One Whipped Mother

How I Spent Oscar Day

7:30 a.m.: Up and at 'em

8:00: Coffee is made, boy’s diaper removed, butt washed, Nemo underwear on

8:30: Breakfast served, one argument broken up (dispute over who gets to feed their Neopets first).

9:00: Trudge up to office, have coffee, cigarette, read and reply to E-mail.

9:15: Trudge down from office, break up another argument (dispute over who stole Sarah’s pack of Trident Splash).

9:20: Trudge back up to office, light two cigarettes, stick one up each nostril, consume a half gallon of coffee, continue answering E-mail, visit Zoetrope Studios, decide to post on discussion board later that day, after third or forth beer.

11:00: Drink large glass of water, have a 45 minute workout on the elliptical.

12:00 p.m.: Take hot bath, pop open first beer.

12:45: Make lunch for kids, clean up blobs of jelly with wet paper towel.

1:15: Talk to Mom on the phone, discuss the virtues of Philip Seymour Hoffman, listen while rolling eyes as Mom once again regales me with the story of when she almost met him when he visited the hospital where she works. Remind Mom, again, that Phil doesn’t travel everywhere with “bodyguards,” and that the men he was with that day were probably buds of his, all of them visiting a sick friend. Roll eyes while listening, again, to Mom’s description of the back of his head, his long coat flying around the corner as she and her co-workers stalked Phil and his posse down the corridor. Pop open second beer.

1:30: Break up argument over who hit whom first, restrain boy as he repeatedly smashes cupboard door in a fit of anger, put boy in his room for time out, smash own head into wall, pop open third beer.

2:00: Post asinine messages on Zoetrope, consider deleting them, decide not to, pop open forth beer.

2:30: Clean twenty-sixth mess of the day with wet paper towels, become annoyed that crumbled Pringles do not clean up well with wet paper towels, break out the vacuum.

2:45: Fifth beer meets my lips.

3:00: Lar and I watch lame Discovery Channel program with the boy, which strangely becomes very interesting as I sip my sixth beer. Who’d a thunk that an entire oak tree could be transplanted so easily? And look at that huge trash-smashing machine! Ooooh, Lar, I want one of those monster backhoes from hell! Fascinating, all of them.

4:00: Rejoice when all the kids leave to play at neighbors’ houses, celebrate with seventh beer.

5:00 - 7:00: A bit hazy, but I believe I may have fixed dinner in between there, mugged Lar for his wallet, stuffed forty bucks into bra, laughed hysterically when Lar made an ugly face and did a frightening Zulu dance.

8:00 - 11:00: Oscar time! Again, hazy, especially since I was so very logy from eating three chicken cordon bleu sandwiches with a side of steak fries and gravy. Fight to stay awake for Phil’s shining moment. Beam while Phil accepts the statue for Best Actor, imagine that my mom is probably weeping with joy over his sweet acceptance speech. Become disturbed by that image. Drift off for a bit, awaken to Lar’s inhuman snoring, catch most of the performance for Hustle & Flow’s nominated song, “It’s Hard Out Here For a Pimp,” rub eyes, itch ears in disbelief. Lar wakes, presumably because he hears the word “pimp” in his subconscious. He rubs eyes, itches ears, snorts. We both enjoy the prancing prostitutes and swaggering pimpage. After Three 6 Mafia wins the Oscar for that catchy little tune, beating out the gorgeous, intelligent, haunting “In the Deep” by Bird York for Crash, Lar snorts a few more times, falls back to sleep, and I, too, head off to the land of nod, visions of a perplexed Jack Nicholson dancing in my head.

posted by Ms. Lori @ 9:08 AM