I’m at Kieran’s OT appointment. There is a crazy lady in here talking to the billing people. Unfortunately, she mentioned she moved here from Vermont, and may have just completely revised my idea of Vermont in one fell swoop.
On the way over, I was listening to the satellite radio “New Wave” station (erroneously named, as it’s really mostly 1980s pop). Kieran was not amused with my yelling “James Brown!” to Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love.” But, hey, this song is my singular reason for enjoying Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” (a song in which she sampled Tom Tom Club fantastically). Suck on that, grump.
(And just so I don’t sound like a douchebag, I admit that I had to look all this stuff up. I am not a musical prodigy, as much as I would like to be. P.S. I also learned that Tom Tom Club has a website. They still tour and stuff. And amazingly, it does not appear that they do so on Rascal scooters.)
WTF. This woman just walked in with her daughter, and I want to smack her in the face. Seriously. The kid is like 10 years old, and she’s talking to her like she’s 2. “Are your footsies hot? … Ooooh, I haven’t had a good hug today! … Is Baby Doll staying here or going back with you? … I might go get a drink while you’re back there, okay?”
Oh. I’m sorry. Have we not met? I’m Kieran’s mom, ShutTheFuckUp.
