There is a reason other than the baseboard cleaning mutant swine flu virus that I’m not writing that much. It’s also that January is such a dull month and there is nothing going on. The entire month is a letdown after the holidays, it’s cold, it rains a lot.

February will be a much better month, what with my birthday where I can wring my hands over the fact that I’m now on the downhill side of my 30’s and still have no career direction, how awesome!

And Mardi Gras is in February, so, woohoo! Can’t wait for that drunk blogging. And on top of that, my boss/mentor/surrogate stepmother’s daughter is coming to Mardi Gras this year. This will add a new story element to my drunk blogging, I’m sure. I’ll have a partner in crime!

I think Carla will end up being a surrogate sister too. I mean my own sister is coming next weekend for the Senior Bowl game, but claims she can’t come to the parade Friday night because she has to work. WTF? You don’t let something like a job interfere with Mardi Gras parades. Doesn’t she understand the irresistible thrill of yelling for cheap plastic shit and beads and stuffed animals you don’t even need?

It’s like I wasn’t even born to the right family.

And let’s not forget Valentines in February too; the holiday where we long-term married people laugh at and mock the superficial romantic acts all the romantically immature couples do on that day and then secretly wonder if there is something wrong with us on in the inside.

You know what happens in January? Run-on sentences, that’s what.

I’ll tell you what else happens in January. Finding out your 17- and 13-year old nieces know what v’ibrators are.

This was revealed to me before I even had a party cocktail. In fact, there weren’t even cocktails at this party because it was a birthday party for Southern Baptists, which basically means you have to be around your family and enjoy it without the help of the Devil. As if.

And then they drop this v’ibrator bomb on me. Apparently my 11-year-old niece has been testing out her creativity and making up new names for things, like cell phones, which she began calling v’ibrators. Because they can v’ibrate!

I can see their dilemma.

“Mom, your vibrator is ringing!”

Do you really want your child to say that in the local small town hot spot? I know a lot of tacky, uncultivated things happen at Wal-Mart, but surely there is a line and loud conversations about ringing vibrators must cross it.

So I get it. 11-year-old had to be corrected. This understanding comes from the women whose 7-year-old yelled out in TJ Maxx “There’s nothing more important than peeing when you have to pee!”

(Such truthsayers I am raising. The next Ghandi, I swear!)

But what I don’t get is my 17-year-old niece telling me the story and when my eyes got big and I asked how she even knew what a v’ibrator was, she said, “Heather, even (name of 13-year-old niece) knows what they are!”

*thud*

They had to revive me with smelling vodka.

Maybe January isn’t that boring after all.

This entry was posted on Monday, January 25th, 2010 at 7:42 am and is filed under Blood is thicker than water so good thing there's wine. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.