International Talk Like A(n Ice) Pirate Day: The Timeline
Friday afternoon: I make sugar cookies and artistically ice them with skulls, pirate faces, X's and P's. Feeling smug and overjazzed on homemade icing, I proclaim my pirate pwnage on Facebook and am gently reminded that Bad Pirate Movie Night (BPMN) is Saturday.
Which is like d'oh + yarr.
Friday evening: Since Dr. Krog has taken the afternoon off for a pre-BPMN nap, I don't want to waste his flavah, so I call my mom and beg her for an hour and a half of childcare. She says yes. I do a victory dance, which is embarrassingly similar to the Carlton Dance.
I put on my new dress, new necklace, and new shoes, plus this strange substance called "makeup". My toddler is mightily impressed, which she expresses by saying, "Ooooooh, mommy.... can I borrow those shoes?"
Dr. Krog and I go to Pastis, where we sit on the balcony and I spend most of the meal moaning with my eyes rolled back in my head as I slowly chew duck and gnocchi in sensory ecstasy. Dr. Krog is still too sick to be hungry, so I let him know exactly how good his lamb is. You know, since he can't actually experience the bliss himself. Because I'm kind.
Saturday morning: t. rex goes to the doctor, where they confirm that he has Roseola. It's a lovely disease that consists of a mystery virus, three days of fever, and a weird rash. There's no cure for it, no lasting effects, just annoyance and a $25 copay. At least it's not the pox. Or plague. Or scurvy. Which would actually be applicable, since it's finally ITLA Pirate Day.
Saturday afternoon: To prepare for ITLA Pirate Day, the Biscuit and I spend t.rex's nap watching The Care Bears Movie. She reasons that since they have a ship with sails and a telescope, they are pirates. Or, as she says, "parrits". I'm in bed, resting under the ceiling fan, so I don't bother to argue. Ahhhh.
Saturday evening: FINALLY! After much planning, discussion, and excitement, it's finally Bad Pirate Movie Night! The whole family is ready, t.rex is in his Poop Deck romper, and we still amazingly have some cookies left. We have a great time eating, drinking, and laughing with our friends, who throw a hell of a party. The hot dogs even had tiny pirate flags on little bamboo skewer masts. Totally brilliant. We are thankful to have good friends with nice kids and great taste in movies. And they feed us, too!
Saturday night: We settle in to watch The Ice Pirates, a childhood favorite of mine. Robert Urich (RIP), Angelica Houston, Hellboy, and a host of 80's favorites abound with perms, rat tails, and tight pants. Seriously, if you haven't seen it, and you like the idea of an 80's movie that's a little like Dune meets Pirates of Penzance meets Spaceballs, and if you've had 2 or 3 drinks and are relatively secure that your friends are as dorky as you are, you just might enjoy it.
Pumpkin time: And then 8pm hits, and my children begin to implode like tiny neutron stars. t.rex won't settle down, just beats his big ol' eggplant head against my clavicles while shrieking. The Biscuit has tired of vacuuming her friend's room with a popper toy while wearing Swedish clogs and just wants to hug me. And I am left desperately trying to remember what in the name of all that's holy this marvelous movie is supposed to be about, although I remember something about a really bizarre make-out scene on a hologram pedestal.
Now: So here I sit at 8:35. Both my kids are asleep. My husband finally ate three meals today, the most he's scarfed in a week. And it's time to watch Season 5 of The Office and giggle until we fall asleep arguing over who's going to put in Frisky Dingo and turn on the TV timer.
Would I rather be watching The Ice Pirates?
Because I need to figure out what happened with that nasty parasite that looked like a naked Boston Terrier. That's totally going to bother me all night.