Youth - In Like a Lion, Out Like Me at 8:30 On a Weeknight.

It has been three whole days since Star Trek Into Darkness was released in the theaters and I still haven't gone to see it. I don't even know who I am anymore.

I was actually awake at midnight when it premiered, and I kept glancing back and forth from my kids' doors to the clock on the wall, back to the kids' doors, back to the clock, and I eventually just realized that maybe it's time to get a grown-up wall clock. 

I don't even know why the hell I was up that late; I was probably writing another blog post that no one will read because A) no one reads blogs anymore and B) no one realized I didn't quit blogging three years ago when I accidentally killed my feed. Either way, there are a few things in life I simply do not do anymore, and one of them is midnight. Another one, it turns out, is going to midnight movie premieres, even if they are movies that I was named after, raised on, and will not receive anything for inheritance from my father aside from a questionable set of Deep Space Nine decorative plates because of. 

The only thing more questionable than men who collect decorative plates is men who collect decorative Deep Space Nine plates. #fact

It's like this week, someone hit me with the middle-aged stick. It hurt. We were at McFast Not Even Close to Food getting something to "eat" very late the other night after my son's final band concert (don't you judge me, they were all doing it, yes I would jump of the Brooklyn Bridge, shut up) and this table of kids kind of over there, but not too far over there, was all "fuck that motherfucking shit, yo, fuckedy fuck fuck ass-shit fuck." Before they even got to ass-shit, I watched myself stand up, walk away from myself and my family and over to there table, and I heard, but was unable to stop myself, from saying, "I hate myself for asking you this more than you hate me for asking it, I promise, but I have a bunch of little kids over there and there sure is a lot of fucking fuck going on over here. Would you mind finding new words for like 20 minutes?" Then I actually said UGH about myself, and meant it, and they, to their credit, were like, TOTALLY DUDE SORRY and then like three minutes later one of them was all fuck that noi....and they all turned to look at me like I was their MOTHER or something and I just smiled did that weird nostril flare thing I do when i'm in a real tight spot and they didn't drop one more swear word the whole time I was there.

Like 10 days ago I was that kid.

Except I was at Paris on the Platte smoking cloves which is way better for you that eating Mc Not Quite Burgers, duh, or at the original St Mark's which isn't even there anymore, on Market Street in LoDo, playing chess and drinking almond steamed milk because coffee wasn't cool yet oh my god I am so motherfucking old. 

I was driving to pick my son up from school the other day and some gigantic assmonkey flew through the red light and in every way smashed into the back of the car right in front of me at the light - and kept right on going. Young me would have torn after him, got his plates and reported his ass. Old as shit me followed the victim of the hit and run to a parking lot, probably scared the shit out of her, called the cops for her, then went to get my kid, then went back to the parking lot and sat with the girl until the cops got there, and tried to explain that her father was probably so pissed on the phone because he was afraid, and also how to file a proper claim with her insurance agency that would minimize her out of pocket debt. And then when the cops came and I filled out my witness report, I actually used the words Young Lady when describing the victim.  

If that wasn't enough, Nicole's baby went and grew up. All of your kids did. I have a kid who owns a high school year book. I have another kid with a girlfriend. And I am really am almost 40. For the first time in my adult life, I actually feel like an *adult* and I just can't deal with all the people waiting to see Star Trek like it's the first 2nd Star Trek movie to hit the theaters or something. I mean, do these kids today even know what a Ceti eel is? Or Fantasy Island? OR ANYTHING? 

Lice Don't Project, They Jump. Right?

When I was a little girl, I had hair past my knees - and I don't mean just hair, I mean HAIR. I mean hair you couldn't wrap a pony tail holder twice around. I mean hair that took all night to dry. I mean hair that kept me out of foster care because it made up 6/10 of my pathetic, starving body weight. I could get out of the shower, comb my hair out, and walk out of the bathroom completely naked, because I was Cousin It with calves. Or Samara, if you're under 25. #stayingrelevantforthedamnkidsonmylawn

And one night I was laying in bed, and found a bug in my hair. A bug. IN MY HAIR. I imagine all kids are senstive about bugs, but when you live in the 'hood, and everyone you know lives with cockroaches and ants and shit, bugs in your hair are not. even. a. little. okay. I ran downstairs crying, and shoved the bug on the tip of my finger between my mother's nose and her Nintendo paddle.  She smacked my hand away from her face and yelled at me OH MY GOD SHANNON IT'S A FUZZY GO BACK TO BED. Because Tetris. 

So I went back to bed. And then more fuzzies I found, the more silently I freaked out, because fuzzies are really disturbing things to find. Eventually I stopped finding them, mostly because I stopped looking. I got off lucky with a hand smack that one time, and I was not about to tempt fate, or my ass.

Years later, someone I knew from church told me her most vivid memory of me was this dream she'd had of me once, in which she was sitting behind me and my hair, my veritable wall of hair, was moving. - because it was full of bugs. I never did tell her it wasn't a dream.

By the time the school realized I had lice, all of the eggs had hatched and my hair was, quite literally, crawling with bugs. I don't even want to think about how many classmates I infected. We had to use a bottle of lice shampoo on all three of my siblings, and then another one on me. A whole bottle. And then the little comb thing, which was laughable but by then my mother was so completely freaked out by the infestation on my head that she sat Tetrisless, night after night, slowly combing dead things out of my hair. It took about a week. 

A few weeks later, once it was done and the house was bleached and my head was empty and I was able to re-enter public society, my mother saw in my hair what she thought was a nit, but was ironically probably just a fuzzy - so we did the whole thing over again. And it kind of burned my scalp, which created flakes, which she mistook for nits, so we did the whole thing again.

That's how cycles are created, which is kind of ironic because the other day after swim class, my daughter was pulling her cover-up over her head and something fell on her chest/jumped on her chest, depending greatly upon whom you ask. MOM THERE IS A BUG IN MY HAIR AND IT JUMPED ON ME!!! No, honey, it's not a bug, it's a fuzzohshit

I still contend that it was a fuzzie. I haven't flat out sat down and dug through her hair yet, because I'm still too traumatized by my last encounter with lice, and a bit too freaked out by the nearly-exact repeat of this little slice of my childhood, but I am going to have to eventually, and I guess I'll just have to pray that you can't give someone lice through flashbacks.

Updated to add: 8oz of prevention is worth a pound of cure. My friend Melanie found a way more elegant lice-prevention method than never-let-my-kid-out-of-the-house-again.