Emo

Since I took that black polish off my toenails, I can BREATHE again.
The bottle did not say black. It said, "Hot for Chocolate." And it was my favorite dark, creamy color of brown staring out at me thru the bottle. I've been looking for boots that color for many seasons. And I wasn't LOOKING for brown polish, I was LOOKING for that velvety-looking gray color that's so gray/silver, it's purple. Trust me. I know. Hard to find. But, the chocolate and that bottle of Oh-So-Metallic Copper melted away $14 or so dollars and I was left w/ no gray/purple.
So, I painted my toes Hot For Chocolate.
"Look at that. You have black toenails," The Tall One said.
"I yike you purple toes, Mommy," The Short One said.
"This is like the worst life ever," The Big One said. Not because my toes were the shade of an angry teen's but because his DS wasn't charged and no one could come out to play. Angry pre-teen.
My sister-in-law agreed they were brown. My brother-in-law thought I'd hurt myself. And my mom? "Ohhh, look. At. Your. Toes."
I told my cool nieces I felt very "goth" and that I MEANT to have black toenails. They said it's not cool to label it "goth," because "emo" is the new word. As in "emotion." I'm guessing black is the "angry" emo. Hopefully, my velvety gray (which I later found online because it's a discontinued color and I love nothing more than a good search and find) will be the "peaceful and productive" emo. The emo who balances the checkbook on the first try and finds a use for the months-old bread crumbs in the freezer. (I've a squash casserole I plan to try.)
So, the chocolate/black is gone. Anybody want it? I can't breathe w/ black toes.
A few more thoughts that have nothing to do w/ my toes. Thank God.
* The summer is whistling along too fast.
* There are school supplies in stores and that always reminds me of my good friend Katie Lou and how, pre-baby, both of us agreed the true test of quality parenting is whether the child OR THE PARENT melts down in the school supply aisle in a hot July/August. I've taken preventive measures and sworn off buying school supplies in stores. Just the pre-packaged set from the PTA is MY game. And don't get me wrong, I DO love a good school supply. And I'm all about bonding w/ my children over annual milestones and such. But, there's nothing peaceful or productive about the unorganized nature of retail school-supplying. Its emo is definitely B.L.A.C.K.
* I am coming on my 20th high school reunion. Except, as far as I know, there is no reunion. Or, if there is, I haven't gotten the memo. We weren't an exceptionally close class of 250+, and the senior "officers" were not exactly elected for their 20th High School Reunion planning skills (but they were cute). So, I'll be there anyway. In town. At the game. Just in case. I would LOVE to see anyone I went to high school with. Anyone. I will not embarrass myself with a mum. Or black toes.
* Driving home from my parents' house this weekend, with both boys intently playing Nintendo DS and Indiana Jones, I was singing loudly along to the radio and waxing nostalgic about high school reunions and family reunions and new babies and home towns and old jobs. And I really miss the part of Texas where I grew up. Out "west." I think this hit me driving thru downtown Houston where, LET IT BE SAID, high gas prices are NOT keeping people off the roads. Not! In Abilene, I could get to work in five minutes. Including interstate. This was not the case on Saturday. "Where are all these people going, Mommy?"
"We're not GOING, we're SITTING," I replied.
Sadly, West Texas is not close to any member of our family. The Tall One is gainfully employed HERE and not THERE. I gasp for air when I think of leaving our current school and doctors and friends. But, I do miss it. I don't think I would want to live in my ORIGINAL small hometown, but Abilene was just right. I could "do" Lubbock. Cotton. Slow pace. A slow, drawling "y'all." And no need to hide it. People who know you. And shake your hand. (And I've obviously been sniffing too much polish remover, because, rest easy TRACEY JACKSON, we're not going anywhere.)
It's kinda like that in my parents' hometown. And it's a good-sized town w/ tourists and everything. But, there are people there who know us and take care of us and shake our hand. And if you're ever there, these people are cool. Check 'em out:
1. Shamona loves us here. She runs the place. Or at least WE THINK SHE DOES.
2. There are any number of surf shops on the island. And we don't surf. But, we like to LOOK like we do. Boog made us, ergh I mean SANTA, a deal on a couple of primo skateboards last Christmas. Shipped 'em to us and everything. Cool boards. Cool clothes. Cool shoes.
3. OK, back to food because that's what we do best. The owner of this fantastic joint offered to PERSONALLY deliver a meal to my parents at a time when they needed it most. He always shakes their hands. I like him. And he makes a killer chicken salad. And that's what he calls it.
4. I've written about my favorite Greek place before. And if people aren't finding my little blog from a search of "Czech customs," and they're not my mother, then they're finding it thru searching "Greek toasts." You can certainly drink a toast to this place. And they WILL sell their wine glasses!! And shake your hand.
Thank you Shamona, Boog, Steve and Mike for taking care of us ... and mostly my parents while we're away ... your emo is definitely velvety-looking gray/silver purple. And you feel like home, y'all.