God save the Queen

Hey dummies.

So here I sit on a Friday night. So far my evening activities have included doing laundry, paying bills, eating Taco Bell and watching the King's Speech. I am not sure if anyone ever had a wilder life than this girl. I thought the movie was great and if you have to go British, watch that and not the royal wedding. I don't understand the phenomenon of this wedding, both the excessive media coverage and people's fascination with it. I say barf to it all. This is America, the land of morbid obesity, where we replace hamburger buns with fried chicken breasts and throw some bacon in between and call it a sandwich! Royal wedding... why I outta. Jk, ibdal, God save the Queen.

Anywhoosers, I don't really have much to update on beezcuz I haven't done anything exciting this week. I don't really even have anything exciting coming up to talk about either, well if we're not counting a gynecologist appointment in June. I like to go once a year to make sure I still have a uterus, that it hasn't fallen out somewhere along the way. So I guess since I have no other summer plans, I will have to start a count down to the ol' leg stirrups.

Well, I will leave you with an excerpt from Tina Fey's book. One of the chapters I liked the most, entitled, "A Mother's Prayer for a Daughter." It does have a few swears, so pardon them.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her. When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.