Okay! Kitchen is done!

Now on to the next thing, which is all the things. You know, the Thanksgiving/Christmas presents/performing/baking extravaganza that makes late November-January go by in a blink.

Stress may or may not also be a component; I’ll have to let you know in a week or so, now that all of the whatchamacallit has hit the fan of my life.

I also did something which may or may not end up being the stupidest thing I’ve ever done: I had my huge lip mole removed. It used to be a little brown mole, but then when I was a teenager, I bugged my Mom enough that she let me get it snipped off at the dermatologist. Easy peasy, except that the little brown mole wasn’t the real mole. There was a big flesh-colored bad boy brewing underneath there, and a few years later, that thing came out, and the dermatologist was like, “No way, José.”

I don’t think she actually said that; it’s just the way I’ve built up the story in my mind as I obsess over the massive wad of skin hanging out by my mouth and generally making me look like even more of a weirdo.

Also, I had convinced myself that my unborn conjoined twin was inside that mole. Not so, but it made a nice back story to tell myself.

Anyway, I finally went to a plastic surgeon, it was completely covered by my insurance, and so it got cut off on Friday. Except that it made a way huger cut than I’d imagined and now I’m paranoid about looking like the Joker for the rest of my life.

So, yeah, holiday parties and singing with a ginormous three-sided square right in the middle of my face should be fun. I’ve already done one gig, and I’ve seen the pictures, and whoa. Good call, me. 18 stitches. Six little ones on each side. Yeah, it looks pretty phenomenal.

But maybe, just maybe, it’ll turn out okay.

Or not. Just in case, I should probably get started on a sweet nickname. I’ve already decided that I’m gong to tell people I got in a knife fight with a puppy over a piece of cheese. That sounds pretty cool and tough, so I can at least keep my street cred.

Well, it’s been a month. Crazy in my neck of the woods; I now have an almost complete, new kitchen, so that’s pretty exciting.

I also, though, have no groceries in my fridge, and my hair is getting to be 95% split ends, and I don’t have a firm date from the facility for my upcoming recital, and my elbow hurts.

Whine.

However, today is Friday. And I remembered the funniest thing ever (it was even funny at the time, although I couldn’t believe it was happening, and I wanted to kill the kid who did it), so I thought I would make a nice, funny, Friday post. I may have posted about it before, but since I had forgotten about it, I bet everyone who reads this will have forgotten, too. Here goes.

I used to conduct musicals every summer for this organization that runs a sort of educational music day camp for kids. One year, I had these two new boys that had never come to the camp before, and the older boy had a good voice and seemed pretty comfortable on the stage, so the directors of the camp decided to give him a big leading role in the show. I wasn’t sure about it, because stage fright is nasty, and you never know who’s going to be paralyzed by it until you see them in front of an audience. Not my call, though, so we went with it.

All through rehearsals, he did really well, and was a nice boy who learned his lines and got along with the other kids, so we thought we were good.

We got to opening night, and everything was gong fine. Intermission got there, and I went backstage and checked, and everything was okay. Good? Good. Started the second act of the show, and the boy and three other kids were onstage and just starting a little quartet.

All of a sudden, the kid stops and just walks offstage. Just leaves. The other three kids go ahead and do the quartet without him and fill in his lines and everything. They were super awesome. So we finish the show and the boy never comes back and I go backstage thinking that maybe he just got scared or hurt himself or something. Nope.

He’s sitting on the couch backstage, talking to some other kids.

I go over and ask him what happened.

“I had to poop.” he says.

Seriously. That’s what he had to walk off the stage and go do. He had to poop. Apparently, his mom had told him once not to hold his poop, and he took it very seriously.

So, yeah. That happened. Thought I’d share, since it’s Friday and I also haven’t written about poop in ages. I may be off on some of the details, since it’s been ages, but he totally walked off the stage in the middle of an act to poop.

Ha ha ha I love kids. They’re the best.