Yesterday LA had an earthquake. And the levels of devastation were beyond comprehension. I heard one woman's French manicure went on totally crooked and she had to remove the polish and start completely over. And a guy was carrying a tray of Cadillac margaritas and the quake caused the Grand Marnier float to totally mix in. The humanity of it all.
Here's my deal. My son works in LA, on the sixth floor of a building that overlooks the 405 parking lot...I mean freeway. He called to tell me he was okay, not knowing I had not yet heard about any quakin' going on. I thought, what a great kid. He thought enough of my feelings to put me out of my misery...even when I had no misery to be put out of.
So later, I'm on FaceBook...don't ask, a friend put me up to it...and for those of you who don't know about FaceBook, there is this feature where it asks, "What are you doing right now?" and you type in, oh, I don't know...what you're doing right then, and such as that. Anyone reading about me would see, "Lori is..." followed by my most recent entry. Mine said, "Lori is...recording coyotes howling from the gulch." I was up at two a.m. the night before doing just that.
One of my FaceBook friend's entry was this, "Daniel is... earthquake." He must have been on FaceBook when the quake hit. If you knew Dan this would not surprise you. He's all about socialization and connecting with people. But my son's FaceBook entry was this: "Joey is...buried under six stories of rubble."
I think I busted my O key when I wrote back, "That is SOOOOOO not funny." Even though it kind of was. In a morbid way. But I "do" morbid. My sisters and I could call ourselves the Gallows Humor Gals. We are sicko's to put it mildly.
And so, it would seem, is my son a Gallows Humor Guy. Welcome to the club, Joey. And know this, if you had NOT called me BEFORE I read that, and I had needlessly choked on the razor sharp blades of terror and drowned my lungs in buckets of bitter tears of grief, make that scald my face with the caustic tears of all-consuming grief, I would have been forced to come down to LA and sick my rabid, but well-trained eyeball-eating raccoons on you...while you slept. Muahahahaha! Love, Mommy.