I mean, really.
FOLLOWING:
Neurotical
Caption contest: what’s Joe thinking?
Image of Clinton and the Bidens greeting the Prime Minister of India and his delegation on a state visit to the White House via apsies.
PS: Michelle’s killing it in persimmon brocade.
joe is thinking its SNACKTIME.
also: hilz is at her BEST when she looks like she’s a crazy cheerleader mom helping her disinterested daughter through the halftime routine from the stands.
After a long and exhausting meditation on this subject, I have decided that Jill Biden is in fact my spirit animal. She’s super fly, she has a PhD, and she’s married to a stone cold fox. Also I have to say that she pulls off that whole “belt over jacket/sweater” look better than Michelle. LOVE YOUR SUIT, JILL!
I JUST DIED.
I don’t know if that’s good die or bad die, but I like it!
I’ll catch you guys on the flip side of the 12 xanax I’m about to take.
I have taken custody of my mother’s orchids while she’s away, and I am attempting to bring them back to something resembling “life.” A couple of years ago, my ex’s mother (with whom he had the kind of relationship that people warn you about when you get involved with a guy who is close with his mother, but she is in fact a wonderful person) taught me about orchids so that I could care for hers while she was away for the winter. I really took to the orchids, and they to me, and they thrived. I had never grown anything before! And I did good! So I decided last year I would get my mother orchids for mother’s day. My mother could not nurture a cactus, it should be said. This probably explains a lot about me. Actually this whole story is turning into an allegory for my adult life and relationships and I guess in order to deal with J, one also has to have the capacity to raise orchids, or something. So anyway my mother’s orchids have been suffering for months and in a desperate bid to prove that I can succeed at something, I have annexed them and am treating them to kind of a gently fascist regime of attention: soaking, moving them around the house strategically throughout the day, discussing things with them.
It’s not going well. If I do manage to resurrect them, I’m not giving them back.
By the way, I’m 34. That’s 17 + 17. So, yes, it’s possible. And its not like I have been especially sheltered from the realities of a world in which teenage girls have babies on the regular. I know that happens. It’s common! And it’s no reason to judge anybody. I have no opinion of these students (except that they’re good students) or their choices or their kids or their kids’ choices. This is really just a me-centric freakout. In the greater context of the world, I’m probably displaying all kinds of class and social bias by even commenting on what to me is a shocking realization: I could be a grandmother. But really, the shock is directed at myself, not at them.
I think what I am feeling right now is a pungent mix of “wow, I’m really immature” and “this is fucking nuts.”
And people my age have grandchildren.
I found out today that not one but TWO of my students are grandmothers. One of the students is my age and the other is just a couple of years older. They HAVE GRANDCHILDREN. They HAVE CHILDREN WHO HAVE CHILDREN. I do not even hold the title to my motherfucking car, and these women have GRANDCHILDREN.
I seriously don’t know how to feel about this.