Blog a la Cart

I know, you’re thinking “My GOD that’s an offensive subject title!” I was going to go with “NOT ANOTHER POST ABOUT MY CRAZY ASS DOG,” but I didn’t want to give her antics anymore time in the spotlight. Instead, I chose a rather provocative header, because I’m obviously trying to piss off all my gay, liberal readership (of which there are many. *coughnategilliloveyoucough*).

What you need to understand is that in utilizing the term “fagged out” I am referring to the British usage that indicates being tired, exhausted or worn out. Although, given that Sunny is my budding activist, it wouldn’t be beyond me to deck her our in rainbows and pink triangles and hit up the streets of WeHo. We are raising her in an open-minded household people! James and I already inform her that she may love whomever she desires and that we will love her dearly, free from judgment. Like when James insinuated that a boy couldn’t take off her pants for AT LEAST 10 years, I was quick to correct him and include the female gender as well.

I’M FROM MASSACHUSETTS, I CAN’T HELP MYSELF!

But my liberal-left-minded-I-want-to-live-in-a-socialist-commune tendencies are neither here nor there. They are not the essence of this post, although I’ve clearly just lost the gays and the conservatives in one fell intro. <tear>

MOVING ON!

Fagged out. Right.

It’s true. The Bug and I are fagged out from this damn heat. It’s been almost a full week of 90+ degree temperatures, with fires aflame in the hillsides, and no central air. We are done. DONE! Cranky, sweaty. Done. We define hot mess in both the metaphorical and literal sense. And we define fagged out in a capacity I thought of which only my mother was capable.

In my household growing up, my mom used this term constantly. Then I hit middle school and the word “fag” was thrown around in quite a different context and boy, did we think we were cool (read: ignorant) saying it. By high school, it was jockey douche-bags who understood the meaning of the term, but continued to use it disparagingly anyway because well, they were jockey douche-bags. And by college, it was generally gone from conversation thanks to the PC-ifying of language (oh, and learning that you not only sound like but are a total asshat if you toss this around blithely in conversation). I had a tough time using the phrase during these stages of development because of how loaded and volatile the word had become, but now that I am a mommy, I’ve entered the ranks where “fagged out” (when used appropriately) is a brilliant descriptor of one’s state of being.

Quick frankly, I find the phrase hysterical, especially because it conjures images of my mother saying it in a lather of sweat, with her hair an epic frizz as though she’s stuck her finger in a light socket, while demanding a FROSTY drink. Damn it, someone get that woman a FROSTY beverage. And DON’T TOUCH HER FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, you’re sticky! And she’s hot and fagged out from this heat! JEEZ!

So yeah, that is what my life and the Bug’s life has looked like for going on seven days. The little one gets thrown in her cool bath tub at least three times a day because it is one of the only places that brings her joy and quells her screams of sweaty discomfort. She’s become quite adept at splashing and kicking in the water, so my kitchen gets a nice shower thrice daily as well. The other 22 hours of the day, she rocks a greasy mullet due to the perspiration accumulating in her long, flowing locks. Reason #312 why most babies are bald.

Essentially, we’ve spent the past week in the following state:

Because PEEING YOUR PANTS IS COOL (again, literally and metaphorically speaking).