes, are about to say goodbye with our 12/13yr olds aging out of free-spirited inclusive imaginative park play. My giant sweet SonHerisme baby puffin bear (12) helping little puffin bears kick soccer balls, reach high branches in trees, jump over large rocks, and study pollywogs in the run-off water pipe drains (ewwww – but they love it!). Passing on the fun to be had at the park, just as those older kids did with him when he was one of the tiniest.

I got lost for a minute, apologies. I’m sitting at the park with two momma friends when the grandpa/dad man arrived with two of his grandchildren, who both ran off to join the Montessori Mafia. He then came over to join us in the shade. He is a big talker who jumped right in with his big talking. During the conversation, he looks around at the three of us and said, “Old is relative. You guys are all young to me.” And then he looked directly at me and said, “Even you’re kind of young to me.” And he was serious. Not joking. No hahahahahaha. Just a “you look fucking unattractive, lady,” kind of thing.

I’m not sure if you’re a regular reader of my blog or have caught on that my self esteem is, well, challenged. This situation was not helpful in that regard. It’s so hard to not take things personally. To distance from the words and remember that they reflect on him more than they do on anything else, including me. But, damn y’all.

I wanted to say, “dude, do you think I don’t have a birth certificate or mirrors and you need to enlighten me? Fuck you for thinking that I should hear your opinion about what I look like, and for being rude about my appearance.”

What I said, “Well, on that note, we have to go to violin lessons. See y’all next time.”

Just to be clear – I KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE. I also know how old I am compared to others. Fucking hells

I’m sure I’ll be okay. I mean, I have been told worse, of course. It still hurts even though I do not want it to.

Some days/hours/minutes are superhero days/hours/minutes, and some days/hours/minutes feel like having been punched out.

Huzzah for inoculation jabs! Boo to asshat remarks on someone’s appearance.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

TGIF

Don’t worry, I don’t think we have a TGIF in my current town. Anyway, we’re having post-soccer pizza dinner at home tonight.

The Bellows piece above is one of SonHerisme’s favorites at NGADC. It isn’t currently on display, but I am not going to tell him until we visit after he is fully vaccinated. He likes other things there too – but this Bellows tops his list!

Good luck, SuperVaccinators!

Jib-jab ciao.