About my gangsta rapping phase . . . I'm over it. But I'm worried about Lulu. She takes things harder than I do.
Raggae today, Hip Hop tomorrow.
Before you know it she'll be huffing and puff-daddying like the Big Bad Wolf.
While I was in my gangsta rapper phase I decided that ridiculous is my favorite gangsta rapper word. I lub it when rappers say ridiculous. It makes me feel like they really get me, you know. And they get life.
I did a lot of my gangsta rapping on the road, because I spend so much time in my car. If you want to know what a dummy like me looks like when she raps in the car, go to 2:07 of this video.
I'm not sharp with the words, especially the swear words, but my eyeballs make up for it.
So you know what that means, right? Technically that means my daughter and her partner took 2nd in state, right? I mean, if anonymous hadn't been so concerned about her transferring schools and all, right?
Anyways, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
About my next door neighbor and bishop in Hawaii . . . It's weird. How everyone handles death differently. My daughter immediately wrote an email to Bishop Reid's wife. (She probably would have baked her a cake if their wasn't a body of water in between us.)
My fourteen year old was quiet. For a long time. Then he popped his iPod into the speaker dock and blasted his Hawaii playlist all night long.
My twins spoke in ANGRY voices.
"WHAT? BUT HE TALKED TO US!"
"AND HE BOUGHT OUR COOKIES!"
As if talking and buying cookies exempts you from dying.
Me, I scooped some ice cream into a bowl, poured macadamia nuts all over it, squirted chocolate syrup all over it, then watched Letters to Juliet. And then I called my doctor to make an appointment for a physical.
Life is so weird. And death is even weirder. One minute you're there and the next you're gone. POOF! Just like that.
But in a way you're not gone at all. As Emily Dickensen would say, you're "absent, yet present."
And as Tim O'Brien would say, "Once you're alive, you can't ever be dead."